#i know it was almost a week ago but still

[rooster-the-love-of-my-life]

Idiots At a Wedding pt1

Summary: Pretending to be Bob's girlfriend in front of his family had to be easy right? Right...??

Pairings: Bob Floyd x fem!reader

Warnings: slight unholy thoughts, self pitying, oblivious idiots

A/N: Tell a friend to tell a friend SHES BACKKK!!! I know it's been so long since I posted but I'm finally back, and this time I've tried something different. So please be kind and don't be a stranger. Enjoy!!!!

"Hey Bob, you got a date for the wedding yet?"

The whole squad was gathered around Rooster and Hangman's coffee table in their shared apartment, having their ritualistic Friday night dinner when Phoenix asked her backseater the question. After the success of your mission, you all were asked to stay back and become a part of a special task force led by Maverick. Everyone jumped on the opportunity, eager to see what the future held and delighted to see it with friends.

Bob, who as usual was sitting on the floor near the edge of the coffee table, snapped his head up upon hearing his name. "No, not yet." He mumbled with delicious chinese food stuffed in his mouth.

"What wedding?" You jumped into the conversation, eyes moving between Bob and Phoenix from the couch you were sat on, curious to know what they were talking about.

"Of course that piques your interest." Hangman butted in, putting a peace of chicken in his mouth. "The entire night you've been awfully quiet and suddenly when you hear the word wedding you almost burst out of your seat out of excitement."

"Shut up Jake." You rolled your eyes, shoving him with your left elbow, getting a soft grunt out of him. "Did your mama never teach you to not talk with your mouth full?"

"You didn't say anything to Bob when he did it." The blonde argued.

"What wedding?" You asked again, completely ignoring the man on your left, laser focused on finding out who was getting married and when.

Ever since you were a child, weddings had always been your favorite, maybe it was because of all the free food or maybe it was because of how good everyone looked. Nevertheless, weddings were your favorite thing in the world, and hearing someone from your squad was going to a wedding just excited you to the core.

"My younger sisters getting married next week." Bob explained. "I'm supposed to be the best man at the wedding."

"And supposed to bring a date." Phoenix added, nudging him with her knee as if to send him some secret message no one else understood.

"That too." He added, face a little flushed. "Haven't found anyone willing to go with me yet, so I guess I'll just have to endure my mama's wrath. Nothing I haven't handled before."

"Did you even ask anyone?" Coyote asked.

"No." Bob whispered as Natasha groaned in frustration.

"I told him weeks ago to ask someone but he still hasn't done it. Do you really want Mrs. Floyd to kill you?"

"She isn't going to kill me if I don't bring a date right." Bob said with confidence which wavered the second Phoenix raised an eyebrow and gave him a look which clearly said otherwise. "Right?"

"Talking from experience of having a Texan mother myself, I can assure you she won't kill you. But there is no way in hell she's ever letting you live it down." Jake added, trying to console Bob but failing miserably.

Bob groaned, running a hand over his face and through his hair. "What am I gonna do?"

"I'll go with you." You offered with out skipping a beat to no one's surprise. You were always one to jump on the opportunity to help someone, it was almost as if you were put on this earth for the sole reason of helping people. So when you offered to help Bob out, no one was supried. "I'll go to the wedding with you, I love weddings. Besides, Maverick has been begging me to use my vacation days, so I'll finally get to do that to."

"Yo-you don't have to." Bob stuttered out his words, looking down at his plate, the red blush creeping over to his ears.

"No I want to. I love weddings and I would love to meet your family too, you always talk about them so fondly." You repeated, smiling so brightly at Bob he feared he might be blinded by you.

"You don't have to Sunny, really. You don't have to come out of pity or anything."

"I'm not offering out of pitty." You reassured him with a soft smile. "I have no problem accompanying you to your sisters wedding. Unless you don't want me to of course." You added quickly, not having taken Bob's wishes into consideration.

"No no, it's not that. It just that I-" Bob started but you quickly stopped him, over taken by excitement.

"It's settled than, I'm going to the wedding with you." You said gleefully, getting up from your seat and towards the kitchen to get yourself a drink.

The night went on, everyone chatted normally and stuffed themselves full of food until they couldn't breath. For the rest of the night, your spirits were higher than ever. You were already known to be the yapper of the group, but now no one could get you to stop talking. On the other hand, Bob got eerily quiet, more quiet than he had ever been before, almost as if he was having a mini existential crisis in his head.

By ten it was time for everyone to go back to their homes. Having said your goodbyes, you were walking towards your car in the parking lot when Bob called out your name from behind you, jogging slightly to catch up to you.

"Hey, what's up?" You asked, leaning against your car as the blue eyed man approached you.

"I um, I wanted to talk to you about the wedding." He said, stuffing his hands inside his jacket as chilly winds rose up in the air.

"I'm so excited. You'll have to text me all the details." You replied, adrenalin pumping through you.

"It's not about that." He cleared his throat, looking down at the ground, clearly uncomfortable.

"Is everything okay? Did I say something wrong? Should I have not offered in front of every-"

"No no, it's not that. Not that at all." He quickly stopped you. "It's just that, my mother's a bit too much. She always nags me about everything and at times it gets a bit unbearable. A couple of months ago she was complaining about me not dating and was about to set me up with the daughter of someone from her bookclub. So to get her off my back and save myself from embarrassment I kind of told her that I'm already seeing someone else and now she expects me to bring that someone to the wedding."

You couldn't believe your ears as Bob's confession filtered out of his mouth. He had lied to his mother and told her he had a girlfriend when in reality he hadn't been out on a date in almost a year. And now his mother was expecting him to bring the woman who stole her son's heart to the big wedding and you had just accidently signed up to be that woman.

"So that means-" You started slowly, still processing what you had just heard.

"If you come to the wedding with me she'll think you're my girlfriend." Bob finished the sentence for you, red faced from his confession. "You can say no now if you want to."

You looked up at the man standing in front of you, looking like a puppy in the rain, and something inside of you just could not let you say no to him.

"It's fine Bob, I'll still go with you." You whispered, as Bob's head snapped up, staring at you with hope and nervousness.

"Really? But everyone would think you're my girlfriend. I just don't want you to be uncomfortable or feel as if you're obliged to say yes."

"No, I-I want to. I mean what kind of a friend would I be if I don't help you out in a tough situation." You said, giving him a soft smile.

"Oh thank god." He sighed, shoulders visibly relaxing. "Thank you, I know I've put you in a tough spot, but thank you so much for helping. I don't know what I'd do without you. Probably get a beating from my mama for lying to her at the ripe age of thirty."

"It's alright Bob, you don't need to thank me." You out your hand on his arm to get him to calm down and stop his rambling. "You can text me the details tommrow okay. For now just go get some rest, we'll figure it all out later."

With that you both went back to your apartments to get some well needed rest. But from the second you got into your car, your mind kept thinking about what you'd just done. Anyone who knew you could always rely on you to help them out id they were ever in a though spot, but this was a bit too much, even by your standards. Part of you thought it was just because you were desperate to go to a wedding, but deep down inside you knew the real reason. You would do anything for him, anything for Bobby.

----------------------------

Bob Floyd was freaking out. He was absolutely losing his mind, pacing back in forth in his apartment, flipping out in front of his best friend.

"Oh my god, what have I just done." He said, grabbing his head with both of his hands, still pacing. "What have I just done? What have I done Nat?"

"Hey, hey, calm down." She said, moving forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. "Stop pacing, I'm getting vertigo just from watching you."

That made Bob instantly stop and stare at her with wide eyes and disheveled hair, waiting for her to continue.

"Now, listen to me carefully." Natasha started. "You haven't done anything wrong, you've just asked a girl to be your date. A girl you've had a stupid high school crush on for forever."

Bob blushed immediately upon hearing Nat talk about his crush on you. It wasn't much of a secret that he liked you. He had liked you from the moment he first saw you at the hard deck, laughing and playing pool with the rest of the squad, looking like an absolute dream. Since that moment, he looked at you with so much yearing that it didn't even take Phoenix a week to figure out her backseater was smitten by you.

You were the absolute opposite of Bob, extroverted, loud spoken, so vibrant, always the life of the party, always ready to lend people a hand even if you had just known them for a few hours, the literal embodiment of you callsign, Sunshine. Bob was someone who lived in the shadows, keeping to himself, and speaking only when spoken to. When you entered his life, it was as if he was taken by a storm, he had never seen someone so exuberant in his life and yet here you stood, as real as real gets.

"You just have to keep your cool and spend the week with her. Then you can go back to pining from afar. All the while pretending to be in love with her and hoping she'll give a convincing performance as well." She finished, adding the last part awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck, finally realizing that Bob may have landed himself in a sticky situation.

"Keep my cool?" Bob said, scoffing loudly. "Keep my cool, I can't even keep myself sane around her for an hour how do you expect me to be around her for a week?"

He slumped into one of the arm chairs, massaging his temple, clearly stressed. Natasha knew he was right, he couldn't even spend an hour with you and here he was, about to convince his whole family that you were in love.

"That's not even the worst part." Bob added, sounding defeated. "The worst part is that the whole time we're going to pretend to be in love, it's all going to be an act for her, but not for me. Not for stupid Bobby." He slapped himself hard on the back of his head as if to reprimand himself.

"Hey, stop it." Phoenix said, getting up from her seat, having had enough of Bob's defeatist attitude. "You are not going to be pitying yourselves, not on my watch. Now, what you are going to do is man the fuck up. You've liked the girl for forever, what could go wrong if you just told her?"

"She could hear me." Bob mumbled, being completely ignored by Natasha.

"And this trip is the perfect way to do it. You take her to the wedding, woo her with your country charm and bam she's yours." Natasha declared, standing in front of Bob with her hands on her hip.

"Um, no. I'm pretty sure it'll be more like bam she never speaks to me again." Bob mumbled. "And what country charm? My sisters inherited all the charm. She's going to realize this the second she meets them and figure out how big of a loser I really am."

"Bob, believe me when I say this, she does not think you're a loser. You're amazing guy, you don't need any country charm, you just need to be yourself. I get it can be scary telling someone you like them, but there are some points in your life you just have to take a chance and this is it. If she likes you back, it'll be the best thing that ever happened to you."

"And if she doesn't?" Bob whispered.

"Then it's her loss."

--------------------------------

For the first time in his life, Bob finally understood why Garfield hates Mondays so much. The dreaded day was finally here, you were leaving for Texas on the afternoon flight and were going to return back on Sunday evening. A full week later.

Bob was sure he was going to die. Or spontaneously combust. Or throw up. Or all of those in that particular order- which would be weird- but definitely something that was going to happen. The coming week was going to be a torment, a humiliation ritual for him. Not only is he going to have to be glued to you the entire time, he has also got to pretend to be in a relationship with you.

Pretending wasn't the hard part, he had pretend to be a lot of things he wasn't in his life. No, the hard part was going to be making it seem convincing. Enough to fool his hawk eyed mother.

You on the other hand did not know what to feel. You were excited to be attending a wedding, feeling like a kid on Christmas day. But you were also riddled with anxiety. How were you going to pretend to be Bob's girlfriend. Of course you and him had had a vigorous conversation and had come up with all the details of how you met and started dating, but that was all theoretical. Practically pretending was going to be a different story altogether.

It was established early on that you two will have to share a room, possibly even a bed, which you didn't really have a problem with. You would also have to be close to each other the whole time, with a pinch of pda here and there to throw people off your scent. But the thing that scared you the most was that you would have to kiss him, even if it's just on the cheek, you would have to lean up to the tall man's rosy cheeks and press your lips on his soft skin, all the while trying not to jump his bone then and there.

It wasn't a secret how attractive Bob was, tall muscular with those stupidly cute glasses, anyone with half and eye would want him. But ever since you first saw him sitting quietly near the pool table at the hard deck, you were a goner. You had never seen a man so handsome in your life, for a moment you thought you were hallucinating. But then he opened his mouth and introduced himself in his charming southern accent, and boy were you screwed. No other man in the world mattered to you anymore.

You contemplated telling him multiple times on various sleepless nights, but eveytime your heart wandered down delusion street, you mind pulled you back to reality. Bob was respectful, always exchanging pleasantries with you, engaging in polite chatter while you both waited for the rest of the squad to show up, but thag was all he ever was. Polite. Polite and distant. The time you had spent with him coming up with a cover story was probably the most you had ever talked to him, much to your dismay. But once Bob had made it clear he wasn't one for mingling, you backed off.

By the time you arrived the airport, Bob was already there, waiting for you outside, looking devilishly handsome in his civil clothes. Sure you had seen him in cvs before, but this new laid back version of him was almost giving you a heart attack.

"Hey, hope I didn't make you wait too long." You greeted him, getting out of the taxi and moving towards the trunk to get you bags out.

"No not at all. I just got here myself" Bob lied, having arrived 25 minutes earlier. He moved faster than you, pushing open the trunk to take out your bags instead.

"Oh you don't have to do that, I can do it myself." You tried to stop him, but he just effortlessly lifted your heavy suitcase with one hand and your carry on bag with the other, muscles flexing under the white t-shirt.

"I wouldn't be too good of a boyfriend if I don't help you with your bags, now would I?" He replied, giving you the softest smile you had ever seen, melting your heart.

How in hell's name were you going to survive being with him for an entire week when he kept doing stuff like this. It was hard enough for you already to be playing his pretend girlfriend, knowing how much you actually wanted to be his, and now he had to go and be the best pretend boyfriend there ever was.

This was going to be a long week.

---------------------

The flight was hell, hell in an airplane. There were not one, not two but four screaming babies on the flight, and as your luck would have it, three out of the four were all placed near you. You were already sitting in a cramped area when the man sitting behind you thought it would be a wonderful time to show off his soccer skills by nudging his knees into the back of your seat time and time again. And then finally, you were stuck between a fighting couple who made you their personal therapist for the entire plane ride, leaving you absolutely drained by the time you landed.

Thankfully, you didn't have to deal with Bob the entire flight, otherwise you might have just lost the plot.

"How was your flight?" Bob asked once you two were off the plane and making your way towards the baggage claim.

"Terrible." You replied, massaging your temple with a long sigh. "Every cranky baby on the plant seemed to be seated near me and the couple I was stuck between treated me like a couples counsellor the entire time. I was debating jumping off the plane halfway through."

"Oh, you should have told me. I would've switched with you." Bob said, looking at you sympathetically.

"Bobby, you can't even handle it when Rooster and Hangman are fighting, how would you have handled two strangers having a lovers spat." You raised an eyebrow, placing your hand softly on his shoulder as he ducked his head and chuckled.

"That's true." He nodded, before continuing. "But the baby sitting next to me was really sweet. Played with me the whole fight."

"It's parents must be really thankful." You commented.

"Yep, they slept the whole way through, even offered me the job of a nanny." He told you as you snorted with laughter.

"Bobby Floyd, the babies princess." You teased, giving him a cheeky smile that he returned with rosy cheeks. In that moment you swear you fell in love.

"Oh, there they are!" Bob exclaimed, suddenly grabbing hold of your left hand with his free one, guiding you through the crowd. "There's my sister."

A woman, who looked a bit older than Bob was standing at the arrival gate, accompanied by a man holding a toddler in his arms.

"Bob!" The woman squealed, throwing her arms around the pilots shoulders and pulling him into a big hug.

"Annie." Bob said through laughter. "How're you doing?"

"Oh, much better now that ma has someone new to torture." She replied, before turning towards you with a smile. "And who might this pretty lady be?"

"This is my girlfriend." Bob introduced you, and you would have melted right there if it wasn't for Annie pulling you into a warm hug.

"My, my. You never told me she was this pretty Bob." She commented, holding you're cheeks in her hand, inspecting you thoroughly.

"And he never told me his sister was so gorgeous either." You finally spoke.

"And a smooth talker as well, mama's gonna love you." Annie chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, turning towards the man with the baby. "This is my husband Jeff." She introduced as you shook hands with him.

"And this little menace here is Andy." Bob cut in, taking the little boy from his father's hand, softly tickling his tummy, earing loud laughs out of Andy.

"Uncle Bob's his favorite, isn't he." Annie stated in a baby voice before turning to help Jeff with the bags. You were about to reach out and help before she swatted your hand away. "Nope, we've got it."

You flashed her a thankful smile and turned to look at Bob, clearly enjoying the two year old company.

"You really are the baby whisperer aren't you?" You whispered, amused how children were so comfortable with Bob.

"What can I say, I am the chosen one." He joked, making you throw your head back and laugh. As horrible as the flight had been, seeing Bob home and happy was definitely worth it.

The car ride to his childhood home was short, during which he you learned that Annie was Bob's elder sister who had gotten married a few years back, and now it was his kid sisters turn.

"Everyone had always thought it would be Bob getting married before Lucy." Jeff commented. "But I guess she beat him to the altar."

"Oh I don't think we'll have to worry about that any longer." Annie whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

The only response Bob gave was his classic red cheeks. The rest of the drive was filled with Bob and his older sister chatting, catching up on their lives while Andy quietly played with the aviator. You looked out the window for most of it, taking in the soft countryside, trying to memorise every inch of Bob's hometown. Upon arriving at his childhood home, you were immediately awestruck by it's beauty. It wasn't a massive house, you'd seen bigger ones then it, but something about it screamed home from the moment you laid your eyes on it.

All four of you were walking towards the front door, when an older woman, you figured Bob's mother, threw open the screen door. "Finally, took you long enough." She started, voice dripping with a heavy southern accent. "Now come here and give your mama a hug."

Bob ran up the stairs and right into the arms of this mother, the same way he used to as a kid. "Hi ma, sorry for the delay."

"Eh, don't worry bout it, atleast you're here now." She replied with a bright smile, kissing both his cheeks softly. "And you've brought me a guest." She moved to take a look at you.

"Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Floyd." You put your hand forward for her to shake, standing in proper military posture, trying your best to make a good impression.

"Mrs. Floyd was my husband's mother, please call me Mary dearie." She replied, pulling you into a hug with the same intensity as Annie. You figure this was a family problem that Bob hadn't inherited, though you would have minded getting a bone crushing hug from him.

"Yes ma'am. Mary." You quickly corrected yourself with a smile, feeling more welcomed with Bob's family in a second then you had ever before.

"Very well, now come in, let's get you both settled. There's going to be a small gathering in a while so why don't you go freshen up." She ushered you both inside the house and towards the steps right up to Bob's room. Jeff helps you with your bags as you climbed up to Bob's childhood bedroom.

"There you are." Jeff placed your bags in front of your door with a heavy groan, but there was no hint of disdain on his face. Rather all there was was happiness of having his brother-in-law back home. "I'll see you in a bit okay? Just holler if you need anything."

With that he went back downstairs leaving you and your fake boyfriend all alone for the first time. You both walked in, happy to finally be able to put your feet up. But upon seeing the size of the bed, all you desire to rest immediately vanished. It was already decided that you'd have to share a bed, but this one was barely big enough to accommodate one person, let alone two adults.

"I can take the floor, you take the bed." Bob spoke, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"You don't need to do that Bob, we can share the bed." You offered. "Or I'll sleep on the floor. This is your bed anyways."

"I've dragged you into this mess with me, the least I can do is give you the bed."

"You didn't drag me into anything, I offered to be a part of your mess." You pointed out, sitting on one side of the bed, patting it lightly, indicating Bob to come and join you. "Besieds, I think I'm already in love with your family. They're all so-"

"Overwhelming?" Bob butted in, making you roll your eyes playfully.

"So much like a family. I mean, everyone was so happy to see you. No one from my family has ever-" You stopped yourself before you got ahead of yourself, quickly reminding yourself that no one from the squad knew about your family and you weren't going to let it slip out now. "Anyways, your family is really nice, I can't wait to spend the week with them."

"Really?" Bob asked, actually intrigued by your excitement. For him this was all normal, infact this wasn't even the tip of the iceberg, they were a about to get much more overbearing. "I never really liked all of this. Sure it's nice to be greeted so lovingly, but knowing them, they're going to get really annoying real fast. And there are going to be so many people to interact with, I can already feel my cheeks hurt at the thought of all the fake smiles I'm gonna have to give."

"Don't worry bout it, I'll come and save you from all the fake laughs." You declared. "I'm great with people."

"My knight in shining armor." Bob replied bashfully. "I've always admired that about you, you know. How easily you can talk to anyone. Sometimes I get quiet jealous of that, I can't hold a conversation with a stranger to save my life."

The words coming out of his mouth seemed unreal. You just couldn't believe your ears, Bob admired somthing about you. Something you hadn't really liked about your own self. You always thought you talking so much must have annoyed people, but here was than man of your dreams, telling you it was one of his favourite things about you.

"You think my yapping is admirable Floyd?" You blushed, ducking you head down.

"It's one of your best qualities." He affirmed. "I'm gonna use the bathroom now of you don't mind?"

"No, not at all. Think of it as your own home." You joked, earning a hearty laugh form him before he disappeared into the bathroom.

Outside you were going insane. Was he flirting with you or is this all part of the façade? If it is the latter, then you're in for a heartbreak. And if it's the former, you might just die with giddiness. Inside the bathroom Bob was pinching himself. Had he really made you blush with just a small compliment? Where he had gotten this confidence from, he didn't know. But if this false confidence of his made you look like a tomato, then he'd happily fake it for life.

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[palephilosopherautomaton]

[Interior – Air Force Hangar, Late Afternoon]

The metal walls hum with the buzz of activity. Sunlight slices through high windows, casting golden rays across rows of sleek F-22s. A group of pilots stand near the lockers, gearing down after a training sortie. The smell of jet fuel and sweat hangs in the air.

I’m peeling off my gloves, visor still up on my helmet when the rookie—fresh-faced, still trying to look tough in a helmet two sizes too big—sidles up.

“Hey, sir,” he says, voice cracking a little. “Can I ask something?”

I give him a look. “You just did.”

He stammers, flushing. “I—I mean... What’s with your call sign? ‘Pillow.’ No offense, but... doesn’t sound very, uh, intense.”

I hear chuckles from a few of the others nearby. One even drops a mock snore.

I sigh. Deep, long-suffering. Helmet comes off. I run a hand through my sweat-drenched hair, leaning back against the locker.

“Alright, kid. You wanna know? Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The rookie nods eagerly.

“It was three years ago, Red Flag training. I was fresh out of weapons school, cocky as hell, and trying to show off. We’re doing simulated night strikes over Nevada, low altitude, full blackout run. I’m flying solo. Halfway through the op, I’m in the pocket, everything’s smooth, and I think, ‘Hell yeah, I’ve got time to flex.’”

Pause. I glance around. The older pilots are already grinning, knowing what’s coming.

“So I turn off comms, flip on the autopilot for just a second—just one damn second—and recline the seat. You know, just to relax. Moment later, I’m out cold. Full-on REM sleep. Mid-flight.”

The rookie blinks. “You fell asleep?”

“Yeah. And stayed asleep. Long enough that the AWACS birds flagged me as a downed aircraft and scrambled a SAR team.”

He gasps. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god exactly. I wake up to my jet practically on bingo fuel, alarms screaming, and a helo already en route to find my imaginary crash site. Spent the next two weeks grounded and doing paperwork. They almost court-martialed me.”

A pause. Then I add, deadpan:

“And ever since? ‘Pillow.’ Because apparently I’m the only pilot in the history of the Air Force to turn a multibillion-dollar stealth fighter into a flying sleep pod.”

The hangar bursts into laughter again. Someone tosses a travel pillow at my head. I catch it without looking.

“Coolest damn aircraft in the sky,” I mutter. “And I turned it into a Tempur-Pedic.”

The rookie tries to smother a laugh, failing.

“Just remember, kid,” I say, pointing a finger at him. “Doesn’t matter how badass you fly, all it takes is one screw-up to get stuck with a call sign that haunts you forever.”

He nods solemnly.

“Oh, and if you ever tell anyone outside this base? You’ll be calling me ‘sir’ from the inside of an ammo crate. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. Got it, Pillow—I mean, sir!”

You're a hot shot air force pilot, complete with a cool call sign that you're embarrassed by. Today, you're having to explain your call sign to the rookie, and why you hate it so much.

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑

w.c › 7.6k

warnings › bottom male reader (dom bottom). Part 1. Reader’s really, really, really pathetic here.

plot › you do everything to get Naoki back, including groveling on your knees.

kinks › degradation, marking, slight dub-con, hate, slapping, foot/leg humping, acarophilia

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“When you block someone, do they keep the videos you sent?”

“Hm. I’m not sure. Depends if they saved them or not.”

It was silent for only a second.

“Wait, wait, wait!!!!! Arakawa Naoki, you, you!! You blocked someone?! What did they do?!” Nakamura suddenly sat up, crawling to the end of the bed as he stared up at his friend in shock. His eyes wide and almost popping out of his sockets.

Naoki sighed, glancing over at the tv resting on the dresser across from Nakamura’s bed. “Forget it. I don’t want to think about him.”

“Him?! Was it the aquarium dude?!”

“Mhm.”

“What happened?! You were practically gushing about him a week ago, now that you mention it, you haven’t giggled to me about him in four days. What did he do?!” Nakamura stood up, nodding his head, his moves a bit sluggish as he grabbed his baseball bat from the corner of the room. “I’ll kill ‘im! Lemme at him, I’ll hit a home run with his head!”

“Sit down,” Naoki easily grabbed the bat from Nakamura’s hand and tossed it onto the ground. “It’s nothing. It was my fault for being naive.”

Nakamura blinked, humming slightly. He dropped to his knees and looked up at Naoki expectedly. “Naive? Was he… Yakuza..?”

“No, nothing like that. It was..” Naoki frowned, glancing at Nakamura. “You’ll be angry.”

“Angry?” Nakamura, despite the cheap beer swirling in his brain, narrowed his eyebrows.

“It’s that fucking Momoi (Name)!!!!!”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I knew it. He’s been waiting for you to fall into his trap. To think that you sent him videos—not that I’m victim blaming you—he’ll probably post them. Your face wasn’t in it right? We can come up with plausible explanations or something.”

“Nakamura…”

“It’s been three weeks, right? Maybe he’s waiting for the perfect moment.. ah fuck, or maybe..”

“Nakamura Takumi.”

Takumi finally stopped his pacing and turned to face Naoki. Naoki groaned, leaning against the wall as he glared at his friend.

“Can we talk about this another time? Not during an appointment for getting a cane?”

“Ah,” Takumi gave a slight smile. “Sorry, I’m just worried. That guy’s unstable! Who cares if he can carry a tune. I don’t know why Yuki likes him so much, she didn’t care for him back in high school.”

Naoki stood up from the wall and shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. “Must’ve really liked the music.” He pulled out his phone and checked the time. “I don’t know why you needed me to come with me to get your dad’s cane.”

Takumi shrugged. “Just.. wanted you to check out the canes here. You.. well, you’ve been complaining about your leg more often. You—”

“Zip it.”

“Naoki…”

“I don’t need a cane yet. Wait until I’m thirty at least.”

“Using a cane isn’t bad. Lots of young people use it.”

“I can still walk.”

“Duh. I’m just saying.”

“Actually, bring up the revenge porn again. That’s better than this.” Naoki shook his head, unlocking his phone to check his LINE. He responded to his mother’s text before coming across your contact. His eyes landed on your name.

Sea Moon.

A joke. Did you really take him for a joke? He let out a bitter laugh and turned off his phone, slipping it into his pocket.

Takumi hummed, “I do wonder, maybe he didn’t know.”

“What?”

“Ah,” Takumi let out a huff. “I hate the guy, don’t get me wrong, but maybe he didn’t know it was you.”

“Even if he didn’t—he was cheating on his girlfriend. I’m not anyone’s side chick.”

“True. That was strange of him. Maybe you should leak the conversation to his girlfriend,” Takumi laughed, already giddy at the thought of ruining your reputation.

Naoki rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

1 year ago

“Look, look!”

Naoki pushed Yuki’s phone away, trying to properly cut out the spine of the fish in front of him. He almost sliced his own finger just as Yuki showed him the phone again.

“What??” Naoki placed the knife down, glaring at Yuki. A giddy grin was on her lips as she held her phone right at his face. Naoki narrowed his eyes and grabbed the phone from her hand, trying to read what she was showing him.

“Oh, Takumi-Kun, come look!” She called over Takumi who was lounging on the couch, rubbing his belly as he lazily flipped through channels

“If it has to deal with that stupid emo and his sister, stop bothering me.” Takumi yelled.

“Ah, you’re no fun! Brother Momoi beat the loner allegations!”

“Hah? What the hell are you talking about?”

Naoki stared at the phone for a moment, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

It was of a photo of you and a girl, the girl pressing her lips against your cheek. Her hands gripped your shoulders as she stood on her tippy toes. The next picture was of your foreheads pressed together, a wide grin on the girl’s lips.

Another of her holding your arm, cuddling close to you as you both sat at a restaurant. Her reaching over and feeding you a piece of sushi.

𝐌𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐨’𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐢 (𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭! 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐢’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝’𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫?!

Naoki felt odd. He didn’t understand this heavy feeling in his heart. It wasn’t like you were ever his. Wouldn’t it be his fault for never stepping forward and saying something to you? But you would always run away from him, how could he?

Were those four years nothing?

Did he imagine it? Maybe he was the one stalking you?

Naoki let out a laugh, placing Yuki’s phone onto the countertop. “Good for him.” Was all he said before grabbing his jacket and slipping on his shoes.

Takumi sat up, his eyes narrowing. “Where are you going?”

“Beer. I don’t think we have enough for tonight. Yuki, you can pull out the rest of the spine from the fish. I’ll be quick.”

Yuki blinked. “Woah, we’re drinking tonight? Don’t we have an exam tomorrow?”

Takumi sighed, “he’s still attached to him after all.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just pull the spine out. I’ll start the side dishes.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“You’re wallowing again.” Hiyori tilted her head, raising an eyebrow.

You rubbed the bridge of your nose. “I’m not.”

“You totally are.” A voice cut in.

“How’d you even get in?” You glared at the unwanted guest, placing your spoon on your plate. Your curry and rice was hardly touched since Hiyori placed the bowl in front of you.

Miki giggled, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on Hiyori’s lips. Hiyori eagerly returned the kiss but was stopped from deepening it with a slight glare from Miki. “Not in front of your brother. He’s innocent.”

You scoffed. “I thought I changed the apartment code.”

“I told her the new code.” Hiyori said, pulling Miki to sit down on her lap. Miki immediately got comfortable, humming happily.

“I thought it was siblings before hoes.”

“Hey, don’t call her a hoe… only I can,” Hiyori smirked, tightening her grip on Miki’s waist. “In bed at least.”

“Hiyori!” Miki giggled, lightly slapping Hiyori’s hand. The two looked at each other lovingly before Hiyori seemed to remember you were currently dealing with a crisis. She turned over to look at you, a frown on her lips.

“Sea Brain, I get it,” Hiyori said, her voice a bit more serious. “Arakawa believed the fake rumors you and Miki did last year to hide that she was lesbian. It sucks, but you just gotta explain that to him. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Can’t explain shit to him if he’s blocked me.” You muttered.

Miki frowned, “really? Woah, he really cares about my feelings,” she laughed, stopping quickly when you glared at her. “Ahem, I mean, that can’t be the only reason. Maybe he feels abandoned by you? You stalked him for four years straight and suddenly pay him no attention at all.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “I was busy, if I wasn’t I would’ve followed him everywhere. Why doesn’t he get that?”

“Well you didn’t know he was in an accident.”

“What?” Hiyori questioned, her mouth fulled with curry. “Accident?”

You glared at Miki, “what the hell? What do you mean he was in an accident?”

“It was a whole thing,” Miki said, humming softly. She leaned back more into Hiyori’s arms and sighed. “It was in the news—but you don’t pay attention to that, so maybe that’s why you don’t know.”

“What happened?”

“You can search his name and his birthdate. It happened on Christmas Eve of last year. He got into a car accident with his dad and little sister. He was the only one who survived but he could no longer play baseball after that. It was a big deal, he was popular in his college team, people believed he could’ve gone national.

“I pay attention to his school but that’s because I’m an alumni.” Miki said, nodding slightly. “But I would’ve thought you would’ve heard of it. It happened only ten minutes from your apartment. They were.. hm, they were going somewhere, and a drunk trunk driver just hit the car.”

“We must’ve been busy during that day,” Hiyori muttered. She glanced over at you. “It’s okay, you couldn’t have known. Don’t beat yourself about this. Honestly, maybe you should view this as your reason to move on. He technically did reject you.”

You ignored Hiyori’s comment, only focusing on the information Miki told you. His dad and little sister died? Which father? You had stalked Naoki enough to know that he had a step father and a biological father he wasn’t close to at all. He’d often write stuff in his notebook about it, but he had stopped after he supposedly gained a new half sister from his bio father.

Was that them?

All of the past information you knew about Naoki was waking up, filling your head after having to bury it deep inside. You glanced at your phone—now basically dead with Naoki no longer keeping the ringtone alive.

“If he felt abandoned by me…” you whispered, catching Miki’s and Hiyori’s attention. “I just need to show him that I’m here again.”

“And that I’ll never leave him ever again.”

“Jesus. How’d you get a red mark like this?” The makeup artist muttered, shaking her head. She began using some foundation to cover it up.

You didn’t want to explain that after your little declaration last night, Hiyori had slapped the shit out of you. That didn’t shock you too much—the day you had first confessed to Hiyori that you were stalking Naoki she almost beat you up.

It made sense. You understood why she wanted you to stop. And back then, you almost took her words to heart.

It was during your first year of high school. The last day, you were thinking that you would obey Hiyori’s pleas. Why waste time on a kid you hardly knew well? Though you had been getting to know quite a bit, including his family drama.

But Arakawa Naoki must’ve subconsciously knew that you were going to leave him alone. Just as you were leaving after the last day, all of the kids chattering about what their summer vacation plans were.

Naoki had walked over to you, a little grin on his face. He looked shy, holding something behind his back. You almost immediately believed that he must’ve been pranking you or something until he pulled out a small box of chocolates.

His gap tooth was still wide, only now just closing due to the braces he got two months ago. “Here. I wasn’t here on White’s Day..” he had whispered, his eyes looking down. “You normally run away whenever I came close so.. I wanted to try one more time. The chocolates melted and were frozen again so.. they’re probably ugly by now.”

You could only blink, remembering that you couldn’t even say anything. Naoki glanced up and only shook his head. He grabbed your hand and placed the small heart shaped box in your hand. A gasp left your lips, only able to stare as Naoki gave you a smile.

He walked away shortly after that, Nakamura wrapped his arm around his neck. Nakamura glanced back at you and glared, shaking his head as he guided his friend out. You couldn’t even be bothered to care about his weird hatred towards you—all you could think about was tasting the chocolate.

And Naoki was right, they did look ugly.

But they were tasty.

So tasty.

“(Name), did you meet the other model for the shoot?” Hiyori asked, tapping your shoulder right after the makeup artist left. “Don’t get snippy with him—you’ve been acting like someone pissed in your cereal all day.”

You huffed, pushing the memory away. “Mhm. I won’t. Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Does it still hurt? I didn’t think it would… y’know, be that strong.” She muttered, a slight look of embarrassment on her face.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not angry over it.” You glanced at the mirror, almost amazed at how well the red mark was gone. Your eyes flickered to Hiyori’s through the mirror. “But, you’ll have to get over it—I’m going to get Arakawa-San. You can always report me to the police if you’re really worried.”

Hiyori frowned. “Don’t talk so loudly,” she whispered, leaning in closer. “I… I don’t know how to feel about it. But I won’t say anything unless Arakawa does. If he shows any sense of fear at the sight of you, I’m reporting you, it doesn’t matter if you’re my brother.”

“It’s a deal.”

She looked a bit upset over it but she only nodded, pulling away from you. You had an understanding sister for all things considered. A normal one would’ve reported you back in middle school.

Though there was no guarantee police would even do anything. They are known for their incompetence.

But you understood her thought process.

Not enough to stop though.

“Brother Momoi, Sister Momoi! Come on, you’re the first trio.” The photographer called, earning your attention. You got up and followed Hiyori to the set, seeing the other person who you’d be shooting with.

Hiyori bowed her head slightly, “hello.”

The person, a man with a wide grin and dyed brown hair nodded. “Hi, I’m Yuto! I’ve heard a lot about you guys.” He glanced over at you and hummed. “Momoi-Kun having a permanent frown was true too.”

Hiyori couldn’t help her slight grin, “ah, that’s true… are you a singer?”

“No, model! I just recently started acting.”

You rolled your eyes, deciding to tune them out. All you could think about was Naoki. Was his leg okay? The accident must’ve worsened his leg. Is he enjoying school? What made him choose meteorology. A weather forecaster?

You began to imagine him in a suit and tie, standing in front of a green screen as he talked about weather. Maybe glasses? The suit might be a little tight on him—he’d pull down his tie just a bit, show off his collarbone right as the cameras turned off.

You’d love to grab that tie, pull it and have him gasp at your strength. Whether you rid him or fucked him. Just having him make those same whimpers he made in the video… you’d—

“Enjoying yourself, huh?”

Yuto laughed at your shocked expression, wiggling his eyebrow. “Not judging. I suddenly think about my boyfriend and get horny too.”

“Boyfriend?” You whispered. He confessed so easily, you haven’t been close to another celebrity that had no struggle in expressing their sexuality.

“Mhm. I mean, you’re like me, right?”

“What? Like you?” You stared at him, almost feeling a little nervous.

Yuto blinked. He stared at you and then looked you up and down. His gaze fell back to your face as he blinked once more, a look that was smug but also filled with disbelief.

“Well someone like you is certainly not straight, that’s for sure.”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to go to a mixer.”

Naoki sighed, scrolling through his phone. He was deleting pictures he had saved of you. Mostly class photos or any photo he managed to take with you. You’d always look so uncomfortable whenever he tried to take selfies with you. Maybe he really was wrong about your feelings towards him.

“Naoki, Nao-Chan, Kiki. Ki-Kun. Nana,” Takumi whined, leaning down to obscure Naoki’s view. He batted his eyelashes and pouted. “Please, pretty please, for me, Nao Nao?”

“Stop calling me that, Mimi.” Naoki rolled his eyes and moved away, deleting a few more pictures.

Takumi sighed, “fine, fine. Stop looking at your phone. My babe is almost here.”

Naoki turned off his phone and grinned. “So this babe is real? I was getting worried that she was a girl from ‘Hong Kong.’”

“Shut up. At least I like normal people.”

“Low blow.” Naoki pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

“Taku?”

Naoki glanced up to see a boy, a wide grin on his lips, dyed brown hair slicked back, he looked like he came straight from a photoshoot. Wait. Naoki looked back over at Takumi and stared at him a shock.

“You like boys?”

The model practically sprinted over to Takumi and Naoki’s table, immediately grabbing Takumi’s arm—and with surprising strength for his thin frame, tugged Takumi to stand up. Takumi quickly hugged the boy and they both began to giggle and whisper to themselves.

“Wait, I thought you only liked girls!” Naoki whispered-yelled, gaining the couple’s attention.

Takumi pulled away from the hug with a sheepish expression, “I wanted to tell you but the one day I was about to the whole.. y’know happened so I kinda just forgot. Ah, anyway, this is Yuto!”

“Hey!” Yuto grinned. He felt like sunshine personified. Naoki fought the urge to cover his eyes from the shine radiating off him.

“Hey, I’m Naoki.”

A wide grin pulled on Takumi’s face. “He’s the reason we used to be only able to meet on Sundays. That was the only day he had off after he recently got casted in a web series! When does it start airing again, baby?”

“Hm,” Yuto easily moved his hand to rest on Takumi’s hip as if it was second nature to him. “I think, March 14th. So, less than a month from now.”

Takumi and Yuto practically moved like one body as they sat down in the booth across from Naoki. Immediately the pair cuddled up into each other as Takumi passed over the restaurant’s menu.

Naoki didn’t know if he was upset or shocked.

“Ahem,” he coughed, gaining the two’s attention. “So, how’d you meet?”

Yuto grinned. Smiling seemed to be his default expression. “At a BDSM event.”

Takumi began coughing violently, putting down his glass of water. Naoki could only blink.

“He was a newbie and so shy, I was immediately interested. But he was so scared of me at first, like he doesn’t have more muscle than me.”

“Yuto… maybe we should’ve used the sanitized version?” Takumi whispered.

“He’s been your best friend since diapers.” Yuto said, rolling his eyes. “He’s probably heard about your sex life. Anyway, Taku was so shy, that when I brought him to my hotel, he was talking about it was first time being a dom and all that bullshit. Hahahah, anyway I showed him how a true dom acts. Now he’s a great listener, isn’t that right, baby?”

Naoki wished he had lost his hearing in that car crash.

“Can we talk about something else,” Takumi whispered.

“Yeah…” Naoki said in agreement.

Yuto only nodded, seemingly unaware of the twos growing discomfort. “Oh, today I had a photoshoot! I still have the makeup on that the makeup stylist did. It was for promoting a makeup pallet, I think. I kinda forgot, I honestly didn’t care for it. Oh but, I did get to meet some people, building connections, all that jazz. I met Momoi Hiyori.”

Naoki and Takumi immediately glanced at each other.

“Really?” Takumi asked.

“Yeah. And her little brother. He’s so weird. But kinda in a good way? Like I tried to have a conversation with him and it’s like he immediately shut me out. But I was able to wear him down enough to get him to follow my Instagram. I’m meeting Hiyori again next week for drinks. I’ll probably try some more to wear that grump down.”

Naoki hummed, mostly to himself. So you were grumpy and standoffish to everyone. He didn’t think that made him feel any better. If he were to take your words seriously, right before he blocked you, you hadn’t known that it was during the whole situation.

In his heart, he had a glimmer of hope that maybe if you had known it was him, you would’ve been more excited texting him. Would’ve been more eager to text him and not just dryly respond as if he was pulling teeth.

But then he remembers the times he tried to bridge the gap in high school.

He’d be silly to think you really liked him. Maybe you just found him good to look at. But then those gifts? Was it to get him attached? For you to feel some type of glee at having someone like him get attached to you?

No. No he was being bitter now. Despite your terrible attitude—you weren’t that type of person.

Just a cheater apparently.

“Naoki.” Takumi snapped his fingers, causing Naoki to jump.

“You good?” Yuto asked, a slight frown on his lips.

“Mhm, sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Probably of that jerk.” Takumi rolled his eyes.

“Jerk?” Yuto questioned. “Trouble in paradise?”

“There was no paradise.” Naoki frowned. “At least I was the only one who actually cared about our relationship.”

Yuto hummed. “Well, let me take your mind off that. Are you free next week Friday?”

“Why?”

“Well,” Yuto leaned in closer over the table, a smirk on his lips as he rubbed his thumb and index finger together, “wanna earn some money?”

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“Hey, have you seen Yuto-Kun’s newest post? It’s cute.” Hiyori said, sitting down beside you on the couch.

“I don’t check social media.” You bluntly answered, the water still dripping from your hair after your shower. Your towel rested on your head—too lazy to properly dry your hair at this point.

“Fine, forgot you just have the manager post for you. Here, here, look.”

Hiyori handed over her phone. You rolled your eyes but grabbed it, looking at what Yuto posted. It looked to be promotion for a music video he was in. You knew the band—One Heart. For their music videos they usually never used themselves, having actors portray the story they’re trying to tell.

“Let me pull up the music video.” Hiyori said, turning on the tv.

You sighed, swiping through the pictures. It looked like the video would take place at a school. High school love probably. Most of the pictures were of BTS shots, selfies Yuto took with the band members or any other actor. Looked like he would be portraying a student due to him wearing a school uniform.

“Ah, apparently the song is the OST for the web series Yuto’s in. Cool, cool. We gotta do our own OST soon, that’ll be so cool.” Hiyori muttered, pressing play on the video.

The video started immediately with an actor you didn’t know, peeking over at a group of girls giggling at their phones.

“He’s so cute.”

“Why is he a weather forecaster?”

“Hey, being a weather forecaster isn’t bad, I’ll get up at 6 am just for him~”

The actor frowned at the girls’ comments, possibly having a crush on them. He pulled out his phone and pulled up the video they were watching. You looked away, already a bit bored. Having storylines in music videos weren’t interesting to you most of the time.

Just get—

“That’s Arakawa!” Hiyori yelled, sitting up.

You immediately stared at the tv and to your shock, it was. He was the weather forecaster. His hair was pushed back with gel, a pair of rectangular glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. A sleek and well fitted dark blue suit. What he was saying couldn’t be heard as the melody of the song began playing.

The music video began playing out with the student actor having an identity crisis—trying different ways to look like Naoki, even going as far as drawing a black dot on his face.

But all you could pay attention to was the short snippets of Naoki. He looked handsome. That half ass selfie you got was nothing to seeing him in video.

Seeing him in person would send you to heaven.

You needed to see him. Quickly.

As soon as the music video ended, Hiyori’s phone beeped. You glanced down and noticed Yuto posted again. It was a video this time, a short snippet from a future BTS video for the song.

The camera was showing Naoki. He was sitting down and had his shoes off, a shy look on his face. Once the person behind the camera seemed to motion they were recording, Naoki grinned.

“Arakawa-San, what’s that metal thing on your foot?”

Yuto appeared beside Naoki, kneeling down to touch the strange device. It was a silver metal encasing that held his left foot. There was a small knob on the right that Naoki reached down and began turning, showing the metal tightening its grip on his foot.

“This is to help me walk with less of a limp.” Naoki explained, gently tapping the metal to show off the sound. “Real metal. A bit expensive.” He giggled nervously, obviously not used to talking to a camera. “It’s slender so I can still wear most shoes.. oh except flip flops or sandals, that’ll be awkward.”

Yuto hummed, “cool. Oh oh, everyone~ Arakawa modeled before, right?” He glanced back at Naoki who began to blush slightly.

“Ah, yea, but it was just sponsorships for my old baseball team.”

“Editor, add pictures!” Yuto giggled, earning a laugh from the camera person. “Everyone follow Arakawa’s IG~ he should reach 10k followers in a week, yea?”

Naoki pouted. “I don’t need followers.”

“Yea yea, just follow him.” The camera person chimed in. Their voice sounded familiar but you couldn’t recognize it. Just as the video was about to end, a photo appeared on the screen.

It was of one of those sponsorships Naoki had.

He looked to be advertising sportswear. He was dressed in a white compression shirt that made his waist look small. Black shorts that were ridden up due to him sitting down. He had a wide grin, his hair messy and wild, with a little dirt on his face.

There was a small little caption on the photo.

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨’𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦! 𝐍𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐.

He was number 12? And a pitcher? You couldn’t remember much about baseball. In all honesty, you never paid attention to him playing. It was one of the things you thought was boring.

But maybe you should make more of an effort now.

Besides…

You glanced down as the video began to replay. Your gaze narrowing at Yuto.

You had a new in to find Arakawa Naoki.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

@Naose1224

It’s Teddy’s birthday~ he hates the ocean but wanted sushi as his birthday meal. He’s officially….. 100 years old! ٩(˃̶͈̀௰˂̶͈́)و

His picture showed the teddy bear. And you wondered how you didn’t notice that it was the teddy bear you bought. It was still cute. The fur was still as dark brown as it was when you first saw it.

There was a total of ten photos.

The first was of the teddy bear, a birthday cone resting on its head, almost slipping off. One of the bear’s eye was gone but was sown shut—as if it was brand new. The teddy bear was a bit big in size compared to most. It was resting on a bench in what looked to be a park.

Next it was of Naoki and the teddy bear for a selfie. Naoki’s hair was messy and untamed, looking as if he just woke up. The teddy bear laying on his chest as he gave a peace sign.

Three other photos was just of the sushi Naoki must’ve bought.

You froze at one specific photo. It was Nakamura, the real Nakamura. Nakamura Takumi. The guy who seemed to hate you since middle school. Your classmates had always said he and Naoki could be brothers. And in the photo you almost agreed.

But Naoki was always prettier.

The two of them were what looks to be a karaoke bar, the teddy bear resting on Nakamura’s lap as he pulled at its round ears. Naoki had a wide grin on his face, face flushed. There were multiple bottles on the table.

The last ones were of Yuto and Naoki. Nakamura would occasionally pop his head in. You were about to scroll past when you reached the last photo.

There was a stranger touching Naoki.

The stranger had his arm wrapped around Naoki’s waist, practically pulling him into his lap as he kissed Naoki’s cheek.

You almost passed out at the sight.

You quickly checked the comments.

@baseballlover2002

Nao Nao… why did you post the picture where i have crossed eyes?! Oh god

@Naose1224

It’s fine Taku, Yuto thought it was cute

@Yuto_Kirishima

Soooo cute, Nao Nao~ (^з^)-☆ I wanna eat you up

@baseballlover2002

Why are you calling him that…

@Yuto_Kirishima

Don’t tell me you’re jealous~ it’s a cute nickname

Why is that your username?

@baseballlover2002

I made it when I was like 12, leave me alone

@baseballlover2002

Anyway, Nao, are you gonna text him?

@Naose1224

Him? Probably not, he made fun of Teddy..

@baseballlover2002

Fuck the fucking teddy bear, pls, I’m tired of it!!!

You couldn’t help but smirk. Of course Naoki loved your gift so much. You had spent over three hours in that store back then, almost turning insane as you tried to figure out which teddy bear was the best.

@39730284

I hope I can see you more often, you’re quite fun~

@Naose1224

No promises ⁄(⁄ ⁄ ⁄ω⁄ ⁄ ⁄)⁄ you’re so handsy

@39730284

Only with you, @baseballlover2002 make sure to take him to the after party after the game next weekend

@baseballlover2002

Aye, captain!!

“What the fuck—”

“Momoi-Kun? How’d you get here?”

You flinched, glancing over to see Yuto. He was dressed more laidback compared to the pictures he posted on IG. You quickly stood up—cursing to yourself.

You were currently at the aforementioned party. It wasn’t hard at all to see what restaurant the baseball team were meeting at. So you had come with really no plan in mind on what you’d do when you finally saw Naoki.

There was just something in you that needed to see him.

Yuto hummed, raising an eyebrow. He took in your hat and mask, with your jacket and pants. “Are you friends with anyone on the team? Well, scratch that, you don’t have any.” He laughed slightly. “Why are you here?”

You glared at him. “I didn’t know you were my manager.”

“I’m not but I know her well,” he said, allowing you to fill in the blanks.

You wanted to punt him in the face. “I’m here to see someone.”

“Who?”

“…Arakawa Naoki.”

“Nao Nao?” Yuto asked, speaking about your Naoki as if he knew him for such a long time. “Well, he’s not here. He’s at home—feeling under the weather.”

You perked up at that. “Is he okay? Does he need anything?”

“I dunno. You ask him,” Yuto laughed, shaking his head. “Just go visit him. I texted him earlier, Tak—Nakamura, his friend, dropped off some food.”

“Ok.” You immediately went to leave when you remembered you didn’t know his address. “Uhm, you wouldn’t happen to know his address, right?”

Yuto narrowed his gaze. “You don’t know his address?”

“It’s.. been awhile.” You quickly muttered, “I haven’t been able to visit him since he… moved.”

“Ah. Ok.” Yuto muttered. You felt your body immediately relax just as your phone pinged. “There. That’s his address.”

You were lucky Yuto didn’t ask enough questions. Maybe he should’ve been more careful.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

“I don’t think you’re listening to me, is it so hard to literally listen to when I say I don’t care if you’re suddenly a family man. I don’t want you in my life.”

“You’d really say that when your sister is in the car?”

“Like you really care about how a kid feels. You’re not even wearing a seatbelt, you’re smoking in the car as well. Just drop me home, I’m done talking to you.”

“Listen here you little—”

“Why’d you stop in the middle of the road?! There’s a—!”

Naoki sighed, rubbing his hair as he stared blankly at his tv. It was small and aged—but somehow still working like a brand new one. He could remember that night clearly. How his birth father flew out of the window, the sickening crunch of bones.

He wondered if it was good she was sleeping during the ride. At least her death was instant. Because of course that man hadn’t properly secured her in her car seat.

He remembered being feeling his left foot practically crushed, but it was somehow still fine. Remembered managing to push open the heavy door. Collapsing onto the ground as people began to surround the crash. The truck driver somehow okay as he stumbled out of his car, only blood dripping down his face.

No.

What he really remembered was looking up and see your face.

Seeing your advertisement for something. He couldn’t remember. Maybe makeup or jewelry.

He just remembered your eyes staring down at him as he began to laugh. Someone finally feeling brave enough to check on him as others called an ambulance. The person began trying to soothe him as Naoki just laughed and laughed.

Blood dripping down his lips. He hadn’t even noticed the glass shards that were stuck on his arms and face. Everything was just so funny to him at that moment.

He hated you.

He fucking hated you.

Then he began sobbing. Sobbing over many things at that moment. Even delirious he knew he couldn’t play baseball ever again. But he also mourned you.

He had wished you were there, like before, when he had that silly concussion. He needed you.

And yet you were no where to be found.

Maybe it was good he didn’t know you lived in those fancy apartments not even two minutes away from the crash. That you were in a car that drove past the scene. That if you had looked up from your phone, looked right, you’d see your supposed “love” on the street.

“‘Long time no see’? We see each other in class all the time.”

“But you haven’t talked to me in a while. I thought you were avoiding me.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you. There is just no reason to talk to you anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Naoki sighed, instantly feeling pity for the blonde hair student. He placed his empty bowl on his coffee table and turned up the volume of the tv show he was watching. In a way, he felt that way about you a lot.

Maybe you believed you had no reason to think about him anymore.

Well, how could he even be sure that whole diary nonsense was true?

He groaned and shook his head. He was getting a headache thinking about you. When would you leave his thoughts?

Rapid knocks on his door caught his attention as he paused the show. Was Takumi back? Naoki sighed and sat up, using the couch as a leverage. He limped over to the door—pressing his palm against the wall.

It somehow got harder during the night. Maybe he was just tired.

He reached for the door knob, not bothering to check the peephole and opened the door. “Takumi? Did you forget something?”

His was expecting to come face to face with Takumi’s chest, the man being taller than him. But he was met with someone of similar height. He blinked once, twice, before leaning back just a bit to get a proper look of who was at his door.

However that was futile as the stranger immediately rushed into his apartment and engulfed him into a hug. Naoki gripped at the stranger’s waist as a confused grunt left his lips. His lips parted as he tried to form words.

Just who—

The stranger pulled away and despite the hat obscuring half of their face, Naoki got a clear look. He knew you. Not like he could ever forget you now that your face is plastered on advertisements all over Tokyo.

Naoki only stared at you for a moment before his face screwed up in a snarl, his hands sliding up to your shoulders as he shoved you away with a surprising amount of strength.

You flinched away, almost in shock at how he could easily manhandled you. Your cock twitched at the thought.

“Arakawa—”

“—Out.”

“Arakawa-San, let me explain.”

“Get out. How’d you even find my apartment—actually, don’t answer that.” He shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Arakawa-San, please. It was a misunderstanding.” You said, closing the door behind you. Naoki immediately flared up as if he was a dog, now anxious and fidgety. You frowned, having not anticipated he would’ve ever reacted to you like this. “I’m not dating Miki, that’s what you think right?”

Naoki glared at you, moving himself to rest against his wall.

“I’m not, really. Miki is dating my sister but people were beginning to get suspicious, including her family. Miki isn’t ready to come out as a lesbian yet so she asked me to play her fake boyfriend.”

“Okay.” Naoki muttered. You tried to get a better look at him but it was difficult with the only lights in the apartment being from the tv.

Naoki pressed his hand against your chest as soon as you got even an inch closer. “So, what? I was wrong about that. I still don’t want you here. So get out.”

You frowned. “Arakawa… I don’t get it, weren’t we getting close over text?”

“You call that getting close? When I was the one handling the entire conversation?”

“I’m just a dry texter…”

“Then we’re just not compatible then.”

“Not compatible? We haven’t even tried.” You couldn’t help the raise in your tone, your hand slamming against the wall, right near Naoki’s head.

Naoki flinched as he stared at you in shock, his eyes wide. “Are you serious? You leave me alone for two years and now you’re suddenly crawling back?”

“Arakawa-San… please, I was just busy, I’ve always thought about you. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve kept everything in reference to you… and you feel the same, you, you kept that teddy bear I gave you. It was me, I wrote that note for you.”

“I knew that.” Naoki said, not even looking at you. “I’m not an idiot.”

You pulled away slightly, feeling panicked that nothing you were saying was getting through to him. With no other options, you dropped to your knees, ignoring that pain that shot through your body. Your hands gripped Naoki’s right leg as you pressed your forehead against his knee.

“Please, Arakawa-San… I do love you. I do want you… I’m just… I’m just not talkative or any type of friendly person. But my feelings aren’t fake, please, believe me.” You rubbed your face against his pajamas pants, feeling tears prickle your eyes.

Naoki shifted his leg, possibly to get away but that only caused him to accidentally rub against your crotch. A gasp left your throat as you quickly clamped your lips shut.

The air was tense and silent. Naoki’s breath was the only that filled the room. You hadn’t even realized you had effectively stopped breathing.

Naoki suddenly let out a humorless laugh, his foot rubbing against your growing erection. You looked up at him shock. He had a slight smirk on his lips as he reached over and took off your hat, tossing it aside. Now free, his right hand found itself gripping onto your hair.

“Go ahead. It’s probably the only human touch you’ve ever gotten, yeah?”

You didn’t even get to say anything as he rubbed his leg. The fact you were wearing sweatpants didn’t help—barely acting like a barricade to his touch. Your hands tightened its grip on his leg, nails piercing through the thin fabric of his pajamas.

Naoki was silent, even no longer moving his foot as you began to rut against his leg. You bit your bottom lip to hold back any sounds. Your left hand reaching down as you attempted to jerk yourself off. But Naoki’s hand suddenly tightened on your hair, pulling your head back.

“I don’t want to see you masturbate.” He said bluntly. “Get off from my touch—you can touch yourself in your bed.” He loosened his grip and was silent once more. You spared a glance up at him but he was looking to his right, over at the small living room.

You didn’t like that. You reached over and began to roll up Naoki’s pajama pants, showing off his bare thighs. Unlucky for you, it didn’t seem like he was the type to go commando. Naoki flinched at the sudden cool air as he glanced down at you.

Feeling bolder at now having his attention, you pressed a kiss on his inner thigh. You continued to hump his leg, it hardly doing anything to alleviate the pain growing in your cock, now leaking in your boxers.

At the mere thought of ruining Naoki’s ability to wear shorts for a few days, you sunk your teeth into his skin. Naoki gasped, his grip tightening on your hair but he didn’t pull.

“I didn’t say I wanted your filthy mouth on me,” Naoki muttered, “but you never listen do you? You don’t pay attention to anything that I want. To think that I…” he stopped himself, simply sighing.

You stared up at him but made no effort to say anything. You could only focus on marking the blank canvas in front of you. Humping his leg was afterthought at this point. The edge of not cumming was almost a pleasure in of itself.

“Arakawa…” you whispered against his thigh, kissing upward to his inner thigh, sucking the skin.

Naoki’s body flinched as he grazed his foot against your erection, “suddenly, ngh, acting selfless? Just fucking get off and leave. Don’t act like you care.”

You shudder, unable to feel any sort of pain from his words. No, you were only emboldened by his cruelty. And fuck did that say a lot about how you were wired deep inside.

“I only live for you,” you whispered against his skin, a giddy laugh leaving you. It felt so good to say it to him. To finally feel his skin on yours. You were almost worried that this was all a dream. “Fuck me… or I can fuck you? Both’s fine.” The words left you with ease.

Naoki scoffed, “that’s enough. Cum already, I’m bored.” He harshly pressed the ball of his feet against your cock and began to rub. It was painful as you gripped at his thighs, nails digging into his soft flesh. Little droplets of blood began to drip down his thigh.

The red liquid immediately catching your attention as you leaned in and licked it up greedily. Despite the pain, you felt your cock reach its peak as you cummed in your boxers. A groan left your lips.

“Took you long enough.” Naoki muttered, pulling away. He reached down and grabbed your hands, pushing them off his leg. You stared up at him in shock, the clarity taking a moment to settle in.

“Arakawa—”

“—Go. Get out.”

You shakily stood up as you tried to think. But Naoki was giving you no time. He roughly placed your hat back on your head and opened the front door. Before you knew it, he managed to shove you out. You crashed into the railing, grasping the bar as you almost tumbled over.

Naoki flinched, his face shocked as if he didn’t consider his own strength. “You’re so… you need to hit the gym more.” He whispered, moving to walk away. You wondered why he left the door open until he came back holding Teddy.

Your eyes widen as a plea was on the top of your tongue. But he beat you to it, tossing Teddy to your feet. Teddy stared up at you with his one eye, as if he was asking you,

“Why is he throwing me away? After four years?”

“Arakawa—!”

“Stop. You’re driving me insane. I was so cruel to you just now. Have some self respect, we should forget about each other. It’s for the best.”

You stared down at Teddy before shaking your head at Naoki. “I didn’t care. I didn’t stop you. I want you, Arakawa Naoki. The good and the ugly. I’ll make it known that I’ll accept part of you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have pushed me away. I’m done chasing you, Momoi (Name).” Just as he moved to close the door, you got a push of energy to stop it, right before it was fully closed.

“Momoi—”

“—then I’ll chase after you. I’ll make up for all the times you felt unwanted. Because I love you, Arakawa Naoki.”

Naoki didn’t say anything. He simply stared at you as if he didn’t believe a word you had just said.

He slammed the door shut, leaving both you and Teddy in the hallway. The sounds of car horns echoed across the street.

It felt like you were right back at square one.

Sorry~ no happiness here yet, part three? lol

tag list: @chill-guy-but-cooler @the-ultimate-librarian @mello-life25 @kiiyoooo @ofclyde @smellwell @tomoeroi @castocipher @iwishtobeacrow @tehyunnie @remdayz @rhetorical-conscience @love-kha1 @star-3214 @mooncarvers-world @cherry-blossoms-187 @secretivemessenger @yuzuukix @bensontrechic @anchoredphoenix @ning1e @m00n-b4b3 @wshyouwerehere @syyyy4ever @yj-ae @chaevvonders @gojosdumpydump @jihyoluvzz @luvsuvina



[lowrisemiller]

in honor of hitting 1k followers ── ⟢

i genuinely cannot think of any words to express how happy and grateful i am for all of you

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　 ⁺ 　 ✦🦢✦ ⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

joel miller , rick grimes , natalie scatorccio , arthur morgan , frank castle , ellie williams , bucky barnes , 𖬺 rosita espinosa

reacting to you wearing their clothes

────────────── ⟢

reader does have female anatomy making out, unprotected piv sex, semi-public sex, oral f!receiving, fingering, sesbian lex, riding, creampies, breeding kink if u squint, straaaaap, little bit of top!reader

total word count : 10k

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

The house is quiet, but the silence isn’t soft—it’s tense. Heavy. Like it’s waiting to snap.

Joel’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight like he's holding back the urge to punch a wall. Or come after you.

You stormed off twenty minutes ago, heart pounding, cheeks hot with anger and something else you didn’t want to name yet. The fight hadn’t even been about anything important—just one of those things that spiraled. Misunderstandings. Short tempers. A whole week of tension packed into a single explosion.

But now? Now your chest aches in that ugly, hollow way that only happens when it’s him you’re fighting with.

You wander into the living room, arms crossed, unsure why you’re even walking toward him again. Maybe to say something—maybe to say nothing. But instead, you slip off the shirt you were wearing and pull one of his flannels off the back of the couch.

It still smells like him. You roll the sleeves up, button only the middle, and leave the rest open over bare skin. No bra. No panties. Just the soft cotton and that same, quiet defiance burning in your chest.

You step into the doorway of the bedroom, where he hasn’t moved.

“Joel.”

He looks up.

His jaw goes slack, just a second. Then it clenches.

His eyes drag down the length of you, slow, heated, and no attempt to hide it. His voice comes out low, almost dangerous.

“You wearin’ that ‘cause you want me to apologize... or 'cause you want me to lose my goddamn mind?”

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t stand, doesn’t blink—just stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he wants to kiss you or throw you over his shoulder and teach you a lesson.

You raise a brow. “What? You said I could wear whatever I want.”

“That was before you came in here lookin’ like that,” he mutters, voice rough.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “It’s just a shirt. Your shirt. Didn’t realize I needed permission.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re pushin’ it.”

You cross your arms under your chest, knowing exactly what that does to the fabric. “So what if I am?”

He stands now. Slow. Measured. Every movement is deliberate, like a predator making sure you know you're cornered. “You pick a fight with me, storm off, then come back wearin’ nothin’ but that damn flannel—and you want me to believe it’s not on purpose?”

You take a step back, just to provoke him. “Maybe I was cold. You ever think of that?”

Joel huffs a humorless laugh, dragging a hand over his mouth. “That right?”

“Yep.” You pop the P, lifting your chin. “Real cold. Thought your clothes might help. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He’s in front of you before you can blink—close enough to feel the heat of him, the tension vibrating off his skin. One of his hands comes up, grazes your bare thigh under the hem of the shirt. Barely a touch. Just enough to make you shiver.

“Then tell me this, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice a slow burn against your ear. “If you’re so cold… why’s your skin runnin’ so hot under my hands?”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t back down. Not yet.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Miller. Maybe I’m just mad.”

He smiles, dangerous and slow. “Mad, huh? Then why’re you still standin’ here lettin’ me touch you?”

You flash a sharp smile right back. “Who says I’m lettin’ you?”

Joel laughs under his breath, something deep and dark. “You think this is a game?”

You lean up on your toes, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “No, Joel. I know it is. Question is… you gonna play, or keep sulking over a fight you started?”

That does it.

The next thing you know, he’s got you pressed against the wall, hands sliding up under the shirt, mouth crashing down onto yours—teeth, tongue, heat, and all that pent-up frustration bursting like a dam.

His mouth crashes into yours, but there’s nothing soft about it. It’s teeth and heat and tongue—his hands already under the shirt, rough palms sliding up your sides like he owns you.

And maybe right now, he does.

Your back thuds gently against the wall as Joel crowds in closer, pressing his hips flush to yours so you can feel just how hard he is through his jeans. That low, gravel-thick growl rumbles in his chest as he breathes against your lips.

“Y’know exactly what you’re doin’, don’t you?”

You smirk, fingers threading into the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging just hard enough to make him hiss. “Maybe I wanted you to stop sulking and do something about it.”

“Is that what you call this?” he mutters, dragging his mouth down your jaw, over your neck. His stubble scrapes against your skin—raw and deliberate—while his hands explore every bare inch under the flannel. “You come struttin’ in here, wearin’ my shirt, drippin’ attitude…”

He licks a slow stripe up your throat, then sinks his teeth into that sweet spot just under your ear, hard enough to leave a mark.

“You knew what this would do to me.”

You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. “I hoped.”

Joel chuckles darkly. One hand fists the hem of the shirt and yanks it up—exposing the full curve of your thighs, your hips, the soft heat between your legs.

“No panties,” he mutters, shaking his head like he’s disappointed, but the way his eyes darken says otherwise. “Jesus, girl.”

“I told you,” you whisper against his lips. “I was cold.”

Joel drops to his knees in front of you like he was meant to be there. Large hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, tugging you forward until your back scrapes against the wall and your leg is slung over his shoulder. His breath is hot against the inside of your thigh, and you swear he’s smirking.

“Then let me warm you up.”

His mouth finds you without hesitation—tongue flat and slow against your center, tasting every drop of slick already there. You cry out, one hand flying to his hair, gripping tight as he eats you like he’s starving.

He groans into you when you roll your hips against his face, and it sends vibrations straight through your core. He licks you open, tongue circling your clit, then sucking it into his mouth until your knees nearly give out.

“Fuck, Joel—” your voice breaks, breathless, needy.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

One thick finger slides into you, then another, curling just right. His beard is wet with you, his eyes locked on your face like he wants to memorize every twitch, every gasp.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your heat. “All that mouth earlier… and now you’re fallin’ apart on my tongue.”

You moan, thighs trembling, grinding down against his face shamelessly. You’re close—so close—and he knows it. He speeds up, sucking your clit hard while he fucks you with his fingers, stroking that sweet spot deep inside until—

“Joel—oh my god—fuck—I’m coming—”

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave. White-hot and blinding. Your hips jerk, thighs clench around his head, and he doesn’t let up—not until you’re shaking and moaning and pulling at his hair to make him stop.

Only then does he rise—slow, towering over you again with his mouth still glistening and that smug look you love to hate.

“You done givin’ me attitude now?” he growls, undoing his belt one-handed.

You pant, still recovering, but your voice is steady. “Depends. You done makin’ up for earlier?”

Joel’s eyes flash, and the sound of his zipper coming down sends another pulse through your core.

“Not even close.”

ʀɪᴄᴋ ɢʀɪᴍᴇꜱ

The mirror’s still fogged when you pad barefoot into Rick’s bedroom, towel twisted in your damp hair, steam curling off your skin. The air smells like soap, his soap—cedar and grit and something old-fashioned. Masculine. Familiar.

His boxers hang low on your hips, the waistband loose from wear, the fabric clinging damp to your thighs. You didn’t grab a shirt. Didn’t need to.

You stretch, arms overhead as you rummage through a drawer. You feel his eyes on you before you even hear him.

Rick’s in the doorway. Leaning against the frame, arms crossed, chest rising and falling slow.

His voice is rough, sleep-graveled. “The hell are you wearin’?”

You glance over your shoulder. “What’s it look like?”

He doesn’t move. Just look. Eyes dragging over the curve of your back, down to the slant of his boxers on your bare ass, the way the steam still clings to your skin like dew.

“Looks like you’re tryin’ to make a problem for me.”

You smile. Turn around, slowly, letting him see everything, the damp skin between your thighs, the way the fabric of his boxers rides up, and when you shift your weight.

“Not my fault you leave your clothes lying around.”

Rick’s jaw ticks. He pushes off the doorframe like he’s fighting the urge to touch you. But you see it in the way his hands flex, how his eyes darken and drop to your legs again.

“You ain’t got nothin’ else under that, do you?”

You shrug, all fake-innocence. “Why don’t you come find out?”

Rick’s eyes are fixed on the waistband of his boxers hugging your hips. His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek, slow, as he steps farther into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“You think just ‘cause we’re behind walls now, I forgot how you act when you’re teasin’?”

You give him a sly grin. “Didn’t forget. Just thought you might be too tired to do anything about it.”

Rick chuckles, low in his throat. “Too tired, huh?”

You lift yourself onto the edge of the dresser, legs parting just enough for his eyes to drop—hungry, heavy.

“It’s been a while,” you say, soft but pointed. “With everything goin’ on. Fights, runs, sleeping with one eye open…”

You toy with the hem of the boxers, just to watch his jaw clench.

“Figured now that we’ve got real beds and warm water, we might finally have the time to enjoy ourselves.”

Rick steps between your legs, hands settling on your bare thighs. His thumbs stroke gently, but there’s tension under it. Like he’s holding back too much.

“You really sat there in that hot shower thinkin’ about how long it’s been since I fucked you?”

You grin, biting your bottom lip. “Maybe. You think I’m wearin’ these just ‘cause I ran outta clean clothes?”

He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, beard scraping warm against your skin.

“Nah. You’re wearin’ these ‘cause you wanted me to see you in ‘em. You wanted me to remember how long it’s been. How bad I’ve been missin’ you.”

Your breath stutters, but you keep your voice steady. “Then do something about it, sheriff.”

That earns a crooked little smirk. “You still callin’ me that?”

“I’ll call you anything you want,” you whisper, one hand sliding under his shirt, nails grazing the scarred skin of his side, “as long as you fuck me like you used to.”

Rick growls, hands gripping your thighs tighter now. He presses you back against the mirror, one hand slipping beneath the waistband of the boxers, knuckles brushing slick heat.

“Darlin’, the way I used to fuck you? That was survival.”

He kisses your neck—hot, biting.

“But now we got time. Now I can take my time.”

The hand he has cupped between your legs doesn’t move—not yet. He just keeps it there, pressed warm against you, while his mouth drags across your throat, tongue smoothing over the mark he bit earlier.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, voice husky against your skin. “Missed you."

You thread your fingers through his damp curls, tugging gently. “Then stop waiting.”

That’s all it takes.

His other hand slides up your back, tugging the towel from your hair and letting it fall. Wet strands stick to your shoulders, your collarbone, and Rick groans—because now it’s just you. Bare skin. Bare legs. In his boxers. Sitting on his dresser, looking at him like you’ve always belonged here.

He leans down and kisses you deep. No hurry, just his mouth moving slow over yours, tasting every gasp you give him. His tongue slides against yours, his hand pressing firmer between your legs now—rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric until your hips start to shift forward, seeking more.

“Been so damn long,” he rasps. “Need to feel you. Need you to fall apart for me, just like you used to.”

You moan into his mouth, breath shaky. “I’m already halfway there.”

Rick drops to his knees. Doesn’t speak. Just hooks his fingers under the waistband of the boxers and slides them down your legs, kissing the inside of your thigh like it’s sacred. Your hands brace behind you on the dresser as he pulls one of your legs over his shoulder.

Then he buries his mouth in you.

It’s slow. Gentle. Loving. Tongue flicking over your clit, lips soft and sure, hands holding your thighs like he’s anchoring himself there. And you feel it—that desperation barely held in check, the tenderness underneath. This is him worshiping you.

“Taste like heaven,” he groans, mouth wet and filthy between your legs. “Fuck, baby. Missed this pussy so much.”

Your head drops back with a moan. He takes his time. Licks you through every roll of your hips. Keeps his eyes on your face while he makes you shake with nothing but his tongue and the reverent heat of his mouth.

You come fast—overwhelmed from the buildup, the softness, the way he groans when you tug his hair and grind down onto his face.

But he doesn’t stop.

Rick stands again, breathing hard, mouth glistening. He kisses you through your panting, hand cradling your cheek.

“One wasn’t enough. Not tonight.”

He lifts you off the dresser, your legs wrapping around him instinctively. Carries you to the bed like you weigh nothing, like he’s not trembling with how much he wants to be inside you.

Lays you out gently.

Climbs over you slowly.

“Gonna go slow. Want you to feel all of it.”

He strips himself bare—shirt, jeans, boxers—until it’s just skin on skin, chest to chest. When he finally pushes inside you, it’s deep—long and careful, his forehead pressed to yours, your moans caught between shared breath.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “That’s my girl. You take me so good.”

He thrusts slowly. Deep. Not a rush. Not a fuck. He makes love to you like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. One hand holding yours. The other stroking your side. His mouth brushing over your jaw, your neck, your chest.

“Been wantin’ this for so long,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how warm you feel around me… how you look when you come…”

You’re clinging to him now, nails digging into his back, legs tight around his hips. Every push and pull of him drags another moan from your throat. He whispers sweet nothings against your skin—how perfect you are, how much he missed this, how nothing ever felt like this.

When you come again, it’s slow and wet and messy. You shudder under him, gasping his name, and he groans, still fucking you gently through it.

“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he pants. “Gonna give you every fuckin’ drop.”

You cling to him, eyes wet, heart full.

“I want it. I want you. Always.”

Rick kisses you deep as he finally lets go—buries himself as deep as he can and groans your name against your neck as he pulses inside you, warmth flooding through your core.

He stays there. Stays in you.

Breathing hard, hand stroking your cheek, his lips never far from yours.

“We’ve got time now,” he whispers. “No more wastin’ it.”

ɴᴀᴛᴀʟɪᴇ ꜱᴄᴀᴛᴏʀᴄᴄɪᴏ

You’re already outside when she spots you—leaning against the chain-link fence behind the gym, one foot braced, eyes closed, smoke curling up from your mouth. Except… you’re not in your jacket. You’re in hers.

Natalie freezes mid-step.

Her leather jacket is swallowing you. Shoulders too wide. Sleeves pushed up to your elbows. And underneath? Just a tank top and that smug little look on your face like you knew she’d see you.

She’s holding her cigarette halfway to her mouth but doesn’t move.

“Seriously?” she calls, voice dry. “You tryna rob me and commit a felony with that face?”

You smirk, eyes sliding open. “It was cold.”

“Bullshit. It’s like seventy degrees.”

You shrug, slow and smug. “Smells like you. Kinda like it.”

Natalie walks toward you—lazy, hands in her pockets, like she’s not one second away from pinning you to that fence.

“You tryna get me in trouble, or you just tryna make me stupid?”

You flick ash to the side and toss her a look. “Little bit of both.”

She’s in front of you now, one hand braced beside your head, the other stealing the cigarette from your fingers. Take a drag without breaking eye contact.

“You like wearing my jacket, baby?”

“Yeah. You gonna do something about it?”

“Depends.” Her voice drops. “You wearin’ anything under it?”

You grin, letting your fingers tug the front zipper down a little—just enough to reveal bare skin and the hint of a bra strap slipping off your shoulder.

“Wanna check?”

Natalie curses under her breath. Stubbs the cigarette out against the fence without looking. Her hand curls into the collar of the jacket, tugging you forward until your lips barely brush.

“You don’t get to fuckin’ walk around like this and act innocent.”

Your mouth brushes hers, breath warm. “Who said I was innocent?”

You’re both caught in this tense stare down, Natalie’s breath just a little ragged from holding back, your jacket sliding off your shoulder just enough to tempt.

“You know,” she murmurs, fingers trailing from your neck down to the zipper, “if anyone saw us right now, they’d think you were getting arrested.”

You grin, biting your lip. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“No,” she says, eyes flashing dark, “it’s supposed to get you wet.”

Her hand slips inside the jacket now, fingers brushing over bare skin, teasing.

You press closer, your breath hitching.

“You’re real dangerous,” you whisper. “Ever think about what’d happen if someone caught us?”

Natalie leans in, lips grazing your ear. “I like danger.”

“Me too.”

Before you can say another word, her mouth is on yours—slow, deliberate. Her hand tightens on your waist, pulling you flush to her body. The cool metal of the fence presses into your back, but the heat from her skin is all-consuming.

Her hands roam, one slipping beneath your tank top, the other keeping you pinned just so, teasing but never quite gentle.

“You’re so damn reckless,” she growls, voice thick. “But God, I love it.”

You break the kiss for a breath, smirking.

“Then let’s make sure nobody forgets who owns this jacket.”

And just like that, she presses you fully against the fence, lips crashing back to yours as hands start exploring, the world shrinking until it’s just you two—reckless, wild, and burning up right there.

You’re pinned against the cold metal fence, her body flush against yours, fingers digging into your hips through the oversized leather jacket. Her mouth crashes against yours again, fierce and demanding, tongue sliding in like she’s claiming you with every breath.

Her hands don’t waste time, one slips beneath the hem of your tank top, palm burning over your bare skin, fingertips tracing your ribs, dipping lower, while the other fingers the waistband of your jeans. You shiver when she catches the edge of your panties, tugging them aside just enough to press the pad of her thumb over your wetness through the thin fabric.

You gasp, breath hitching, but her lips silence you — hot, rough, sucking marks along your jaw, down your neck.

“You’re soaked,” she growls, voice low and ragged. “Did you think I wouldn’t feel that?”

Your hands clutch at her jacket, pulling it tighter around you as she presses closer, the heat of her body nearly unbearable in the chilly night air.

“Shhh,” she murmurs, slipping one hand between your thighs now, thumb rubbing slow, torturous circles over your clit. “Not here to make noise.”

Her other hand hooks into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging hard enough to pull them down a little. You lift your hips, giving her access, heart pounding from the thrill of being so exposed, so vulnerable.

Her mouth finds your collarbone, teeth nipping gently, hands slick and eager, never still. You arch into her touch, grinding lightly against her thumb, desperate for more.

The risk only sharpens the sensation — every sound, every breath, every slick press of skin is amplified in the quiet night. The faint rustle of a car passing down the street makes you both freeze for a moment, eyes locking with a shared smirk.

“Can’t stop now,” you whisper.

She growls, fingers sliding inside you, slow and deep, curling expertly as she sinks two fingers in with ease. Your back arches harder against the fence, nails scraping down her arms as your breaths come faster.

Her mouth moves lower, kissing down your neck, trailing teeth along your shoulder, and you’re dizzy — caught between the chill air and the fire blazing through your veins.

“Cum for me,” she commands softly, voice a rough caress. “Here. Now.”

You do. Shuddering, trembling, utterly undone as she rides your release, steady fingers coaxing you through every pulse, every wave. Her lips brush yours one last time, soft and hungry.

You both slide down slightly against the fence, breathing heavy, sweat mingling in the cool air.

“That’s mine,” she says, voice husky. “Mine.”

You grin, fingers tangling in her hair.

“Always.”

ᴀʀᴛʜᴜʀ ᴍᴏʀɢᴀɴ

The light in Arthur’s tent is golden, that low evening haze that paints everything warm and makes the air feel thick. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, wrists flexing as he wipes down the barrel of his revolver, boots planted wide, shirt clinging just a little at the chest. His jaw ticks every so often, sharp and focused.

He doesn’t look up right away — focused, meticulous, the way he always is when his hands are busy. But the second your boots scuff soft against the tent floor and he hears that little jingle of the holster strap, he glances up.

And freezes.

“The hell’re you wearin’?”

You tip his hat lower over your eyes and flash him a slow, shameless grin.

“Like it?”

He doesn’t answer. Just drags his eyes over you. The way the holster hangs off your hips, a little crooked; the familiar brim of his hat perched way too pretty on your head. His jaw flexes once.

You step closer, one foot between his boots, hands on your hips.

“Thought I’d play outlaw today. Steal from a real bad man.”

Arthur grunts — one sharp, low sound in his throat. He sets the revolver down slow. His hands are still a little dirty from the cleaning oil, but he doesn’t care. His fingers curl over the edge of the cot.

“You playin’ with fire, girl.”

You lean down, close enough he can smell your soap and sweat and something sweet under your breath.

“Thought you liked danger.”

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes dark, chest rising. Then finally, his hand slides up your thigh, rough palm against soft skin.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “I do.”

His voice is rough, low, and laced with threat — the good kind. The kind that makes your thighs press together. Arthur takes a step forward, and you instinctively take one back, bumping into the cot behind you. His hands are already on your hips, fingers brushing the leather of his holster wrapped around you. The air in the tent feels thick now — like you’re somewhere between a dare and a confession.

“You enjoy messin’ with me like this?” he mutters, nosing at your jaw as his hand slides behind you, grabbing a handful of your ass through your skirt.

You tilt your head, breath catching. “Maybe.”

“Girl, I been good. I been real good. But you keep walkin’ ‘round here in my hat, in my goddamn holster, makin’ them little sounds when you sit next to me…”

He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Now you’re gonna sit right here,” he growls, giving your hip a sharp tug. “And take responsibility.”

And then he pulls you down into his lap.

You straddle him slow, letting your thighs spread over his strong, denim-covered ones, the wide seat of the cot creaking beneath you. He looks up at you now, sitting there all smug in his hat, eyes half-lidded, legs already trembling from the heat. His hands hold your hips still while his mouth finally, finally meets yours.

The kiss is hot, deeper than expected — no teasing, no games. He groans low in his throat as his tongue slides into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, like he’s been starving for days. And maybe he has — the way he’s gripping you now, rough like you’ll disappear.

Your hips roll without thinking, grinding over the shape of his cock, already thick beneath his pants. He breathes hard against your lips, forehead pressed to yours, eyes squeezed shut.

“Christ, woman. You’re gonna kill me.”

You smile sweetly, rocking again. “Guess I better make it worth your while.”

Arthur’s hand slides between your bodies, shoving your skirt up your thighs until it’s bunched around your waist. He runs his knuckles up the inside of your leg, pausing when he finds your panties.

“Soakin’,” he mutters. “Already?”

You whisper, “Wanted you all day.”

He growls, then slips two fingers under the damp fabric, pressing them through your folds slowly and dragging along your clit, down to your entrance, back up again.

“Ain’t gonna last long if you keep grindin’ on me like that,” he mutters. “Hell, you keep lookin’ at me like that, I might fuckin’ beg.”

And then you feel him — hot and hard, straining against his pants, and your mouth goes dry.

“C’mon, cowboy,” you whisper, hand dipping to undo his belt, “let’s see how much trouble I’m really in.”

He groans when your fingers wrap around him, thick and leaking already. You push your panties to the side, brace yourself on his chest, and line him up.

“You sure?” he rasps, eyes locked on yours, voice cracking from restraint. “Here? Now?”

You smirk, hat tilted just right.

“Better hold on, Mr. Morgan.”

And then you sink down onto him — slow, thick stretch, your breath shattering as he fills you inch by inch. He curses loud, one hand grabbing your waist, the other behind your neck to keep your lips close.

You stay still for a beat, both of you trembling. Then you start to ride.

Not frantic — not yet. Just deep, slow rolls of your hips, your ass bouncing lightly against his thighs as you rock back and forth, taking him to the hilt every time. His hands slide down to your thighs, spreading you wider, guiding your rhythm.

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’... you feel like heaven.”

You tug the hat lower over your eyes again, lips parted, and Arthur loses his goddamn mind.

“Gonna wear that hat while you cum on my cock?” he grits out. “Gonna keep ridin’ me till you can’t speak straight?”

You nod, too far gone to answer, chasing your high while the cot creaks beneath you both. His mouth latches to your neck, biting, sucking, like he needs you marked. Owned.

The rhythm gets rougher, wetter, needier.

“That’s it,” he groans. “Cum for me. Let me feel it — lemme feel all of you, sweetheart.”

You do — crashing down with a cry muffled into his shoulder, body clenching tight around him as he lifts his hips to meet you, chasing his own release. He follows a second later, gasping, holding you down while he spills deep inside.

You both go still — breathing hard, sweat-slicked, skin stuck together in the muggy camp air. The hat’s crooked on your head now. Arthur kisses your collarbone, lazy and soft, and mutters against your skin:

“You keep stealin’ my things, I’m gonna have to make you mine permanent.”

ꜰʀᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀꜱᴛʟᴇ

It’s late at the safe house. Quiet except for the soft hum of a distant fan and the muted city noises outside the cracked window. You’re sitting on the edge of the worn couch, the only light coming from a flickering lamp in the corner, casting shadows across the room.

You’re wearing his dog tags, heavy on a thin chain that rests just above your collarbone, brushing lightly against your bare skin beneath a loose, slightly oversized shirt you borrowed from him earlier.

The weight of those tags isn’t just metal — it carries memories, pain, and everything Frank holds close. You feel it, too, and that’s why you slipped them on.

Frank steps in from the hallway, boots scraping softly on the floor. He freezes when he sees you. The dog tags, catching the dim light, swinging gently as you shift. His eyes lock on the necklace like it’s a live wire. For a heartbeat, there’s silence heavy enough to crush.

Then he moves, slow and deliberate, and kneels in front of you. His voice is low, almost a growl:

“You know what those mean to me.”

You nod, voice barely a whisper:

“I want to carry a piece of you, Frank. Keep you close.”

His fingers reach out, rough and steady, brushing against the chain. He doesn’t pull it off. Instead, he cups your jaw, thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing you.

“It’s not just a piece of metal,” he says, voice cracking with something almost like pain. “It’s all the things I’m tryin’ to leave behind... but I never can.”

Your eyes meet his, and the air feels electric — dangerous and tender all at once.

“Then let me help carry it,” you say, voice firm. “Let me help carry you.”

His hand slides down to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer until your hearts are almost pounding in sync.

“Goddamn, you’re mine,” he growls, voice thick with something raw.

You lean in, lips barely brushing his.

“Always.”

Frank’s hand lingers on your waist, thumb pressing small circles just under your ribs, steadying you against the storm inside him. His eyes never leave yours, dark and heavy, like he’s weighing every word, every inch of skin he can see.

You can feel his breath hitch as you slowly reach up, fingers grazing the chain of the dog tags. Your touch is gentle but confident, tracing the cold metal while your other hand slides up, fingers tangling in the coarse stubble on his jaw.

He swallows hard, jaw tightening, then tilts his head to give you better access. You press a slow, searching kiss to his rough cheek, tasting salt and something raw beneath it all. Years of pain, loss, and a desperate need to protect what he loves.

Frank’s hands find your hips again, gripping firmer now as his mouth drops to your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His scent —a mix of sweat, gunpowder, and something uniquely him wraps around you, making your pulse thunder.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes again, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable, hunger, maybe, but also caution. Frank’s been through hell; he’s not quick to let down his guard. But with you, the walls are crumbling.

Your hands trail down his chest, feeling the hardness beneath the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling into muscle. You brush your lips over his collarbone, slow and deliberate, your body pressing closer until there’s no space between you.

Frank groans low, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He slides one hand up your back, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you into a bruising kiss that’s fierce and desperate —like he’s making up for lost time.

His other hand slips beneath your shirt, warm skin against yours, fingers tracing your ribs before dipping lower, teasing the curve of your waist. You arch into him, breath coming faster, hands clutching his shirt as the tension coils tighter.

Frank’s lips trail from your mouth down your jaw to the hollow of your neck, teeth nibbling gently before he bites down, making you gasp. His hands move with purpose now rough and possessive as he pushes your shirt up, exposing more skin to his hungry touch.

Your fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, eager to feel his bare skin, to close the distance that’s been burning between you both.

He pulls back just slightly, eyes dark and blazing, voice a low rasp:

“You want this? Here? Now?”

You nod, breathless, lips parted.

“Need you, Frank.”

His grip tightens on your waist as he lifts you effortlessly, carrying you toward the couch, your legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. He settles you down with a growl, hands roaming freely now, unbuttoning your pants with sharp, urgent movements.

The world narrows to the heat between you — the scent, the touch, the sound of your ragged breaths mixing in the quiet room.

Frank’s mouth claims yours again, deeper, more demanding as he slides his hands beneath your clothes, exploring, marking, making you his in every way.

You arch into him, hips grinding down with a slow, agonizing tease, until he’s groaning, pressing harder, finally bridging the last inch between you.

The fire ignites fully — skin on skin, heat and burning bright.

Frank’s hands roam boldly over your bare skin, rough fingers tracing every curve like he’s memorizing you all over again. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hardness pressing insistently against your thigh. The tension coils tighter with every heartbeat, every shallow breath shared in the dim light.

His mouth leaves yours to trail scorching kisses down your neck, teeth grazing and nibbling, making your skin flush and your pulse race. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, wanting to feel more, to taste more.

Slowly, deliberately, Frank’s hands slide under your shirt, thumbs stroking your ribs, teasing the softness there before slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You shiver as his fingers brush over the bare skin of your hip, tracing downward to the curve of your ass, squeezing possessively.

You lean into his touch, hips grinding against his growing hardness, wanting—needing—to feel him, to let go.

With a low growl, Frank shifts, one hand supporting your back as the other slides between your bodies, fingers finding your wetness, slick and ready. He presses a finger inside, slow and teasing, dragging a soft gasp from your lips.

Your breath hitches as he circles inside you, fingers moving with expert precision, sending sparks through every nerve ending. You bury your face in his shoulder, needing to muffle the sounds you can’t hold back.

Frank’s lips brush over your collarbone, then down to your chest, teeth grazing your skin, sucking marks into your flesh as he works his fingers inside you. His other hand cups your breast, kneading it roughly, thumb teasing your hardened nipple.

The pressure builds fast, heat pooling deep in your belly. You arch your back, grinding down onto his fingers as a low moan escapes you.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” Frank mutters against your skin, voice thick and raw.

You grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, fingers grazing the scars and muscles of his chest. Your hands slide down, wrapping around his thick, hard cock, slick already from his own need.

You pump him slowly, teasing, watching as his jaw clenches and his eyes darken with hunger. He growls, shifting under you, one hand sliding under your hips to lift you higher.

With a sharp breath, you guide him inside, the slow, deep stretch making you gasp. He holds you steady, letting you set the pace at first—each slow roll of your hips driving him deeper.

Frank’s hands grip your hips tight, matching your movements, the wet sounds of your skin sliding together filling the room. His mouth finds yours again, kisses bruising and demanding, tongues tangling in a fierce dance.

The rhythm quickens, hips snapping together as your moans grow louder, mixing with Frank’s low, guttural groans. You can feel the build, the pressure rising fast—your body tightens around him, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Come for me,” Frank rasps, voice strained, hand tightening on your waist.

Your release crashes over you like wildfire, muscles clenching hard as you cry out into his mouth. Frank follows, groaning deep and low, spilling inside you as he holds you close, both of you trembling with the aftershocks.

You collapse against him, breath mingling, skin slick and warm. His lips brush your temple, soft now.

“Mine,” he whispers. “Always.”

ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ

You’re crashing at Ellie’s for the night. She’s showering. You’re bored. Her drawer’s open — and there’s that one pair. The black boyshort-style panties with the faded waistband, maybe a little worn-in, soft as hell. You grin, grab them, and slip into them under your oversized sleep shirt like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She comes out of the bathroom in just a towel, drying her hair with that chaotic scrunch-dry move. You’re pretending to read a book on her bed like you're innocent.

But she sees it. The slight rise of fabric through your shirt. The flash of that telltale waistband when you shift your legs.

Her eyes narrow.

“Are those... mine?”

You glance up, all fake-casual.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.”

“The fuck you mean ‘yeah’?”

She’s already crossing the room, towel barely hanging on, steam still clinging to her skin. Her voice is somewhere between scandalized and turned the hell on.

“You digging through my drawer now, babe? Didn’t take you for a perv.”

You shrug, smiling like you want her to be mad.

“You weren’t using them.”

“Oh, I’m usin’ them now.”

She tugs your shirt up like she’s checking the fit — fingers curling in the fabric at your hips, knuckles grazing bare skin. She’s grinning now, that lazy, smug little smile that only comes out when she knows she’s got the upper hand.

“These look better on you than I wanna admit.”

“I know.”

“Take ’em off.”

“Make me.”

Her hands are already sliding up your thighs, eyes hooded, voice dropping to a husky whisper.

“You’re seriously fuckin’ evil.”

“And you like it.”

The tension in the room sharpens the second she drops her towel.

Ellie’s standing there, bare skin glistening from the shower, her tattoo trailing down her arm like a warning label. She’s looking at you like she doesn’t know whether to yell or drop to her knees — and god, it’s hot.

“You got a goddamn death wish, baby?”

You shake your head, eyes wide and sweet.

“I just missed you.”

She stalks forward, knees hitting the mattress as she crawls over you, body pinning you to the bed. Her mouth is at your ear now, her voice ragged.

“You think you can steal my shit and sit here lookin’ this fuckin’ good and I’m just gonna let it slide?”

You’re already panting, arching up into her, and she hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

Ellie pushes your shirt up — slow, reverent — revealing the curve of your hips in the dark fabric, the shape of you pressed so tight beneath her underwear. Her breath catches, and suddenly she’s not teasing anymore.

She leans down and kisses you —soft at first, like she’s afraid to push too far but it deepens quickly, her fingers threading into your hair, the kiss turning messy and slow and needy. When she pulls back, she’s flushed and glassy-eyed.

“Don’t move.”

She slides off the bed, and you already know what’s coming. You watch her walk to her drawer, pull it open, and take out the harness — black, worn, familiar. She straps it on with slow, deliberate movements, eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re gonna take it so good,” she murmurs. “Wearing my name. My fuckin’ scent. You wanted this, huh?”

You nod, heart in your throat, thighs already trembling.

Ellie climbs back onto the bed, kneels between your legs, and leans over you. Her fingers slip under the waistband, teasing, but she doesn’t take them off yet. Instead, she pulls them aside, her eyes glued to the way you’re already soaked for her.

“God, look at you.”

She leans in, lips brushing your inner thigh, trailing kisses so soft they make you ache. Then finally she lines the strap up and pushes in slowly. Inch by inch. Letting you feel every single stretch.

You clutch her arms, whining her name, but she shushes you gently:

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay. You’re so fuckin’ perfect like this.”

She starts moving — slow and deep, hips rocking into you with a rhythm that drives you wild. Her hand finds your throat, her mouth kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips over and over again.

“Tell me whose they are,” she whispers, snapping her hips just right.

“Yours,” you gasp. “Ellie, I’m yours.”

“Damn right.”

And when you come, legs shaking, face buried in her shoulder, she doesn’t stop. She kisses your hair, your temple, murmuring soft praises like she’s praying.

“That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You're still trembling when Ellie pulls out — slow, like she wants you to feel the way you clench around nothing. She presses a kiss to your belly, and then your hipbone, grounding you while you come down, your breath catching in little hiccups.

“Jesus,” you whisper. “That was—”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, brushing your sweaty hair off your forehead, “I know.”

You expect her to lay beside you. Maybe unbuckle the strap. Maybe pull that ruined pair of panties the rest of the way off and toss them to the floor. But she doesn’t. Not yet.

She leans back on her heels between your legs, tattoo flexing along her arm as her fingers spread your thighs open again. You’re a mess — slick pooling, thighs sticky, pussy raw and red from the way she worked you. But Ellie’s eyes darken like she’s seeing you for the first time.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “Look at you.”

You whine softly, hips twitching, overstimulation making your breath stutter. But Ellie just grins low and lazy and leans forward.

Her mouth meets the inside of your thigh, tongue dragging upward in one slow, wet stripe. You suck in a breath, but she’s already licking again, tongue flicking at the edge of your folds, tasting everything she left behind.

“Ellie—” your voice breaks. “Too much…”

“Nah,” she murmurs against your skin.

And then she dives in.

Not gentle now. Not teasing. She devours you — tongue circling your clit, then plunging inside, moaning like she’s starved and you’re her last meal. She holds your hips down with both hands, fingers digging in hard, nose bumping your swollen clit as her mouth works you.

It’s too much. It’s not enough.

You're clawing at the sheets, at her hair, babbling broken pleas and curses as your body tightens again, heat coiling fast and brutal.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” she pants. “Could do this all night. Gonna make you cum again for me, pretty girl—”

And you do.

It hits like lightning white-hot, your back arching off the bed as you cry out, thighs locking around her head. She keeps going, tongue flattening and curling and sliding through everything, drinking it down like she’s desperate for every drop.

When she finally pulls back, her chin’s wet, her eyes heavy-lidded, hair a mess. She crawls up your body and kisses you deep — slow and filthy, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. You sigh into her mouth, dazed and blissed out and barely holding on.

She grins against your lips.

“Still wanna steal my panties?”

“Every damn pair,” you whisper. And Ellie just laughs — the kind of laugh that means you’re never getting out of that bed again.

ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

It starts in the training room. Just the two of you. No Steve, no Sam, no Natasha — just you and Bucky, circling each other on the mat, breath heavy, knuckles bruised, grinning like you’re both enjoying the hell out of this.

You’re a little too mouthy. He’s a little too cocky.

“You fight dirty,” he pants, brushing sweat off his brow.

“And you like it,” you shoot back.

He lunges, you dodge. You sweep his leg. He grabs your wrist, twists, pins you down with that infuriatingly hot weight and looks down at you like you’re his prey.

“Gonna tap out?” he smirks.

“Bite me.”

Eventually, you call it a draw. He hits the showers. You wander back to his room for a change of clothes (like you always do). But this time? You find the shirt. The one he wore during sparring. It's still damp. Still warm.

You slip it on.

His shirt is too warm.

Not in a bad way — in a him way. It smells like his cologne, and clean sweat. It sticks to your skin as you lean back on his bed, one knee bent up, stretching in a way you know makes the shirt ride high.

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s staring. You feel it — the weight of it, molten and low. You glance up, see him standing there, towel around his shoulders, shirtless, still damp from the shower. His chest is rising and falling fast.

 You glance at your reflection and smirk — and that’s when you hear the door.

“The hell are you doin’?” he asks.

You turn, hands on hips, full of mock innocence.

“Borrowing.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes drag over you — over his shirt plastered to your curves, the swell of your breasts, the peek of your bare thighs.

“That’s my favorite one,” he mutters.

“I figured.” You stretch, showing off the cling. “It’s comfortable.”

He’s already crossing the room, eyes dark.

“It’s not just comfortable, sweetheart. It’s dangerous.”

You lean back onto the edge of his bed, legs parting slightly — shirt riding up just enough to drive him wild.

“So take it back.”

He’s silent for a beat. Then—

“That’s not how that shirt’s supposed to fit.”

You shrug, a smirk playing on your lips.

“Fits me just fine.”

He stalks closer. You can see it in the way his jaw ticks — the slow burn crawling up his spine. You expect him to take the bait. To grab you, maybe toss you back and make good on all that fire in his eyes.

But he stops. Just stand there. Looking.

“Do you even know what you’re doing to me?” His voice is hoarse. Quiet. Reverent.

Your smile softens — but only a little.

“No. Maybe you should show me.”

He finally moves. Not rough — slow. Deliberate. He kneels between your thighs on the bed, fingers dragging up your bare legs, stopping just under the hem of his shirt. His eyes flick up to yours.

“You were tryin’ to get a rise outta me,” he murmurs. “Actin’ like a brat. You know I don’t like that.”

You grin, breath catching as his hand moves higher.

“Yeah. You love it.”

He exhales a short laugh through his nose — but there’s no humor in it. Just hunger. His metal hand presses against the bed beside your hip, while the other cups your cheek. His thumb traces your lips.

“You’re gonna ride me in that shirt,” he murmurs. “Make a mess of it. Make me clean it with my fuckin’ mouth after.”

The heat rushes to your core. You nod, barely able to breathe.

He leans in — kisses you. Not rushed. Deep. His tongue licks into your mouth like he’s tasting the words he wants to say. His hand moves lower, sliding beneath the shirt, dragging up the line of your waist.

“Look at you,” he says softly. “All worked up and I haven’t even touched you right.”

You whimper as he brushes your nipple with his knuckle — and then pinches, just enough to make your hips buck.

“Bucky—”

“C’mon, baby. Get on top. Let me feel how bad you want it.”

You straddle him slowly. He sits up, arms locking around your waist, mouth finding your throat. He pushes the shirt up just a little, exposing your thighs as you rock your hips down against the hard bulge in his sweats.

“You this needy from just wearin’ my clothes?” he mutters. “Shit. Gonna have to put you in my whole fuckin’ closet.”

You grind again, moaning his name, and he gasps — biting your neck, pulling you tighter, hips lifting just enough to press against your center.

“Take what you want, doll,” he groans. “You earned it.”

And you do. You sink down on him slow, your hands planted on his chest, his shirt hiked up around your ribs. His eyes don’t leave you — watching the way your body swallows him, the way the fabric clings tighter from your sweat, your heat, your movement.

“F-fuck, you wear it better than I do,” he pants.

You ride him slowly. On purpose. Every roll of your hips dragging a deep groan from his throat, his hands gripping your ass, then your waist, then cupping your face as he stares up at you like you’re a dream.

And when you finally fall apart on top of him shaking, gasping, and face buried in his neck and he flips you onto your back.

Your chest is still heaving, body buzzing from the slow-build orgasm that wrecked you, but Bucky doesn’t give you time to come down.

The second his shirt is peeled off your body, he drops it to the side like it never mattered — like you’re the only thing that does. He kisses your chest first, then lower, chasing the trail of sweat and slick down your ribs with his mouth, hand splayed wide over your stomach to hold you still.

“Told you I’d clean it up,” he murmurs, his voice low and ragged. “Gotta taste ya…”

You let out a breathy laugh that turns into a gasp as his mouth hovers over your cunt again, lips barely brushing your inner thigh.

“Bucky—”

“Shh,” he coos. “I know, baby. Just let me take care of it.”

And he does.

He devours you like he’s starving. Like you’re the only thing in the world that’ll fix the ache in his chest. His tongue licks through the mess he made earlier, slow at first — just a tease, just enough to make your thighs tremble — and then faster. More desperate.

His hands grip your thighs hard, pulling you closer, spreading you wider.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mutters against you. “Can’t believe you’ve been walkin’ around all day like this — wearin’ my shit, makin’ me crazy—”

You can’t respond. Can barely breathe.

He flattens his tongue against your clit and sucks, just once, and it’s too much. Your hips jerk. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging hard, but all it does is make him groan and push in deeper, tongue flicking, curling, lapping like he needs every last drop of you.

“Gonna come again,” you gasp, shaking.

“Good,” he growls. “Wanna feel you fall apart.”

You do hard and fast. A cry rips out of you, back arching off the bed, thighs clamping around his head as he keeps going. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. He groans into your cunt, rutting against the mattress, grinding like he’s the one about to lose it.

When you finally collapse, spent and twitching, he pulls back slowly. His mouth is soaked. Chin wet, lips flushed, eyes wild.

He kisses your thigh once. Then again.

And then — without a word — he rises to his knees at the edge of the bed, grabs your hips, and flips you over.

“Oh my god—”

“No, sweetheart. Not yet.”

You’re on your stomach now, cheek pressed to the mattress, legs spread. You can feel him behind you — feel the weight of that metal arm sliding along your spine, the sound of his sweats being shoved down, the way his cock pressed to your entrance, hot and heavy.

“You take it so good,” he rasps. “Every time. But I need more.”

He thrusts into you in one smooth stroke — deep. You cry out, gripping the sheets. His hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, while the other wraps around your hip, holding you open as he starts to fuck you slow and thick and deep.

“You steal from me,” he grunts, pounding into you. “You get fucked like this.”

“Yes—yes, Bucky, please—”

His metal hand curls around your throat, not choking, just holding, grounding. His hips slam into yours harder, faster, filthy sounds echoing through the room. You’re soaked. You’re ruined. And he loves it.

“M’gonna fill you up,” he pants. “So deep it’ll be drippin’ down your thighs. That what you wanted, baby? Wearin’ my shirt like a little tease?”

You nod desperately, voice gone, fingers clawing at the sheets.

He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, breath hitching.

“Then take it. All of it.”

And when he comes — groaning your name, burying himself to the hilt — you feel it. The heat. The weight. The claim.

He collapses on top of you, chest heaving against your back, arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“Next time,” he murmurs into your skin, “I pick what you wear.”

“What if I steal your boxers?” you whisper, breathless.

He laughs, kisses your shoulder, and growls—

“Then I’m never lettin’ you leave the bed.”

ʀᴏꜱɪᴛᴀ ᴇꜱᴘɪɴᴏꜱᴀ

It’s too hot to do anything useful.

The sun’s beating down on Alexandria, making every surface shine, every shirt stick, every conversation lazier than usual. You’ve been doing laundry — or pretending to. Mostly, you’re just folding things while sipping lemonade and staring at the line where everyone’s clothes hang to dry.

And there they are.

Rosita’s green shorts. The ones. Tight, frayed, mid-thigh. Infamous. You’ve caught yourself staring at her ass in them more times than you care to admit. The shorts practically have their own reputation.

So.

Maybe it’s the heat.

Maybe it’s the way she smirked at you earlier.

Maybe you want attention.

But you grab them. Tug them on. They cling in all the right places, barely button, and ride up when you bend down.

And when you turn, Rosita is there. Arms crossed, one brow raised, smirk slow and deliberate.

“Interesting look.”

You freeze for a second, then recover, leaning back on the porch railing, pretending like your thighs aren’t burning and your heart isn’t hammering.

“What? Figured I’d give your shorts a spin. You leave 'em out, they’re fair game.”

She hums and walks closer, slow. Catlike.

“Yeah? You think you can just put those on and get away with it?”

“I don’t hear you asking for ‘em back.”

Rosita stops a foot in front of you, tongue in her cheek. Her eyes trail down, slowly — over your hips, the way the shorts dig into your thighs, up your stomach, across your chest. She lets her gaze rest on your mouth, then finally locks eyes with you again.

“Cocky little thief.”

You smile sweetly.

“Only when I know it’ll get me what I want.”

“What’s that?”

“You.”

She blinks, just once, and the look in her eyes changes — just a little. Less amusement, more heat.

“Yeah?” she murmurs. “It’s been a minute, huh?”

“Too long,” you agree, stepping closer, until your chest brushes hers. “We kept saying later… then we got safe here and—”

“Started playing house,” she finishes.

“Mmm.” You ghost your fingers along her waistband. “I missed touching you.”

“Well you didn’t have to steal my damn clothes about it,” she says, laughing breathlessly.

You lean in, lips brushing her cheek.

“I thought it’d speed things up.”

She kisses you first and it’s hard, like a bite. Her fingers grip your waist, tug you in. You cup the back of her neck, slip your thigh between hers, and when she ruts just slightly against it, the whole vibe shifts.

The air’s humid, sticky, charged. You press her back against the porch post, hands on her hips, lips locked with hers, and grind your thigh slow and deliberate. Her hands fist in your shirt.

“You gonna let me take care of you tonight?” you whisper.

“Just want you,” she rasps.

“I don’t need anything else.”

Her mouth tastes like lemonade and heat.

It’s a messy, breathless kiss, mouths sliding, teeth clacking, all hunger and pressure and hands gripping anything they can find. She rubs against your thigh like she needs it, like the week of late patrols and early meetings and pretending not to look at you has pushed her to the edge.

You pull back just enough to whisper:

“Let’s go inside.”

“Took you long enough.”

She grabs your hand, lets you tug her down the hall to your room, the door shutting behind you with a thud. She spins you by the waistband of her shorts — her shorts — and kisses you again, this time slower. More intent.

You let it happen for a second.

Then you flip it.

Push her back until she’s seated at the edge of the bed, legs spread, eyes wide.

“You’re not calling the shots tonight.”

She leans back on her elbows, a grin growing.

“No?”

You kneel between her legs and press a kiss to the inside of her knee.

“No.”

Another kiss, higher. She hums. Still smug. She thinks she can handle it.

You place one palm against her chest and push — not hard, just enough to make her lie back. Then you crawl up, straddling her hips. The little green shorts ride up even more as you grind down, slow and deliberate.

Her hands grip your thighs.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You’re gonna be mean about it, huh?”

“Only if you keep talking like you’re not seconds away from begging me.”

She opens her mouth like she’s got a retort, but you roll your hips again and her breath catches. Gone.

Your mouth is on her collarbone, teeth scraping gently. Then down. You suck a mark into her neck, one that’ll bloom dark and satisfying. She groans.

“Get this off,” she mutters, tugging your top. “I wanna see.”

You pull your shirt off, slow. Let her look. Her eyes are greedy, hands already moving up to cup your chest — but you catch her wrists.

“No touching unless I say.”

She moans softly. Nods. Bites her lip.

You lean down, kiss her lips gently, then trail kisses lower — down her neck, between her breasts, down her stomach. Your fingers trying​​ to work open the button of her pants before she can catch her breath.

You tug them down and no underwear.

“Goddamn, Rosita.”

“What?” she says innocently. “It’s laundry day.”

You smirk.

“Mmhmm. You did this on purpose.”

You press a kiss right above her mound, watching her hips twitch. Then lower. Lower.

Your tongue swipes through her folds and she gasps — her head tipping back, thighs spreading further.

“Oh fuck—baby—”

You lap at her slowly, deliberately, hands locked around her thighs, keeping her pinned. She’s already dripping, already twitching under your tongue. You flick her clit, then suck it between your lips.

Her hands fist in the sheets.

“Please—please, don’t stop—”

“I’m not stopping until you come on my mouth,” you murmur.

She moans so loud you have to slap a hand over her mouth. She loves that — hips rolling, clit throbbing against your tongue.

You keep going. Circling her clit in slow, tight patterns, then flattening your tongue and dragging it up through the slick heat of her. Your fingers tease her entrance, but you don’t slide in. Not yet.

You want her to ask.

She whines, hands pulling at your shoulders.

“Need—your fingers—”

“Say it pretty.”

“Please. Need your fingers. Want you inside—”

You ease two fingers in. Just like that. Curl them slow. Press them deep. Your mouth never leaves her clit.

She’s a mess now — hips grinding, legs shaking. You let her fuck herself on your hand while your mouth works her over, letting every moan vibrate through her.

When she comes, it’s with a gasp and a shudder, clenching around your fingers so hard you nearly lose it yourself.

But you’re not done.

You crawl up her body, licking your lips, and kiss her slowly.

She’s breathless, dazed, her body limp beneath yours.

“You okay?”

“Mmm.” She smiles up at you. “Gonna have to steal more of my shit if this is how you act.”

You kiss her again, then settle beside her, dragging the shorts back up your thighs.“Oh, baby,” she murmurs, pulling you into her chest. “You can keep ‘em.”

────────────────────

divider by @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @xodilfluvr @millersdoll @littlejoels @inbred-eater @grayandthyme @mybvalentine @mysticalgalaxysalad @moonstone2323 @blv3rd @cosm1c-babe @tokkiwrites @soapypits @annulmaelae @studioghibelli @funkycoloured @fckmebarnes @aj0elap0l0gist @bleed-4-bey @bvtchbait @bluevelvetpedro @deardev0teddelicate @ssssc0m @pandapetals @millers-angel @millersgirl44

[snail-day]

Shoko doesn’t exactly say you’re dating.

She doesn’t really do labels, thinks they’re kind of pointless, honestly. Why complicate things with definitions and conversations that only make people weird and nervous? She knows what she wants, and if she’s letting someone sleep over in her bed, steal her clothes, and hog all the snacks in her apartment, then clearly, that’s her person.

She’s busy. Her schedule is shit. Why waste what little free time she has sleeping with someone she doesn’t intend to keep?

Still… somehow, your little brain hasn’t quite caught onto that yet.

She notices it when you’re curled up on her patio one night, wrapped up in a sweater, hers, obviously. She’s standing a few feet away, shoulder leaned against the railing, cigarette burning lazily between two fingers. Her long hair is half-up in a claw clip, loose strands catching in the breeze as she exhales a slow puff of smoke, angled away from where you sit.

“You should go inside,” she mutters. “Secondhand smoke’s just as bad, you know.”

You don’t move. Don’t whine or pout like usual. Just stay quiet, and that’s what makes her glance over.

You’re chewing your lip. Hugging your knees. Your voice is soft, barely more than a whisper when you speak.

“I just… I don’t want this to be a situationship.”

Shoko stills and blinks for a moment. Once. Twice. Tilts her head a little, brows pinched together as she's trying to figure out if she heard you right.

A situationship?

There’s a long pause before she sighs through her nose, stubs out the cigarette on the balcony rail, and turns to you fully. Her expression is unreadable, but she’s mentally running the list: how many weeks it’s been since your toothbrush showed up in her bathroom, how many times you’ve dozed off in her bed, and she’s pulled the blanket up to your chin before crawling in next to you. She’s already memorized your coffee order. She knows which days your cramps hit worst. Your shoes are by the door. Your charger’s always plugged in by the bed.

She walks over slowly, crouches in front of your chair, and lifts your face with two fingers under your chin.

“There, there,” she murmurs, tone so soft it almost makes you cry harder, until she smirks. “You’re almost as dramatic as Utahime.”

You sniffle, cheeks burning. “You’re making fun of me.”

Shoko hums, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “Babe. I’m letting you drool on my pillow five nights a week. Who else do you think I’m doing that with, Satoru?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. Shoko watches your brain short-circuit and presses a quick kiss to the corner of your lips, all smug and warm and lightly amused by your ongoing stupidity.

“What made you think we weren’t dating, hmm?” she drawls, pulling you into her lap with practiced ease. “Didn’t I ask you to be my emergency contact? You think I give that spot to just anyone?”

You try to protest, something about assumptions and mixed signals and wanting to be clear, and she just rolls her eyes and plops backwards onto the patio couch, dragging you with her until you’re tucked under her chin, limbs tangled and noses brushing. Only the stars watching you both from above, the sounds of cars from the Tokyo streets from below.

“God, you’re exhausting,” she says fondly. “So needy. It’s cute.”

You sniff again, rubbing your face against her shirt. “You could’ve told me.”

She shrugs, unbothered. “You could’ve asked.”

You open your mouth to argue - try to argue - but it’s hard to hold onto indignation when her fingers are stroking slowly up and down your spine, warm and rhythmic. You melt against her chest, cheek pressed just under her collarbone, your body giving up the fight before your brain does.

Your eyes are already fluttering shut when she presses a kiss to your forehead, soft and final, like the punctuation on a decision she made weeks ago.

“We’re dating,” she murmurs against your skin. “You know that, right?”

You nod, barely.

“Good,” she says, a little smug again. “Now stop being a brat and let me take care of you.”

[spiderb00bs]

- MANCHILD

Sabrina Carpenter x (g!p) reader  

“Seeing your best friend get married was like a stab in the heart. But she was happy, right?"

warnings – fluff, angst if you squint, Implied sex, crack? (I don’t know how to be funny), romcom kinda

Now playing – Manchild, by Sabrina Carpenter  

“Man-child, why you always come a-running to me? Fuck my life, won’t you let na innocent woman be?” 

You never had any problems with Barry. You didn’t even care about him, in fact. He was a normal guy, a little too immature for his age, and too cocky for everything he was offering. But you never had any problems with him.  

You didn’t spend that much time with him; you saw each other at Sabrina’s events, birthdays, awards ceremonies, family parties... You knew Sabrina would never let you miss na important celebration, so if you can’t beat them, join them.  

Sabrina is your best friend, and you’ve always supported her in everything. And even though at first you thought Barry would be just another dumb jerk – you still thought so – who would break your childhood best friend’s heart, you couldn’t deny that he did a decent job in the relationship, since now Sabrina would soon be walking down the aisle with him. 

The gentle summer breeze blew against your face, carrying the smell of smoke away from you. From a distance, you watched Sabrina and her sisters with smiles on their faces as they danced excitedly around the place where the ceremony would be held. The wedding would take place in five days, and the whole family—and close friends—would be staying at the large mansion Sabrina had rented. 

You remember looking for the place with her, you remember how she always said she wanted to get married in a house overlooking the beach, and how she wanted all the people she loved to be together for days on end before the ceremony happened.  

You remember how her eyes sparkled when she saw the place, you remember how she took your hand and ran to the back of the mansion, showing you her dream coming true in front of her eyes. You also remember how she convinced you to lie down on the grass and watch the view from afar. You also remember how she tried to call Barry to show him the place, but he never picked up the phone.  

The cigarette burned slowly, almost as if it was feeling sorry for you, as if it knew that if that moment ended, you’d have to go back to the hustle and bustle. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t last forever. With one last puff, you stubbed out the burning tip on the sole of your shoe, taking a deep breath and preparing yourself for the sea of smiles you’d have to face.  

“That’s the sexiest way I’ve ever seen someone stub out their cigarette.” You heard the sweet, dangerously seductive voice you always heard when you were with Sabrina, Jenna Ortega. 

You knew the short woman, the two of you had never had a long conversation, but flirting was always involved. Although you thought Jenna was one of the most beautiful, elegant and sexy women you’d ever seen in your life, you never went any further with her. Nothing more than the exchange of harmless flirtations and a few discreet glances.  

Although Jenna and Sabrina were close friends, the blonde never really liked the idea of you two being close to each other. You weren’t sure why, but you thought it had something to do with the fact that Jenna was a player. She was never in a serious relationship, she had one-night stands with people she found interesting enough to spend time with, but never interesting enough to share her work time with.  

“I hadn’t seen you yet. I thought you weren’t coming,” you said, still looking at all the women excited about the decorations and the scenery. 

Sabrina’s mother was helping the blonde choose decorative flowers, Paloma and the other Carpenter sisters seemed happy playing with the new Golden Retriever that Sabrina had adopted a few weeks ago, and at a considerable distance, you could see Barry drinking a large glass of beer, talking to some of his friends about some nonsense.  

“And miss you dressed in a formal button-down shirt? Of course not!” Jenna retorted, causing your cheeks to blush slightly as you tried to get your face out of her field of vision.  

“You really can’t be fixed, can you?” Finally looking at the brunette, you turned your body towards her, taking a step forward.  

“Come fix me!” Jenna mimicked you, leaving the distance between your bodies almost non-existent. 

The look on her face was defiant and rude, she seemed to want you to put her in her place. Everything about her screamed for you, and anyone there could see how desperate she was for you to take her the way she really wanted.  

“Hey!” The velvety shout pierced your ears, pulling you out of the cloud Jenna had put you in.  

Quickly stepping away, you arrived in time to see Sabrina’s furrowed eyebrows, your best friend looking at the whole situation with a judgmental and suspicious look. You had seen that same look before, more specifically when the girls at school hit on you when you were both teenagers. You never knew what that look meant. 

“I... I need you for a minute,” the blonde said. 

Scratching her head in agitation, the younger Carpenter didn’t even wait for your response, taking your hand and dragging you as far away from Jenna as possible. 

“You know, we were having a conversation over there...” Your tone was playful, but you should have known that Sabrina wasn’t in the mood for jokes.  

“Yeah, anyone could see that. You two were practically having sex on the lawn!”  

The blonde finally let go of your hand when you reached the kitchen. As if on cue, everyone who was working there immediately turned around, leaving the room and closing the door with a silent click. Sometimes even you were afraid of Sabrina.  

“Wow, okay, Miss Edgy, we were just having a conversation.” you said, raising your hands in surrender, only to see the short blonde roll her eyes and start pacing back and forth in the kitchen. 

“Bullshit!” she said, her footsteps making you dizzy, and the commotion making you slightly nervous.  

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” you asked, holding her shoulders as you made her look you in the eye for the first time all day.  

You knew Sabrina was going through a very stressful time with all the wedding planning. She was trying to get everything done while Barry lay around drinking beer and watching football games. She had barely had any time to herself since she started preparing for the wedding, so you understood when she exploded at you. 

Snorting, Sabrina just laid her head on your chest, grabbing your biceps like a lifeline.

“I’m exhausted!” Taking a deep breath, you moved your hands to her hair, stroking her blonde curls as you felt her relax into your body.  

“I’m here, I’ll help you with whatever you need.” Sabrina lifted her head from your chest, looking into your eyes with that sparkle she always had.  

“What do you need, Sab?” Smiling slightly, you asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.  

“For you to stay away from Jenna.” Your smile faded. 

“ALL RIGHT, LOVEBIRDS...” The unfamiliar voice startled you both, causing you to jump away from each other. “Oh, sorry, I thought it was you and Barry, Sabrina.” 

“It’s okay,” Sabrina said, sliding her hand from your bicep to your hand, intertwining them. “Yn, this is Rachel. She’s going to make the wedding cake. Rachel, this is Yn, my best friend since childhood.” “It’s a pleasure,” you said, shaking the woman’s hand, making her smile slightly.  

“How polite. You don’t find many like that around anymore.” And Sabrina’s frown was back. “So, I assume she’ll be deciding the flavor of the cake with you?!”  

“I will?” you asked Sabrina. 

“She will!” Sabrina smiled, looking at Rachel with a proud smile on her lips. 

Night had fallen quickly, everyone too tired and drunk to stay awake past midnight. Still unable to sleep, you walked quietly through the corridors of the large mansion, down the stairs and toward the oversized pool that came with the house.  

The night was silent, and you saw no one as you approached the pool. Taking off your fancy slippers—which Sabrina insisted on giving as gifts to all the guests—you dipped your feet in the cold water, shivering slightly at the change in temperature. Closing your eyes, you rested your hands on the tiles beside your body, throwing your head back and taking a deep breath, trying to release all the weight that had been on your shoulders for the past few months. 

Suddenly, the silent bubble that had settled around you was broken by two hands grabbing your shoulders, and the scream that escaped your lips was muffled by the sound of laughter from the woman you knew better than yourself.   

Sabrina fell beside you, laughing at how loud you screamed. “My God, you probably would have woken up the whole house if that shit wasn’t so big.” 

Sabrina’s hands were holding her stomach, and you could tell her stomach hurt just by the way she writhed beside you. Her smile reached her eyes, which closed as the sound of her laughter entered your ears like one of the most beautiful melodies you had ever heard. That deep, broken laugh, which nevertheless ran free and whipped the air with grace. You had always loved the sound of her laughter. 

“Very funny, Carpenter. You could have given me a heart attack, you know?!” You watched the blonde get up from the floor, sitting properly beside you, putting her feet in the water, next to yours.  

“You’ve always been easily scared... ever since we were kids,” the blonde said, laughing and kicking a few drops of water lightly. 

“Yeah, and you used to scare me all the time.” You look at her. “It was annoying.” 

“It was fun!” Sabrina’s laughter fills the space again, making you roll your eyes and try to hold back the smile that wanted to escape your lips. 

Sabrina’s eyes rested on you, shining as always, attentive, almost as if you would disappear if she looked away. She had a slight smile on her lips and breathed lightly, feeling the gentle breeze coming from the sea a few meters away.  

It had been a while since you had seen Sabrina so relaxed, so focused on something that really calmed her down. She was usually nervous, worried, or too busy solving something that Barry couldn’t solve—or that he himself had caused. 

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” the blonde said, sighing once more. 

You were trying to figure out why her chest still seemed heavy somehow. 

“Of course I would be here. I mean, I understand that I’m not very sociable, but...” You began. 

“No...” She laughed. “I mean here, like, always being here with me.” Emphasizing the word always, Sabrina grabbed your hand, bringing it to her lips and kissing your knuckles. 

Your eyes met the deep blue of hers, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way Sabrina looked at you. You never understood it, but her eyes always seemed to say what she didn’t have the courage to say out loud. You dreamed of the day she would tell you all the things she had ever wanted to say to your face, good or bad. 

“I love you, Yn.” Her voice came out as a whisper. Low and velvety, just so you could hear it, as if those three words were meant only for you, as if she had never said them to anyone else in the world. 

“I love you too, Sab!” you say.  

Your mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of water. You didn’t blame Sabrina for supposedly not saying the things she wanted to say, after all, there were so many things you couldn’t say to her. 

The next morning was quiet. Decorators passed by with huge vases of flowers, pastry chefs worked on each little sweet and each layer of cake, and sewing machines worked on every detail of Sabrina’s dress.  

You stayed away, watching all the organized chaos from under a parasol, lying on a deck chair, facing the pool where you and Sabrina had been talking a few hours earlier. The cigarette between your lips made you more relaxed with each puff, and the expensive wine that Sabrina had served to the guests was one of the best things you had drunk recently. 

It was a beautiful sunny day, perfect for a family barbecue, or maybe a dip in the sea, or even in the pool in front of you. However, you preferred to just stretch your legs and put on some sunglasses—hoping that everyone would get the message and leave you alone.  

“You look very bitter from here.” It seems your plan didn’t work so well. Opening your eyes and looking over your dark glasses, you saw her standing in front of you like a superheroine, the kind who always shows up at na inopportune moment, when the victim doesn’t want to be rescued. Jenna.  

She wore a black bikini—which contrasted nicely with her skin—along with her attitude. You would never know if you found her frown attractive or scary. 

“I’m not bitter, I just enjoy my time alone,” you said, repositioning your sunglasses on your face as you laid your head on the towel and blew smoke into the air. 

“Oh, lone wolf... I like that.” Jenna took the spot on the lounge chair next to yours.  

You rolled your eyes slightly, but the small smile on your face said you weren’t completely upset by Ortega’s presence.  

I mean, Jenna is na attractive, intelligent, funny woman... You weren’t sure why you had never really given her a chance. Maybe it was the gossip going around town, you didn’t want to be just another woman in her bed. Or maybe you liked to follow your best friend’s orders.  

Either way, you thought it best to avoid closer contact. 

“You don’t seem like the happiest person in the world that your best friend is getting married...” Jenna began. 

“I am happy,” you cut her off quickly. 

“Come on, everyone is drinking and talking, having the time of their lives in...” Jenna paused, looking around and trying to find a way to call it what it was. “A kind of weird bachelorette party disguised as luxury,” she finished, waving her hands dramatically and pointing to everything around you two. “And you’re smoking by the pool, looking like the kind of lone wolf you’d see in a Lana Del Rey music video...” 

“I like Lana Del Rey,” you said, raising your wine glass to your lips. 

“That’s not the point!” Jenna raised her voice slightly. She put her hands on her head when she realized she had almost started yelling at the bride’s best friend. “God, you really have a crush on your best friend, don’t you?!” 

Choking on your wine, you got up from the lounge chair, sitting up quickly, facing the Ortega girl, who had sat down next to you. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Your expression made all the hairs on Jenna’s body stand on end. 

“Prove it to me.” 

Your back hit the mattress, breathing tired and panting, your hips burned, and the muscles in your arms were starting to ache. But the small hands on your chest distracted you from the nagging pain you felt, now fading into the background as Jenna lay down on your chest. 

You knew, deep in your bones, that you shouldn’t have done that to prove to her that you weren’t into Sabrina. But the way she looked at you, almost as if she would doubt you for the rest of her life, made your chest race in a bad way. 

Two pats on your chest woke you from the thoughts that consumed you. “You were wonderful, baby.” Jenna said, getting up from the bed and looking for the clothes she had thrown on the floor a few hours ago.  

You raised your torso, straining your sore arms and dragging yourself to sit up on the bed. “You too,” you said, embarrassed and scratching the back of your neck, looking for a hole to stick your head in and die of shame.  

Jenna gave you a friendly smile, but with that hint of sarcasm that you had learned the brunette had in her. “Tell her how you feel before she gets married.” 

Frowning and opening your mouth in shock, you stammered incoherent words, searching for anything your mind could force itself to find.  

“Wait, I proved it to you!” you said, getting up and putting on the boxers you found lying on the bedside table – the work of the little brunette in front of you. “I’m not in love with anyone, Jenna!” 

Sighing, the Ortega girl stopped what she was doing to look at you properly. Approaching, Jenna made each step she took seem like a movement a tigress would make before attacking her prey. You took a step back. Laughing at your movement, the woman pushed you onto the bed, making you fall back onto the soft mattress. Her hands went to your neck as she positioned her tanned legs on either side of your thighs. 

“Oh baby, you can’t keep lying to yourself like this...” She looked at you for a minute longer. 

Jenna left a pat on your cheek before kissing your lips, quick as lightning, and grabbing a piece of clothing behind you. Leaving you there, shocked and still a little horny, Jenna walked out the door, as if she hadn’t come to leave you with wobbly legs and a heavy heart. 

You took a deep breath before leaving the room, too stunned to pay attention to whatever was going on outside the room all this time. You walked outside, grabbed a beer from the ice bucket, opened the cap with your teeth, and downed the bottle.  

“My God, are you okay? Where were you?” Sabrina’s voice reached your ears like a distant voice, making you look at her over the bottle—its neck still stuck to your mouth.  

“HEY, YN!” The shout heard from a distance also sounded muffled, but for some reason you recognized Josh’s voice. One of Barry’s idiot friends. “Bro, isn’t that shirt Ortega is wearing yours?” He asked, putting his arm around your shoulder, as if you were old friends.  

You didn’t even bother to look at Jenna, but Sabrina did. One of her eyes twitched, her ears burned, and if you were in a cartoon, smoke would be coming out of her ears. Jenna was dancing with Sabrina’s friends, free, as if she had just had the time of her life.  

“Did you hook up with her?” Sabrina’s tone was irritated, and you could feel the confusion coming through even with the alcohol in your blood.

“FUCK!” Josh said again. “YOU’RE AWESOME, BRO!”  

Jumping with his arm around your shoulder, Josh took you close to where everyone was dancing, too excited to notice the deadly look Sabrina was giving you. Josh practically threw you on top of Jenna, making the girl cling to you as if she had something to prove to someone, as if she wanted to break na invisible line. 

Maybe she did. 

Aggressive banging on your bedroom door roused you from the fog of sleep you were immersed in. Still lying face down, you lifted your face from the pillow to groan in disapproval, before struggling to your feet and muttering a small "Coming" to whoever was pounding on your door.

When you opened the door, Sarah's fist froze in the air, and still rubbing your eyes, you caught a glimpse of Paloma and Jenna along with one of the Carpenter sisters. Hearing Jenna's whistle, you covered yourself with the door, remembering that you were only wearing boxers and a sport bra.

"What are you doing here so early?" you asked, trying to take the focus off your nakedness and your cheeks turning red with the attention.

"We need your help!" Sarah was the first to speak. "Barry is completely sick with a hangover, and Sabrina needs to go over her wedding vows with someone."

Frowning, you looked at the two women standing in front of you.

"Why don't any of you help her then?"

Opening and closing her mouth, Sarah stared at Paloma, who was doing the same. The wrinkles on your forehead appeared when there was no answer.

"Ah… I… I need to go to town, you know… take care of a few things for the wedding," Sarah said, taking a deep breath.

You looked at Paloma.

"I'll go with her!" the woman said quickly.

"Jenna?" you asked.

"I don't want to." Snorting, you narrowed your eyes at the short brunette, wondering what was going on and why Sabrina's incompetent future husband couldn't do anything right for once in his life.

"Give me ten minutes and I'll go downstairs." The girls agreed, disappearing down the hallway of the mansion and leaving you alone again.

When you walked into the garden, everything seemed increasingly hectic. Sabrina's wedding was tomorrow, and everyone seemed to be racing against time to make everything as perfect as possible. The altar structure was almost ready, and there were flowers everywhere. The wedding was planned for the morning, and everything had to be ready by nine a.m.

"Ah, there she is!" The man, whose name you didn't know, came up to you, intertwining his arm with yours and leading you to the altar. "It's a pleasure, dear, I'm Stephen, and come on, get up there, you've already delayed us too much."

The short man pushed you toward the altar structure, causing you to stumble slightly over your own feet. You hadn't spoken to Sabrina since yesterday, when she found out about you and Jenna, and even though you didn't understand why, you knew she might be a little upset with you.

"Hi…" you said.

"Hi…" The sound of Stephen clapping his hands brought you both out of the little cloud you were in, making Sabrina's cheeks flush and you scratch the back of your neck and look away from your best friend's blue eyes.

"We have to start! Sabrina, where's your speech?" The man asks, seeing no paper in the blonde's hand.

Sabrina's mother, who was standing nearby watching, spoke up for the first time. "Oh, she probably left it in her room, you know how she is." The older woman said, nudging the brunette sitting next to her with her shoulder.

"Jenna, why don't you try looking for it…"

"And lose all this, no way!" The brunette said quietly, hiding her words with a forced smile.

"All right, I'll get it!" Stephen stood up, running his hand over his bald head and heading toward the mansion, only to stop halfway there.

"While I'm gone… Yn, you can start."

"Wait, do I have to give a speech too?" you asked, confused and with a hint of panic in your veins. "But I don't…"

"COME ON, WE DON'T HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD!" The man shouted as he walked away.

Taking your eyes off the man's back, you looked at your best friend again. Her eyes seemed bright again, but the atmosphere had completely changed for you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and the idea of saying nice things to Sabrina shouldn't be that difficult, considering she had been your best friend since you were five—when you met at the playground.

"I… I'm sorry, this took me by surprise…" You tried to say.

"I know." Sabrina came closer, taking your hand in hers and looking at you with those arms that could appease a war, those beautiful blue eyes.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to… but I'm not going to lie and say I don't want you to."

You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath before smiling slightly and searching for the right words for what you wanted to say.

"I love your eyes," you began. "They always make me say things I don't want to say, they seem to hypnotize me every time I look at them." You laughed softly, making Sabrina laugh with you.

"Maybe you hypnotized me in that park when we were kids, because I've never been able to stay away from you since. I loved seeing every achievement and every little thing you accomplished because your eyes sparkled in such a beautiful way, you know?!"

Sabrina's head tilted slightly to the left, and even though you were able to read her so well, you didn't notice how she was about to burst into tears.

"I never thought, not even for a moment, of separating from you, because it meant you wouldn't look at me the way you look at me anymore, and I don't know if I could survive without that. Survive without you."

Still holding hands, you couldn't take your eyes off Sabrina, you couldn't see her mother almost crying, nor the knowing smile Jenna was giving you both. At that moment, it was just you and her.

"I've loved you since the first moment I saw you," Sabrina said, and the tears she seemed so desperate to hold back earlier were now rolling down her beautiful cheekbones. "From the first day, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. Sometimes I feel like I'm making a mistake, sometimes I feel like none of this is for me. But with you, things make sense, with you, things seem to have color again, and I don't seem to be just another lost girl on earth, with you, things seem to have purpose, they seem right, and sometimes I still wonder why I'm so afraid. But the only certainty I ever have is that this fear always goes away when you're around."

Tears ran down Sabrina's cheeks, everything seemed so true and pure that neither of you questioned anything. It was just you, childhood friends, incurable romantics, who had strayed from the path and started walking down different roads without even realizing it.

Sabrina took a step forward—leaving the distance between you almost non-existent—and you leaned slightly—reducing the height difference between you. But the moment was cut short by loud, strong applause.

Stephen.

"BRAVO!" He said as he clapped his hands.

You and Sabrina jumped back, confused and with a burning sensation in your chest from things left undone, moments interrupted, actions not taken.

"You're more than ready to get married, dear!" The bald man said, before hurriedly dragging Sabrina away from the altar, rambling on about dresses.

And you stood there, watching it all unfold, your chest still pounding, the feeling of emptiness burning like never before. That wasn't for you, it was her speech to Barry. She was getting married, and it was time for you to get over it.

Sitting on the beach, you took another big sip from the bottle of vodka, the waves of the sea broke beautifully in front of you, and the salty breeze hit your skin like shards of glass. The drink in your hand didn't erase the bitter taste that the words you said earlier had brought, and your heart was still as tight as if it were tied to Sabrina's hands.

"You're going to catch a cold." Sabrina.

Her voice, sweet as honey, carried by the strong wind and brought directly to your ears. She was there, standing next to you, dressed in sweatpants and a jacket—which looked a lot like yours.

"I just needed some time alone…" You saw her approach out of the corner of your eye, before she quickly took your side, sitting cross-legged. "What are you doing here?"

Sighing, the blonde looked away to the sea, calm and slow, almost like everything that happened between the two of you. Almost as if the waves were mirroring your behavior.

"I had to keep an eye on Barry, you know…" She paused, almost as if wondering whether she should continue. "So he wouldn't get drunk again." You could hear her swallow hard.

"At least you made sure he'll be okay for the wedding," you replied, laughing slightly in an attempt to break the tension.

But Sabrina didn't laugh. She kept staring out at the sea, she kept trying to hold back all the feelings she had held tightly against her chest all this time. When she finally looked in your direction, her eyes were filled with tears, shining in a way you never liked.

"Tell me I'm doing the right thing." When the words came out of her mouth, you froze.

All you wanted to say was that she wasn't doing the right thing, that she was making the biggest mistake she could make, that she wouldn't be happy with that man, and that you would miss her every day as soon as she said "I do" at the altar.

"You're doing the right thing." Your chest burned. A sob escaped Sabrina's mouth.

"Then why don't feel like it?" Her question took you by surprise, but not as much as when she threw herself on top of you, crying like a child who was afraid of a monster under the bed.

Sabrina's body was shaking, and the only thing you could do was hold her tight, as if she would dissolve if you didn't.

"Sab…"

"I hate him, Yn! I hate myself for not being able to say no to him! I hate every minute of it!" She broke down completely.

The weight of her body falling on you reminded you of the weight you carried in your chest, and as much as you wanted to say that everything would be okay, you really didn't know how that would happen. She cried, enough tears to fill the ocean, and when she finally slept, you took her back inside.

Because it was always like that, you would always take care of her.

When you laid her in bed, Mrs. Carpenter approached you, patting you on the back before walking with you out of the room.

"I know when my daughter is happy, Yn…" The older woman began, causing you to stop in the middle of the hallway. "And this isn't one of those situations."

"I don't know what to do, I can't just tell her not to marry the guy she's been in love with for two years!" You said, frustrated with all these confusing signals everyone was giving you.

Smiling slightly, Sabrina's mother approached you, hugging you and kissing your cheek. "I've known you since you were a little kid." She took your hands. "You've always known what to do."

Walking toward her room, Mrs. Carpenter stopped suddenly, turning toward you with a gentle smile.

"Remember, dear, she didn't have any papers with the speech in her hand." It was the only thing she said before opening the bedroom door and disappearing from your view.

Being alone felt familiar to you at this point. You always seemed to end up alone when someone was about to reveal to you what to do, it was almost like a dream, where you would wake up at the most important part.

It was a sunny day, the guests were seated, the organizers were rushing around, and everything seemed ready to be perfect.

"Nice shirt," Jenna said, approaching you with a glass of champagne in her hand.

"Nice dress," you replied.

Watching the people, you saw Barry arguing with some of the people who worked on organizing the ceremony. He seemed nervous, irritated, as if something very important was about to fall apart. Before you could delve deeper into what was happening, the commotion quickly subsided, and you saw Barry being led away to prepare for the start of the ceremony.

When the music started, Barry entered with his mother, kissing the man on the cheek before sitting down with the rest of the guests. As the commotion began to subside, the bride's entrance music sounded over the loudspeakers, filling the room and clouding your thoughts.

You were a terrible friend! You were too selfish to share your feelings with your best friend, and too proud to tell her not to marry that boy. You felt wrong, you felt like trash in the middle of all those people.

"YOU!" The shout snapped you out of your cloud of thoughts. And you didn't have much time to think before you saw Barry coming quickly toward you.

Without giving you time to defend yourself, the man grabbed you by the collar, lifting you out of the chair you were sitting in and making a scene in front of everyone.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HER?" He shook you, causing you to grab his shoulders and push him away forcefully.

"What are you talking about?" You smoothed out the wrinkles in your shirt.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO SABRINA?" He shouted. "DID YOU TELL HER NOT TO MARRY ME?" He continued.

"Are you going crazy?" You tried.

Then you realized, the music had stopped, Sabrina hadn't come in. She wasn't there.

"DO YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW?" He laughed in your face. His finger raised to poke your chest in defiance. "You think I don't know you're in love with my fiancée?"

"Barry, calm down, please…" Sabrina's mother tried to say.

"She would never be with someone like you…" Barry pushed you hard, knocking you to the ground.

"WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?" You asked, getting up and pushing the man back.

Barry didn't wait, he hit your face with his fist, making you stagger slightly backwards. "You're my problem, bitch!"

Recovering quickly, you punched him back, causing the man to stumble into some guests who were standing watching the fight. You didn't have much time to think, you just saw the whole situation, as if you were watching from outside your body. Barry's fist rising to hit you again, hard and fast. Everyone looked in shock, as if they weren't entirely sure what they should do.

"HEY!"

Sabrina's voice rang out, the arm dress she wore contrasting with the quick, sharp, and dangerous way she spoke, also contrasting with the punch she landed on Barry afterwards.

"FUCK!" The guests were shocked, and Sabrina stood there, clutching the hand that had delivered the blow while Barry was crying to his mother about the blood pouring from his nose.

"NEVER TOUCH HER AGAIN!" Sabrina said, pointing an accusing finger at the man who used to be her fiancé. Barry looked shocked, before finally breaking free from his mother's arms and quickly marching toward the petite blonde.

"Did you just punch me, you little whore?" Before he could get close to Sabrina, you acted, knocking him out with a strong punch to the mouth, and watching the man fall into the arms of his friends.

"Don't call her that, son of a bitch."

Before you could move, you felt Sabrina's arms around your neck, the woman quickly finding comfort from the chaos of the situation in your arms.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner," she said.

"I'm sorry I didn't do anything sooner!"

With that, you grabbed the blonde's face, sealing your lips with hers, and finally ending all the suffering that you both had tried to hide for so long.

Her hands caressed your baby hair, and she sighed during the kiss, as if she was desperate for you two to never let go. Your hands matched her desperation, pulling her closer by the waist, as if you two weren't already close enough to merge. Her lips tasted like strawberries, and you wondered why you hadn't just done this before.

Pulling away, Sabrina pressed her forehead against yours, listening to the applause and cheers of all your relatives and friends—who had realized your feelings even before you did.

"Let's go?" Sabrina asked, grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

"Where are we going?" you asked, even as you let her take you wherever she wanted.

"You'll see."

hey guys, I hope you're well.

i wrote this while i was in class, so i'm sorry if there are a lot of mistakes. Honestly, I had this idea and had to start writing immediately. The Manchild clip is just amazing, ever since I watched it I've been obsessed with the photography in this clip. it's just indie romcom movie energy, and I'm obsessed.

anyway, i hope you enjoy this. stay safe and drink water,

xoxo, spider.

[nightplvmes]

breakfast

caleb one shot (love and deepspace) birthday special pt 1 (fluff ver) ⋆｡° | caleb had brought you breakfast in bed many times but this time you decided it was your turn… and part of his birthday surprise ⋆｡° | pairing : caleb x fem!reader ⋆｡° | word count : 1.3k (1329) likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) pt 2 smut ver ★ masterlist here

you weren't usually a person who woke up early. in fact, it was one of the things you hated the most because you were tired all day long, and then it seemed almost impossible to continue with all the things you had to do during the day. but that day had been the exception.

you had woken up early and slipped out of bed, taking great care not to wake your boyfriend. he seemed to have some kind of sixth sense that detected when you had left his side. somehow, you had managed not to wake him up and had turned off his alarm to let him sleep a few more hours. you had managed to get him the day off, after had several calls with people you didn't know but apparently were above him at work.

you had breakfast in bed planned. he had done the same for you before… actually, he had done it more than once, even though it wasn't your birthday. you didn't mind doing the same for him at all, besides, you had some surprises in mind for that night. you had cooked everything yourself and had even taken the time to make the orange juice yourself.

it was about an hour later when you finished arranging the things on the tray and to be honest, you were proud of yourself. you had never imagined putting so much effort into something for someone else, and yet, it made you happy to do even the smallest detail for Caleb. you remained silent for a few seconds, trying to organize your thoughts and figure out how you would do everything you had in mind. you had to find an excuse to get him out of the house for at least half an hour.

you sighed and decided you would fix that in a couple of hours. you took the tray and walked to the bedroom, walking slowly to avoid spilling the juice and the glass of water on the tray. you tiptoed to the bedroom and pushed the door open with your hip as you walked slowly, still holding the tray. Caleb was still sleeping peacefully. he wasn't wearing a shirt because, according to him, he slept more comfortably that way, but a few weeks ago, you had come to the conclusion he just did it because he liked the way you ran your fingers over his chest before sleeping.

you placed the tray on your side of the bed, making sure it wouldn't fall even if Caleb stirred and took all the sheets with it. you didn't want to wake him yet; he looked so peaceful. you had that perfect view of his back that made you want to kiss his skin and lie on top of him.

it took you several seconds to return to reality and approach him. your hands ran down his back, to his shoulders, where you lightly tapped him with your fingertips to wake him. "Caleb? wake up…" you nervously bit your lower lip when you watched him begin to stir in the sheets.

Caleb turned and rubbed his eyes. it took him a couple of seconds to realize what was happening around him; he was too sleepy. he ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to comb it, then turned to look out the window. it was sunny outside, and usually when he woke up, it was still quite early and just beginning to dawn.

"what time is it?" his sleepy voice made you smile, but you quickly went into a state of alert when you noticed his face change from sleepy to alarmed. you knew he was about to get up because of the time, and you placed your hands on his chest before he made a sudden movement.

"it's okay. I turned off your alarm," you replied, taking a seat next to him. "it's ten o'clock." Caleb opened his eyes in surprise. he would never admit he was mad at you, although at that moment you couldn't tell if he was angry or not, maybe a little surprised. "before you get upset… I asked for the day off, for you, I mean. that's why I turned off your alarm and…" you were silent for a few seconds. that certainly wasn't what you had in mind when you made breakfast for your boyfriend a couple of hours ago. you looked over at the tray, and Caleb repeated your action almost immediately. "I made breakfast for you. breakfast in bed."

suddenly, confidence and excitement returned to you. you smiled as you stood up, walked around the bed, and picked up the tray again. Caleb still looked visibly confused, probably because he was too sleepy. he shifted in the sheets and sat on the mattress, leaning his back against the wall behind him. "you made breakfast for me? you didn't have to do this."

Caleb liked cooking for you. although you were also a good cook, it wasn't your favorite activity because of the many smells that mixed in the air, and you ended up losing your appetite. on the other hand, Caleb liked seeing the satisfied smile when you liked something he cooked.

"it's your birthday. I wanted to do something." you shrugged as you placed the tray on his lap. "happy birthday, by the way." you smiled, leaning down to kiss his lips, but he leaned down to deepen the kiss before you pulled away.

his hand slid to the back of your neck to hold you in place, making you gasp into his mouth. Caleb abruptly pulled away from you, making you crave more of his lips.

it took you a few seconds to come back to reality; you could still taste his mouth on your lips. "umm… I have something in mind. we can do whatever you want. the party is on saturday, but I have a surprise for you tonight." you smiled excitedly, due to your own schedule. you'd never planned anything for a boyfriend on his birthday before, except for Caleb, and he could tell you got more excited every year.

you'd planned a surprise party for him a few days later, but it wasn't a surprise anymore when he found some of the things you'd written on a list, and you felt compelled to explain what was going on.

"can't we just stay in bed all day?" his lips slid down to your cheek, placing a kiss on his warm skin.

you giggled but shook your head, although staying in bed all day didn't sound like a completely bad thing either. "not yet. you have to eat breakfast first, and I have some things to do, but I'll be back, and we'll be in bed until late."

he nodded, but you didn't move away. you felt like you should take that moment to get away from him and do everything on your to-do list before Caleb dragged you back into bed. you leaned in to kiss his lips one last time and felt one of his arms wrap around you, about to pull you closer, and you knew if you let him, things would escalate quickly, so you pulled away without warning.

"eat your breakfast. I'll be back in a few." you quickly got up, moving away from him and took a few steps back.

finally, you turned to leave the room. you could feel your heart pounding; for some reason, you were still nervous from that kiss. how did he still make you nervous after all these years?

you still had to wrap the gift you'd bought for him… and another gift you had in mind, too. but for that, you needed an excuse to get him out of the house for at least half an hour.

you sighed as you started down the stairs, trying to think of a way to get him out of the house for a while. otherwise, your surprise would be ruined.

[mrs-delaney]

Then Ask Me Sometime

📩 request: joe and reader are exes who keep hooking up. one night he’s like “i miss knowing how you’re doing” and she’s like “then ask me sometime.” heartbreak! tension! yearning! 🔥💔

🏈 Joe Burrow x Reader | 2.5k words

🥲 this one got me good, not gonna lie. joe really said “i miss knowing how you're doing” and i haven’t known peace since. hope it hits you in the chest too 💌

🪷 read my masterlist here — full of feelings & joe burrow brainrot 💌

🎤 read hide here — music, mistakes, and a quarterback who falls hard 💌

📬 join my tag list — be the first to know when i post 💌

Joe sat on the edge of his bed, phone in his hand, staring at the message he'd sent twenty minutes ago.

You up?

Three dots had appeared almost immediately, then disappeared. Then appeared again. He'd watched that dance play out for five minutes before her response finally came through.

On my way.

No questions. No small talk. Just acknowledgment of what they both knew this was.

He set the phone on the nightstand and ran his hands through his hair, the familiar weight of anticipation and guilt settling in his chest. It had been a long day—meetings with coaches, film review, the kind of grueling preparation that usually left him satisfied. But tonight, sitting alone in the house as evening turned to dark, the accomplishment had felt hollow. The silence had gotten to him first, then the empty kitchen where he'd eaten takeout standing at the counter instead of sitting at the table they'd picked out together.

That's when he'd reached for his phone.

This had become their routine over the past four months—late-night texts that led to her showing up at the house they used to share, the house that was supposed to be theirs but now felt too big and too quiet with just him in it. It started three weeks after the breakup, when she'd texted him about picking up some clothes she'd forgotten. One thing led to another, and suddenly they had this arrangement that neither of them had ever explicitly discussed the rules for.

The living room still had her touch everywhere. The throw pillows she'd insisted on were arranged just so on the couch. The coffee table books about art and photography that she'd collected were still fanned out the way she liked them. He'd told himself he kept them because moving them felt like too much effort, but the truth was simpler and more pathetic: they made the house feel less empty.

The kitchen was worse. She'd organized every cabinet, labeled the spice rack, and insisted on keeping fresh flowers on the counter even though he'd argued it was a waste of money. The flowers were long gone now, but her coffee mug still sat in the cabinet, untouched because he couldn't bring himself to use it. Sometimes he'd catch himself reaching for two plates instead of one before remembering.

They'd bought this place together eight months before everything fell apart. Spent weekends walking through furniture stores, arguing about thread counts and whether they needed a dining room table that seated eight people. She'd won most of those arguments, and now Joe was grateful for it. At least the house had personality, even if it wasn't entirely his.

The worst part was how right she'd been about everything. The couch was comfortable for watching film. The kitchen layout made sense when he was cooking for the team gatherings she'd insisted they host. Even the paint colors she'd chosen—warm grays and soft blues that he'd thought were too feminine—somehow made the house feel like a home instead of just a place to sleep.

Joe stood and walked to the window, looking out at the circular driveway where her car would appear soon. The security lights cast long shadows across the property, and he found himself wondering what she told herself on the drive over. Did she hesitate before texting back? Would she sit in her car for a few minutes before walking to the door, the way she used to near the end, when coming home felt more like walking into a minefield than a sanctuary?

He remembered the last few weeks before the breakup, how every conversation felt like walking through a minefield. His schedule was getting more demanding as the season approached. Her growing frustration with always coming second to football. The way they'd started sleeping on opposite sides of the bed, even when they were technically touching.

The fight that ended it had been about something stupid—him missing dinner with her parents because of a last-minute team meeting. But really, it had been about everything else. About how she felt like she was building a life around someone who wasn't fully present for it. About how he felt like he was failing at everything that mattered off the field.

"I can't do this anymore," she'd said, standing in this same bedroom, her voice quiet but certain. "I can't keep pretending that this is working when we both know it isn't."

He'd wanted to fight for her, to promise he'd do better, but the truth was he didn't know how. Football was everything he'd worked for his entire life, and the demands weren't going to get smaller. She deserved someone who could give her more than the leftover pieces of himself.

So they'd had the breakup conversation like adults. Divided up their things, figured out who would take the house. She'd moved out over a weekend while he was at training camp, leaving behind only the furniture they'd bought together and a note thanking him for everything.

For three weeks, Joe had convinced himself he was fine. The house was quieter, sure, but he could focus better. No more scheduling his life around someone else's needs. No more guilt about missing dinners or working late.

Then she'd texted about the clothes.

She'd shown up on a Tuesday evening, professional and polite, gathering the handful of items she'd forgotten. But when she was done, instead of leaving, she lingered by the door. They'd started talking for the first time since the breakup. And when talking turned into touching, and touching turned into them tangled together on the couch they'd picked out, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"This doesn't change anything," she'd said afterward, already reaching for her clothes.

"I know," he'd replied, even though some part of him had hoped it might.

That was four months ago. Since then, they'd developed this careful dance of late-night texts, brief encounters, no talk of feelings or the future. She seemed to have this whole thing figured out in a way that he didn't. Clean boundaries. No complications. Just two people who were good together in bed and smart enough not to confuse that with anything else.

Except he was starting to confuse it with something else.

He started noticing little things. The way she still kicked her shoes off by the door in the exact same spot, muscle memory from when this was her home, too. How she'd absently reach for the lamp on the bedside table that she'd picked out and placed there. The way she still moved through his kitchen like she knew where everything was, because she did—she'd organized those cabinets herself.

These weren't the observations of someone who was just hooking up with his ex. These were the observations of someone who missed her in ways that had nothing to do with sex.

Joe heard the soft hum of an engine in the driveway and felt his pulse pick up. Fifteen minutes. She'd made good time from wherever she was. He stepped back from the window, not wanting to look too eager.

The front door opened with her key; he'd never asked for it back, and she'd never offered, and he heard her familiar footsteps on the hardwood. She still moved through this house as if she belonged there, and maybe that was part of the problem. Maybe that was why he kept texting her.

"Upstairs," he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

Her footsteps paused for just a moment, and he wondered what had caught her attention. Maybe she was checking her phone, or maybe she'd noticed something different about the house. It was a brief pause, the kind that wouldn't mean anything to anyone else, but he found himself cataloging it anyway.

Then her feet were on the stairs, and Joe felt that familiar tightness in his chest that came with wanting something he'd already lost.

* * *

She appeared in the doorway, and Joe's breath caught. Still beautiful. Still looking at him like she was deciding something.

"Hey," she said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey."

The silence stretched between them, not awkward exactly, but loaded with the weight of everything they weren't saying. She was wearing an oversized sweater and jeans, nothing special, but Joe found himself looking at her like he was trying to memorize something.

She pushed off from the doorframe and walked toward him, her eyes doing that thing they always did, taking inventory. When her gaze lingered on his shoulders, then dropped to his chest, he saw the moment she registered the difference.

"You've been spending more time in the gym," she said, not quite a question.

Joe shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "Offseason training's been more intense."

She was close enough now that he could smell her perfume, the same one she'd always worn. Her hand came up to rest against his chest, fingers spreading over the muscle there, and he felt his breath catch.

"I can tell," she murmured, and there was something in her voice that made his pulse spike.

He caught her hand in his, thumb brushing over her knuckles. "You like it?"

Instead of answering, she rose up on her toes and kissed him. Soft at first, testing, then deeper when he responded. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, and she made that quiet sound in the back of her throat that he remembered too well.

They broke apart just enough to breathe, foreheads touching.

They moved toward the bed without breaking the kiss, her fingers tracing the new muscle definition she'd noticed.

"Jesus, Joe," she breathed, her hands tracing the new definition in his shoulders, his arms.

He wanted to say something, but she was kissing him again, and then they were falling back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and familiar desire. Her jeans hit the floor, followed by his pants, and then there was just skin against skin and the sound of their breathing in the quiet room.

Joe took his time, the way he always did with her. His mouth on her neck, her collarbone, mapping territory he knew by heart but somehow felt different now under his hands. She was responsive, arching into his touch, her fingers digging into the muscle of his back in a way that made him groan.

When she rolled him over and straddled him, her hair falling around her face, he found himself staring. She looked down at him with an expression he couldn't quite read, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

"What?" she asked, noticing him staring.

"Nothing," he said, his hands settling on her hips. "Just... you."

Something flickered across her face, too quick for him to catch, before she leaned down to kiss him again. And then they were moving together, finding that rhythm they'd never lost, the connection that had always been easy between them, even when everything else was complicated.

Afterward, they lay without touching, still breathing hard. The silence felt thick, full of things Joe didn't want to think about too hard.

She was the first to move, sitting up and reaching for her clothes, which were scattered across the floor. Joe watched her, noting the careful way she avoided his eyes, the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this dance before.

"You don't have to rush off," he said, the words coming out rougher than he intended.

She paused, bra halfway on. "Don't I?"

There was a challenge in her voice, and Joe felt something shift in his chest. This was the part where one of them would usually make an excuse, pretending it was simple and meaningless. But tonight felt different. Tonight, the silence felt like it was asking questions he wasn't sure he was ready to answer.

* * *

She was already reaching for her sweater when Joe found himself speaking.

"I miss knowing how your day went."

He hadn't meant to say it out loud. Her hands stilled on the fabric, and for a moment, the only sound was their breathing still evening out.

She turned to look at him, something unreadable flickering across her face. "What?"

Joe sat up against the headboard, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked. "I said I miss knowing how your day went."

She pulled the sweater over her head, the motion sharp and deliberate. "Why do you care?"

The question stung. He watched her stand and reach for her jeans—the familiar routine of her getting dressed to leave—and felt something crack open in his chest.

"I'm serious." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by how hard this was to say. "I miss knowing if you had a good day at work, or if that thing with your sister worked out, or whether you're sleeping okay."

"You can't do this," she said, shaking her head as she buttoned her jeans. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because this isn't what this is." She gestured between them, her voice taking on an edge he recognized, the one she got when she was protecting herself. "This is physical. It's simple. It works because we don't do... this."

Joe felt something desperate rise in his chest. "But what if I want to know? What if I want this to be more than just—"

"Then ask me sometime," she cut him off, reaching for her shoes. "Out of this bedroom."

The words landed like a challenge, and Joe felt his mouth open to respond, but she was already moving toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

She paused in the doorway, not turning around. "Home, Joe. I'm going home."

"This used to be your home, too."

The silence that followed was deafening. When she finally turned to look at him, there was something in her expression that made his chest tighten.

"Used to be," she said softly. "See you around, Joe."

And then she was gone, and he was back to being alone in a bed that felt empty without her, the sound of her leaving echoing through the house.

Joe stared at the ceiling, replaying the conversation in his head. The way she'd looked at him when he said he missed knowing about her day. The careful distance she'd put between them with her words. The challenge in her voice: Then ask me sometime out of this bedroom.

The next morning, Joe found himself staring at a blank text message for twenty minutes, typing and deleting words until his thumbs were tired. Finally, he settled on something simple:

How's your day going? Can we meet up soon, not to hook up, but to hang out? It can be in public

He hit send before he could second-guess himself.

Her response came an hour later, and despite everything, Joe found himself smiling as he read it:

Give me a week of consistent communication that's not you trying to hook up with me, and I'll consider it.

Joe read the message three times, something warm and terrifying unfurling in his chest. A week. She was giving him a week to prove he wanted more than just her body in his bed.

He could do a week.

[luvvyouforever]

not like this! - john walker x reader ❤︎₊ ⊹

synopsis: game night with the thunderbolts leads to an admission from john, the man helplessly pining for you from a distance. content: fluff, new girl references, john walker yearnssss, drinking, alcohol, drinking game, first kiss, cute! author's note: if you think about it, john walker's kinda nick miller

you're not sure whose idea it was to play a stupid drinking game in the first place. truly. you came back from the bathroom, dressed in sweats, as the group giggled in a newly formed circle. alexei stood at the center of the circle, announcing the rules of a too complicated game that involved way too much alcohol for your liking.

yelena, bucky, and, reluctantly, bob, carried cases of beer out to the living room, along with a few bottles of straight liquor, sourced mostly from the red guardian's room. you sat on the couch, head rested on your hand, john on the other end. tense.

previously, drinking copious amounts hadn't done a lot for the rough friendship the two of you were slowly, but surely, building. a few weeks ago, several shots shared between the group led to less than innocent thigh-touching, flirtatious words shared on the balcony, and eye contact that held more than you anticipated.

since then, john was painfully awkward around you. ensuring his hands were a safe distance away from you. but sometimes, he still held that concerned look when you limped from the jet. sometimes, his eyes would go soft when you'd come in to the kitchen, working on a cup of tea with your pajamas still on and sleep in your eyes. but he hadn't confessed. in fact, nobody in the room knew his feelings.

but that was the way he is. closed off, aloof, asshole. you guess he just felt safer that way.

when alexei had finally finished explaining the rules, the group slowly dispersed amongst the room, taking positions on couch cushions, dining room chairs, and the bar. john looked around the room from the couch, almost in disbelief that everyone was actually on board with the plan. you caught his eyes briefly and then he sighed, stood, and took up residence on an end table, perched precariously on the end.

"i am going to count down from three and at three, the floor will become hot, scorching lava," alexei called out from the couch where the cushions sunk with his weight. val would yell at him later for that. "one...two...three! if you are caught touching the floor, you will be sentenced to death."

you snorted at his accent making each and every word rough and serious-sounding.

in just a few short minutes, the game had continued to something beyond your understanding. it wasn't even the alcohol in your system. alexei's idea of a drinking game was borderline incomprehensible. he would shout russian and american leaders, yelling acts and historical events as if this was something he had been playing his whole life. you're positive he had.

in a moment of quiet permeated by alexei mumbling to himself to figure out the next phase of the game, you glanced around the room. yelena was balancing precariously on a barstool, nursing her beer. bob wasn't too far behind her, sitting on the windowsill, a can of coca-cola in his hand rather than the drinks everyone else had chosen.

ava had managed to get on top of a large bookshelf and there she laid comfortably. bucky was rolling his eyes on the arm of the couch, but you were sure there were flickers of enjoyment there. the same couldn't have been said for john, who sat practically pouting at the dining table, having already finished his beer despite the premise of the game.

your eyes lingered on him for a second, your own lips turning into a bit of a frown at the true displeasure that seemed to be written all over his face. after spending some fourteen months as john's teammate, you grew to know when something was plaguing him.

you'd be damned if you would let him sulk alone.

before you could hop from your position and find some way over to where he was sitting, alexei called out again, remembering the rest of the game. it was a jumble of words, as most of the game had been, but you weren't paying attention.

john let out a huff, his bottle hitting the table with a loud thud. the group drunkenly gasped as his feet hit the floor.

"walker!" alexei shouted from the couch. "the floor is lava, my man!"

"i don't wanna play this game anymore," he grumbled, moving out of the common room and down to the hallway to his room.

you looked after him, eyebrows knitted together. as he stalked off, you moved from your spot, feet also hitting the floor. gasps echoed again, but you jogged ahead, trying to catch up to john.

"john!" you called out. he didn't turn around, only kept moving forward. suddenly, though, alexei's body came into view, blocking the exit out of the room that the two of you were heading from.

"you can't just leave the game that easy," he tutted, placing his arms on the doorframe. "you stepped in lava. you have to face punishment."

"geez, man, just let me through," john said, his voice laced with frustration and tiredness.

"no," alexei said strongly, eyeing the two of you. his large hands came to yours and john's backs, pushing you back to the main room. facing the rest of the group, alexei's arms stretched around your shoulders, pulling you closer together. "what should the punishment be?"

the room erupted in whispers and drunk laughter, the cases on the floor dwindling easily. when a unanimous decision was reached, yelena waved her father over. alexei reluctantly released your shoulders, not without a firm "stay" targeted your way.

a minute passed of you and john standing awkwardly next to each other. his leg bounced on the floor, chest heaving with annoyance. you could read it all over his face. you glanced sideways at him, trying to make some kind of contact, but he kept ignoring you.

alexei's voice interrupted the awkward quiet that had settled over the two of you. "the punishment is decided," he said, then paused for dramatic flair. "i will put you in that pantry and you can not come out until you kiss."

your eyes widened. "what?!" you and john shouted. yours, though, was more confusion, while john's felt like disgust. his tone settled in your bones.

alexei just chuckled, pushing the two of you towards the large pantry room in the kitchen. with one hand, he opened the door and pushed you inside with the other.

a few short moments later, you heard the door get jammed shut, likely from super soldier power, perhaps from something else. john grumbled at the door, pushing on the doorknob with his strength. you stood just a short distance from him, arms crossed over your chest, staring down at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing. as if this wasn't the worse outcome for the night.

"jesus, come on, guys!" john yelled, jiggling the doorknob more.

"less yelling, more smooching!" alexei yelled from the other side.

john rolled his eyes, moving away from the door finally. you hadn't looked up from the floor, feeling too overwhelmed by everything to be able to look at him.

"this is bullshit," john grumbled, leaning against a wall on the other side of you. you looked up through your lashes, then back down.

he didn't say anything past that, but, clearly, something heavy and unresolved sat in the air shared between you. it was like a glaring red elephant, blowing its trunk, begging to be addressed. but it seemed as though john was going to make no move to acknowledge it. so neither did you.

a minute of silence passed.

"sorry," you finally mumbled. had you not followed after him, it might have ended differently. really, had you not been the one to initiate your flirting a few weeks back, then nothing like this would have happened.

john glanced up, looking into your eyes, then said nothing in response. you chewed on your lip, foot tapping against the floor.

"i mean...they're...they're not gonna let us out, you know," you tried. john didn't respond again, just looked at the door as if someone would come open it any second. when nobody did, he sighed.

"clearly not," he said, wiping a hand down his face.

you took a good look at him as he glanced around the room. he was casual, having swapped his red and blue uniform for a pair of gray sweatpants and some military t-shirt. the overhead lighting casted dark shadows on the high points of his face, making him look mysterious. handsome, even.

in another world, you could've kissed him and been done with it. but in this world, you had a crush on the man in front of you and he seemed to be completely apathetic towards you. your mind ran in circles, flashes of nights before flickering in your thoughts. not only that, but you wondered what was making this situation hard for him. surely it was just that he didn't want to kiss you. you tried to ground yourself, tell yourself that.

more time passed. minutes, seconds, you didn't know exactly how long. just more stretches of silence and tension that weren't getting fixed by any means.

finally, you spoke up, despite your better judgement. "the quicker and less awkward we do it, the quicker we can get out of here. waiting around or arguing is doing nothing. alexei will leave us in here the whole night."

"i'm not gonna kiss you, y/n," john said, his voice firm, as if he had already made that decision a long time ago.

your lips parted in surprise, at his quick reaction and strong words. "jesus, walker, it's just for a second."

he looked up that time, almost taken aback that you used his last name instead of his first name that you had taken to liking more. "no, i'm not kissing you. i won't." he stepped almost imperceptibly closer to you.

"why not? am i repulsive or something?" you asked. his words were unsettling you. you felt that lump in your throat, the one that told you you'd soon be crying.

"no, god, no," he said, turning around and running a hand through his blond hair that had fallen down his face. "i just-"

"what is it?" you asked.

"i don't-"

"just kiss me, walker!"

he took a large step, coming so close that in one fell swoop, he could bend down and plant his lips on yours. "no. not like this."

the tension in the room popped, like one huge bubble had been crowding everyone and everything inside of it. his chest heaved with his admission, breaths coming out deep and quick. his eyes, his bright, blue eyes softened just enough to show you the genuineness in his words. you blinked, unsure of how to respond.

not like this.

it replayed in your mind.

he wouldn't kiss you. not like this.

you swallowed and opened your mouth to respond, but john didn't give you much of a chance. he sprung into action then, clearly spurred on by the quick confession that had just tumbled from his lips a few short seconds ago. you stepped back against the wall as john backed up, bringing his shoulder to the front.

"john, you don't have to-" he charged forward, cutting off your sentence. the serum's strength pushed him forward and a loud bang echoed through the common room as john pushed the door down. he glanced behind for a second, before storming off quietly to his room.

you stood there, dumbfounded. shell-shocked. confused. your friends came to the door, asking questions, but you stared ahead.

not like this.

you couldn't sleep that night. it had to have been four in the morning by the point that you acknowledged sleeping was futile and that your time could be spent making a tea and sitting on the balcony. the previous hours replayed in your head like a torturous loop.

john's sulking, john's glances your way, john's eyes as he told you it wasn't that he didn't want to kiss you. he wanted to. in a better place, better circumstances, conditions, whatever you wanted to call it. how could anyone sleep with a revelation like that hanging from their shoulders?

you groaned as you rose from the bed and slipped on your houseshoes. your bedroom door slid open with a click and a hiss and slowly, you shuffled down the long hallway towards the kitchen. you could see the faint shadow of a light turned on in the room and as you approached, your breath hitched. john was leaning against the kitchen counter, a cup of ice water forgotten on the counter behind him.

as he heard your shuffling come closer, he looked up. his eyes widened only a fraction. he didn't move though, which, to you, felt like some kind of accomplishment. he was quiet, though, as you moved around him, brewing a cup of tea for yourself.

you leaned across from him on the kitchen island, staring blankly at the boiling water in the kettle.

you felt eyes on you, baby-blue eyes on you, but you tried to not look up. john was eyeing you, observing you. for what reason you weren't sure. finally, the kettle clicked as your water finished and you pushed from the island to pour the water into your cup with the bag.

just as you moved, john's arm shot out, his hand wrapping around your elbow in a soft, yet firm, hold. you looked from his hand to his face, shock evident in your expression. he didn't say anything, but you tracked his eyes as they glanced down at your lips.

it felt like an eternity before he bent down, connecting his pink lips with yours. it was harmonious, deep, but gentle. more gentle than you thought he could manage. his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in closer. after a beat of standing still, you wound your arms around his neck, lips never parting.

finally, at a point when you both needed to breath, you pulled away. your breaths mingled together, his being minty and cold.

he pulled away slowly, almost hesitating to do so, then grabbed his glass of water. "i meant something like that," he said, walking out of the kitchen and back towards his room where you heard his door open with a hiss and a click.

you stared at the spot where he just stood. your lips tingled, you still felt dizzy with the way his strong arms took you so easily, wrapped you up in effortlessly. you could smell the lingering scent of his shampoo and body wash enveloping you. you forgot about the tea. forgot about your room. everything.

instead, you stalked off the way he left, his words replaying in your mind.

something like that.

[emakataken]

@rjwyatt9-1-1 the happiest of birthday gift to you. I promise to continue it as soon as Unseen Valor is finished.

Pairing: Sal/Tommy/Buck

Chapter One.

Buck lies on the floor.

Not in some meditative, calming sort of way. Just flat on his back in the middle of his living room, one arm over his eyes, the other still loosely gripping the envelope he pulled from the mailbox twenty minutes ago.

The fridge is making that dying-whale noise again. He should call maintenance. He won’t.

His phone buzzes somewhere out of reach. Probably another alert from the LA Fire Marshal’s office. Or maybe it’s Maddie. Or Chim. Or Eddie.

No. Eddie had stopped calling.

The envelope is still unopened, but he knows what’s inside: the retainer paperwork from Chase Mackey. The lawyer trying to build a case against the fire department. Just in case. A formal complaint, he’d said. Union backing. Maybe even a civil case.

Buck had barely managed to get through the phone consult without feeling like his skin didn’t fit.

He hates it.

The desk. The paperwork. The reports. The way no one looks at him like a firefighter anymore.

He misses the sirens. The adrenaline. The way the firehouse smelled like stale coffee and drying hose line. The way Hen would roll her eyes at his dumb jokes, the way Bobby would sigh and pretend he wasn't hiding a smile.

He misses knowing exactly what to do with his hands.

He misses his Jeep he had lost to the sea. He misses the freedom it gave him. If he tried to replace it now, he'd be laughed right out of the dealership. But it had been his, the same as the job.

Now? Now he's moving from building to building, clipboard in hand, checking sprinklers and extinguishers and trying not to let the ache in his leg slow him down too much.

He’s twenty-six and he feels like his whole goddamn life already happened.

Buck pushes himself upright with a groan and grabs his phone. Unlocks it. Scrolls. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for.

Reddit. Instagram. Craigslist. Reddit again.

Anything not to look at the lawyer’s card on the table.

The ad appears between listings for used mattresses and dog-walking gigs. Clean font. Bold type.

Find your match. No expectations. Just generosity.

He snorts, but his thumb hovers over the link.

The app downloads faster than it should. Half the profiles are garbage. Hearts-and-dollar-sign usernames, gym selfies, greasy bathroom mirrors. He tells himself he’s just looking. Curiosity.

He doesn’t take new pictures.

Instead, he scrolls through his camera roll, thumb pausing over three.

The first is a mirror selfie, black tank top, a hint of a smirk, his arm folded across his chest like he’s pretending not to care how the light hits his jaw. He remembers taking it out of boredom one afternoon, the reflection clean, the muscle unintentional. He looks confident. Or close enough.

The second is grainier. Darker. He’s just stepped out of the shower, towel low on his hips, skin still damp. The flash flares across the glass, catching him mid-blink. It’s sexy but not posed. A snapshot from a life he doesn’t live anymore.

The third he almost doesn’t upload.

He’s behind the glass, caught in silhouette, steam crawling down the shower door. You can’t see his face, but it’s unmistakably him, broad shoulders, bowed head, fingers resting on the wall like he’s bracing himself.

Ali had taken it.

A week before the bombing.

Back when things between them had felt almost like love.

Before she left.

He uploads it anyway.

Username:

He stares at the blank field for a long time, thumb twitching over the keyboard. Then, with a flat little breath that might’ve once been a laugh, he types:

Firehose

It feels like an old joke. A bad one.

Bio: What the fuck am I doing? This is a bad idea, right?

He hits submit.

Then he leaves the room, because if he sits there and watches the inbox, he might actually lose his mind. This wasn’t supposed to be him.

But Buck 2.0 didn’t exist anymore. The rent really did need paid, and the sex addict in him was a little thrilled, even as his stomach coiled, bracing for the heartache that was sure to come.

Two days later, Buck opens the inbox.

He’s not proud of it.

He tells himself he’s just curious. Just checking. He’s not actually doing anything.

But really, he’s broke and tired. Bone-deep, soul-weary tired.

And he’s lonely.

His leg has been aching since noon. The stairs at the downtown inspection site were endless. The elevator had been out of service.

The microwave dinner from earlier is sitting in his gut like a block of cement. He’s still in the same shirt he wore to work. Still smells faintly of smoke from a faulty kitchen hood he red-tagged that morning.

He should be asleep. Or icing his leg. Or filling out the backlog of reports on his kitchen table.

Instead, he opens the app.

Sixty-eight messages.

He scrolls through the first dozen with a dull sort of resignation. Most are exactly what he expected.

Crude. Creepy.

One guy leads with do you like it rough?

Another opens with a full-body mirror selfie and a dick pic, complete with a winking emoji.

Some are slick corporate types offering luxury hotels and dinners, “just for conversation.” Those make his skin crawl more than the blunt ones.

A few treat him like a service. Giving him flat rates per night or weekends. No repeats. No strings.

One offers a car.

A handful read like personal essays. Too honest, too messy. Desperate in a way that makes Buck feel like he’d have to give more than he has to spare.

He should swipe out of the app.

Hi. This probably isn’t what you expected. It wasn’t what I expected either.

The username is plain: T.S.

No emojis. No flashy headline. Just the message.

Your bio made me laugh. Not at you. It felt honest. I’d like to buy you dinner, if you’re willing. No strings unless you want them. We can talk, or not. Up to you. ~ T

Buck blinks. Reads it again.

It doesn’t pitch anything. Doesn’t ask for more photos. Doesn’t even mention sex.

He scrolls up to the profile.

There’s only one picture.

A cockpit. Helicopter controls blurred slightly by motion. And in the foreground, two hands on the yoke. One resting gently over the other.

The first is large. Knuckles slightly scuffed. Forearm corded with muscle. There’s a faint tan line at the base of the ring finger.

The second hand is cleaner, more deliberate in its grip.

Not posed. Not polished. Just a moment. Two people mid-motion.

Something about it makes his breath catch.

There’s a second message beneath the first.

He’s underselling it. But he always does. Dinner still stands. We’ll cover the bill. ~ S

No emoji. No tagline. Just confidence. Just we’ll cover the bill.

Buck exhales.

It’s probably a mistake.

They’re probably weird. Or too intense. Or married, for all he knows.

But still, he doesn’t close the tab. His finger hovers over the reply button.

[littlewitchbee]

ロイアイの日2025 🕊️

(text below I know tumblr crunched the hell out of it)

R,

The swallows have returned. Hundreds and hundreds of small, jewel-bright flashes of blue and black that dart around the yard, catching garden insects on the wing before flitting back into the little nesting box above the back gate. Do you remember that old thing? It was one of the first things you ever made for the house.

You might not remember after all this time, so I feel comfortable in this confession: I hated you for it. You, with your haughty smile and father's affection hanging so loose and bright and easy about your shoulders. You shoved it into my arms and you said, “Here. You're always watching those birds,” before retreating into the study.

You were right, I was always watching them, but it wasn't affection that drew me to them, coaxed me to stand in the garden and stare as they danced around me. Some part of me hated them, too.

Small, delicate, beautiful things. They'd arrive in late spring, bringing with them the lush green heat of summer, and just when I'd grow to appreciate their arrival, they'd fly off again–south, to Aerugo, to the world beyond–leaving just me in my garden in my house where I was so alone despite the present company. Why on earth would they choose to return here of all places when they could fly anywhere?

But I hung that nest box. I made sure it was safe and secure. And every year I watched them return and leave once more. As I grew up, I learned that it is the nature of this world for people to leave. They left. You left. Eventually, I left.

I’ll tell you I was happy to see that the box still secure when I came back to set up the house. You'll think this is silly, and maybe it is, but I'm allowed at least one silly thing a week, and that box was one of the first things I looked for once I arrived.

The work is going well, though I (begrudgingly–please imagine my eyes rolling, perhaps a weary sigh) admit I could use your help. Why replace the kitchen beams myself when you could do it with a clap of your hands?

No. I'm glad to do it on my own. It is a blessing beyond imagination to have spent most of our lives rebuilding, using our blood-stained hands to fix and uplift in whatever small way we can. Fitting as well, I think, to spend the rest of our civilian lives here in the house that brought us together all those years ago.

I've spent the last few weeks airing it out, painting, and making it bright and cheerful in a way I could never have imagined as a child. I doubt you'll recognize it. In fact, I'm glad you won't. It's a blank canvas now, one last thing for us to build together.

I don't envy the work you're finishing up in Central. I hope it's going well, and I'm happy it's almost over. I'll ask you not to rush, though I know that's what we'd both like. Only a few more weeks, now, until your uniform can forever join mine in a box in the attic.

As for me, I think I’ll finish up in the garden, maybe hang new curtains in the study. (Your books arrived just yesterday. I'll let you sort through them.) I'll make tea every afternoon and sip it on the swing just outside the kitchen, right as the sun begins to set over the mountains, and the summer breeze surrounds me with the scent of earth and wildflowers. I'll wait for the sound of your boots coming up the drive; the dog’s excited barks as she realizes it's you; your laugh, weightless, effortless, once she reaches you. Mostly, though, I'll sit and watch the swallows dive in and out of the sunlight.

How could I ever hate them? I understand now.

Yours always,

R

[riality-check]

Purpose (‘pər pəs) (noun): a subject under discussion or an action in course of execution

It’s been two years, and Jayce still doesn’t quite understand Viktor.

He’s never really been a people person. They’re a lot more complex and unpredictable than tools and machines, and while he likes them well enough, he prefers to spend his time in the forge or workshop with very few exceptions.

Viktor is an exception, probably because he is almost always in the workshop with Jayce. Two years into working together, and Jayce can count on one hand the days that Viktor has missed in the workshop. Meanwhile, he’s never come to visit Jayce at the forge.

He doesn’t know why. Jayce doesn’t know a lot of things about Viktor, actually. He hasn’t spoken about his time at the Academy - which is something the two of them can surely find common ground in - or his family, which Jayce guesses they can’t. All Jayce knows is that Viktor is from the Undercity, he’s the smartest person he knows, and he’s full of contradictions.

Example 1: “don’t ask for permission,” and yet, the first words out of Viktor’s mouth in the nearly four hours they’ve spent holed up in the Academy library searching through prior literature are: 

“Can I ask you a question?”

Jayce doesn’t call him out on it. His head swims from squinting at faded tables and figures, and the clock rings out an hour far too late for them to have not eaten since lunch. If he teases Viktor about this contradiction, they’d banter and promptly lose track of the original question in the process.

Source: too many confused blackboard scribbles to count.

So, he just nods and peels his eyes away from the writings of one Dr. Kovac, who should consider a career as a sleep therapist with how boring his studies on thermal conductivity are.

Viktor sets down his volume (Applied Physics, Vol. 3, Issue 6) and stretches out his legs. His face twitches briefly into a grimace, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of flinch.

Jayce notices. You don’t work with someone for years and not notice that type of thing, he reasons.

“I will need some help in the next few weeks,” Viktor says. He stares at his hands, where he passes a small screwdriver back and forth between them. 

He has to hold something when he talks. Usually, that need is satisfied by his cane, but when he’s sitting down, he trades that for another object. Jayce noticed this months ago, and he doesn’t mind. He has to have something in his mouth while he reads. 

In that instant, he becomes shockingly aware of how stale his chewing gum has turned while they’ve been here. A quick scan provides exactly zero (0) trash cans nearby.

Ugh.

When Viktor doesn’t elaborate and Jayce realizes it’s his turn to carry the conversation, he asks, “What kind of help?”

“Cooking, cleaning, laundry.” Viktor counts them on his fingers, starting with his thumb. 

Jayce does it that way, too. So does Mel Medarda, and Caitlyn half (50%) of the time.

“So, you want me to be your housekeeper?”

He stretches his arms above his head - whoever designed the library chairs did so with zero (0) regard for the human body - and snorts when Viktor teases, “Smart-ass.”

“Hey, that’s what it sounds like,” Jayce defends.

Viktor looks up at him for the first time, suddenly far more serious. “I am getting surgery-”

“Surgery?”

“-and as much as I would like, I will not be able to do everything myself,” he finishes as if Jayce had never spoken.

“Shit, Viktor,” Jayce says, setting his own volume (Advances in Engineering, 5th edition) down on the nearest, highly overcrowded end table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was not relevant.”

“Of course it’s relevant!”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. Jayce won’t admit it, but he’s jealous he can do that. He practiced in the mirror for months as a kid, but he can still only raise both of them, or none at all.

“How so? If I had told you any earlier, you would have fretted and worried, and that would have taken your time, energy, and focus away from Hextech.”

“We have plenty of time, energy, and focus for Hextech,” Jayce counters.

“True, but Councillor Medarda’s money is not infinite, no matter how well you get along with her.”

Jayce sighs. “You get along with her alright.”

“I do. She is a good investor, and I respect her very much for making something of herself in Piltover,” Viktor admits. “But you are more her friend than I am.”

Jayce runs a hand through his hair. Fuck, he’s tired, and scientific literature isn’t exactly riveting. The data is interesting - at least, the relevant stuff is - but too many scientists write with all the energy of drying paint.

“Aren’t you worried?” he asks, changing the subject. “You said you didn’t tell me because I’d be worried. But you don’t seem freaked out at all.”

Viktor stares at him. “Of course I am worried. They are taking apart my spine to straighten it out with rods and screws.”

“It’s spinal surgery?”

“This is why I did not tell you.”

“Viktor, that’s a major surgery-”

“Correct.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Of course I was going to tell you.”

Jayce pinches his nose. A headache is imminent, he knows, between the lack of food and Viktor’s obstinacy. “When it became relevant?”

Viktor cracks a smile. “Now you are getting it.”

Jayce can’t help but smile in return. “When is your procedure?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Jayce leans so far forward in his chair, he nearly falls out of it.

“Well, tomorrow afternoon, around 3:00 PM, to be more specific.”

The sunset is just starting to fade to the blues and purples of dusk, but there’s just enough light for Jayce to catch the time on the clocktower centered in the window behind Viktor. They pick this alcove of the library for the view. It’s easier not to completely lose track of time when the bells toll every fifteen (15) minutes and the view remains unobstructed.

That, and because the undergraduate students don’t know about this spot. They’re everywhere. And far too loud.

Jayce takes a look at the clock. Less than twenty-four (24) hours until Viktor gets cut open and rearranged. 

Which hospital is he even going to? Should Jayce visit? Is he even allowed? What should he bring? 

“What if I had plans?” he asks.

“Plans,” Viktor repeats.

“Like dinner with someone.”

“You dine with Councillor Medarda on Tuesdays and your mother on Fridays. Tomorrow is Thursday.”

“Or a performance?”

“The ballet is out of season, and I do not believe you have tickets to the symphony.”

“Or vacation.”

Viktor bursts out laughing. His laugh is loud and a little abrasive, if Jayce is being honest. It’s harsh and imperfect, but he likes it. In a world where he got judged for wrinkles in his slacks as a student, he likes that Viktor isn’t perfect.

It makes him feel less alone.

“It’s not that outlandish,” Jayce mutters. Nevermind the fact that not once in the two years they’ve been working on Hextech has he taken anything close to a vacation.

“It is my sincere belief,” Viktor struggles to compose himself, “that if the words Jayce Talis and vacation ever inhabit the same sentence, a cataclysmic event will occur.”

Jayce pouts. Viktor laughs harder. A few undergraduate students poke their heads through the stacks, silently reprimanding them for the noise.

It is finals season for them, isn’t it? Oops. Jayce doesn’t miss those days.

“I assumed, seemingly rightly, that you had no commitments beyond Hextech,” Viktor says, finally serious again. “Much like me. So, can you help me?”

“Yes.” 

Jayce answers before his neurons have a chance to fire off a conscious thought. He thinks that might be instinct, but it’s been ages since he’s taken any sort of biology or psychology class.

“Yeah, I can help,” he follows up.

Viktor smiles. It’s a crooked, quiet smile, but that doesn’t mean it’s small. Nothing about any of Viktor’s expressions is small.

Jayce is grateful for that. It means there’s no guesswork as to how Viktor is feeling, unlike the vast majority of people in Piltover. It’s refreshing.

“Thank you,” Viktor says, and he looks directly into Jayce’s eyes when he says it, dead serious.

He fits perfectly here, if Jayce only considers his eyes. They’re the same shade of gold as the Academy roof.

“Of course,” Jayce says, and he means it with just as much seriousness. “Should we work out details now?”

“We can do it tomorrow,” Viktor says. He grabs his cane and pushes himself to stand. His brace creaks so quietly that Jayce thinks he’s imagining it for a moment.

“Your surgery is tomorrow,” Jayce says slowly. He follows Viktor’s lead and collects his own books. The ones he plans on checking out go into his bag, and he carries the ones he won’t in his arms.

He takes Viktor’s rejected volumes as well, without being asked.

“It is,” Viktor says. “But you’ll be in the lab tomorrow morning, no?”

They begin the walk toward the exit. Viktor’s cane thunks loudly on the wooden floor. The undergraduate students look up at them as they pass.

Jayce notices. He wonders if Viktor does.

“I was planning on it,” Jayce says, dropping their books at the front desk. Angelina, one of the younger librarians, gives him a friendly wave and checks their books out with lightning speed.

“Then I will see you there.” Viktor passes through the heavy wooden door that Jayce holds open for him and out into the cool night.

Jayce follows. “You can’t possibly mean you’re going to be in the lab the morning of your surgery.”

“Of course I will,” Viktor says, affronted. “I will be dreadfully bored otherwise.”

Jayce shakes his head fondly. “Get home safe.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “You say that like it is dangerous here.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Viktor admits.

The bells ring for the half hour. Jayce’s stomach growls.

“9:00 AM sharp,” Viktor says when the silence has stretched on a little too long.

“I’ll bring your coffee,” Jayce replies.

With a nod, Viktor turns to walk home.

Jayce realizes, as he begins to make his own way, that he doesn’t actually know where “home” is for Viktor.

He supposes that’s question one (1) for tomorrow.

[pirateprincessblog]

sannie, not mr choi

⚜ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: choi san x f!reader ⚜ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the tour is over, but san can't rest just yet. he is to attend a fashion show in another country. he is homesick, and tired. he misses his family, and his members, even though they just parted ways two days ago. still, his eyes can't help but catch someone who is having an equally hard time, if not harder. his sweet, lovely assistant. ⚜ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 22.3k ⚜ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: idol!san, personalassistant!reader, angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, heartbreak ⚜ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: just here to say that i'm a sucker for soft sannie. the reader isn't necessarily petite, choi san is simply that big. i spent forever editing, deleting, rewriting, proofreading. i am spent. if you see any typos, pls ignore <3 i'll eventually reread and convince myself that nobody saw anything if there is any embarrassing typos ⚜ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲. ⚜ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.

𓆩⟡𓆪

sore feet. swollen ankles. aching arms. dry mouth. eyelids that barely stay separated. little to no free time.

all those are consequences of your not-so-new position that kq has generously offered you. and you have accepted. being choi san's personal assistant had its perks, too. opportunities you could only ever dream of, such as visiting countries you always thought unreachable or expensive, meeting celebrities, even interacting with them, following san to his separate activities. each member had his own assistant. when you applied, you didn't care who you'd work for. you loved them all equally. after all, you have been a fan of theirs since debut.

they didn't need to know that, though. they would've never hired you, had they known that you were a faithful atiny. they wouldn't have believed you even if you swore that you were there to work only, not spy on them or anything similar. you would never do that. you guarded each information about them with your life, and took your job very seriously. being this close to them allowed you to admire them even more, see parts of them nobody else could. the pain, the suffering, the hard work, the love they share for each other, the quarrels, the playful moments. all of it. and you wouldn't do anything to sabotage that.

not even when you were informed that you weren't going back home as planned. choi san will need you with him at the milan fashion week after all. and you were no fool to decline.

even as you stand next to him, ready to exit the hotel, barely keeping your eyes open and your posture perfect.

"stay." he stops you by gently grabbing your elbow, pulling you back before you could step outside and be the first victim of the screams and flashing lights. "you will pass out."

"i'm fine, really." you force a smile. san looks at you, kind eyes filled with worry.

"don't lie to me, please." his voice is a mere whisper. "stay. you can join me at the after party."

you shake your head. you aren't leaving his side. not today. he will need all the support he can get, and even though you are having a hard time yourself, he isn't in any better condition. he misses home, undoubtedly. more than that, he misses sleep. "where you go, i go. i'm bound to you by contract, choi san. you cannot get rid of me just yet."

he chuckles, the sound dear to your heart.

"at least not for another six months, until it expires. or gets renewed, unlucky for you."

he delivers a playful pinch to your side, making you jump and yelp. you slap a hand over your mouth, mortified at the sudden attention that the entire floor of the hotel has given you. hurriedly, you exit the hotel, opening the door of the limousine and waiting for san to greet his fans. his figure is hugged by perfectly ironed black slacks, which you may or may not have almost forgotten to iron this morning, a loose black shirt, with one too many buttons left unbuttoned, and a necklace that sits on his tan chest. naked chest.

"you disapprove of my outfit?" he asks playfully, sipping on his champagne while the limousine smoothly glides over the busy streets of milan, waking each passerby's curiosity.

"not at all, mr choi." you reply equally playfully. you sit across him, maintaining your distance. "i think it's quite lovely. it will attract many fine ladies tonight."

he scoffs. "as if that's what i am looking for right now. oh, how i would kill for ten hours of sleep."

"two more days, mr choi. then, you'll be back home. you'll even miss all this, i assure you."

"i know i will." he sighs. "but right now, i'd rather miss my room and those chaotic idiots i call family."

𓆩⟡𓆪

surrounded by people, yet alone.

that is how you feel at almost every event that isn't a concert. all these people around you exude luxurious energy. the place reeks of expensive fragrances, and the red carpet is covered by all sorts of exquisite gowns. you feel like the odd one out, with your black suit pants and vest which san has picked for you.

"to match with me," he said. "it will look great."

and who were you to refuse him? after all, you were there to fulfill his wished and cater to his needs. free clothes were a bonus you didn't need, but also didn't mind. it is your first fashion show, and san knew that you were as nervous as him. worse, even.

"it will be over soon." he assured you, away from prying eyes. "we can sneak off the party earlier and go rest."

"you know, for people our age, it is a little weird that we aren't eagerly waiting for that after party to get wasted and brag about doing it with celebrities."

"i know, right?" the idol scoffs.

it is the last conversation you have before he gets pulled away into the crowd. his eyes don't leave yours, and a pout is evident on his lips. it is as if he is trying to ask you whether you'll be fine on your own. having no other choice, it doesn't even matter. it is not as if you can leave him here and go rest in your hotel room. you wish you could. he offered, but you'd feel guilty. behind the tough figure, choi san is a soft human. he is the epitome of the term gentle giant. you know that behind his offer he secretly wishes you don't leave him. moreover, he wishes you can follow him around. be in his pocket, he had once said.

your eyes lose his in the crowd, and suddenly, you feel alone. more alone than you've already felt since arriving. even though san is your boss, he is an idol to you first. your comfort person. he brought you peace, and he didn't even know it. you only wished you could do the same with him.

𓆩⟡𓆪

san stays at the after party.

you do not.

he has assured you that he will be fine and that he is perfectly capable of getting his own glass of water if needed. how that water turned into wine, you did not know. you saw the photos on social media. you'd recognize that flushed face from miles away.

as you sit outside on the hotel balcony of your room, with your gaze fixed on the clear night sky and a full moon, your phone vibrates on the glass table.

choi san: i know i told you to go

choi san: but iwas kinds hoping that you stayyed

choi san: am leavinthe place now, couldn't find youu

san seems to have developed a separation anxiety when it comes to you. even on your days off, the man blows up your phone with various messages and pictures, updating you on what he is doing and what you are missing. were he not an idol, and this your job, you would've mistaken it for something else.

your job as his personal assistant did not require you to follow him everywhere. choi san did. he simply needed to bring you along to the restaurant, to the convenience store, to the souvenir shop, to the café. you, and his bodyguard and manager. he would often complain, wishing to only be with you because he felt like he had more "freedom". the manager explained multiple times why it is a bad idea for a male idol to be seen with anyone who isn't a familiar staff member, especially in foreign cities. like paris.

choi san: aryou mad?????

choi san: :(

choi san: ok im ssorry

choi san: you're probbly asleep novv anyvvay

choi san: hey vvhere did the double v go?*

choi san: you knovv

choi san: the upside dovvn M??

choi san: englsh is funny..

choi san: i feel all fuzzy

choi san: i can't find the elevatr

choi san: ilostmybodyguardndmanger

choi san: maanagerr

choi san: icantseethespacebar

choi san: found                      it                               :D

choi san: i tripped on the stairs.

choi san: [image attached]

at the sight of his pouty face and slouched figure sitting on the hotel stairs, your fingers quickly tap the telephone icon in the corner of the screen. he doesn't pick up at first, and worry fills you. then, just as you reach the door to exit your room in search for him, he picks up.

"heya." he casually greets on the other side.

"mr choi." you sigh. "where are you?"

your heart races as someone knocks on your door, and luckily you stand right in front of it to take a peek of who it is. you see a single eye pressed against the peephole. an eye you'd recognize anywhere in the world. with your phone still in your hand, you open the door.

"hey, princess."

as much as the words make your head spin and your stomach fuzzy, you have to put a serious face on. "mr choi, we talked about this. you can't call me that."

"i can do whatever i want." he pouts. "i'm your boss."

"my tipsy boss." you correct. "come, i'll escort you to your room."

as you try passing him, he grabs you by your elbow once again, pressing you gently against the wall. air leaves your lungs. choi san dips his head towards yours so that he is at eye-level with you. "why do you wish to get rid of me so badly?"

"mr choi-"

"sannie."

"what?"

his bottom lip sticks out in a slight pout. such a big man, yet such a gentle heart. "not mr choi. sannie. call me sannie."

"no." you firmly decline. the last thing you need is to be heard by a staff member and get fired. not even san himself could prevent that happening. "i'll show you to your room."

"you're so mean to me." he whines, then enters your room.

"mr choi!" you whisper-yell, suddenly aware of the time. "get out of there, right now."

your words seem to go into one ear and out the other, as the man simply plops down on your bed. face buried into your pillows. the pillows where you just laid before getting bored and moving to the balcony.

a sigh leaves your lips, but you aren't defeated yet. you close the door for now, in case someone's curious eyes decide to wander. "mr choi."

"you're mean." he repeats, words muffled into the soft material. "you hate me."

"you're drunk."

suddenly, he raises his head, jaw dropped. "you aren't denying it. you do hate me!"

"oh for crying out loud." you throw your hands in the air, then make your way to the balcony doors and pull the curtains shut. his room and the managers room are directly in the opposite of yours, and one glance through the window might cost you your job. you then turn around, only to find him sitting with his back leaning against the headboard and arms crossed over his chest. his gaze is fixed on you, eyes squinted and lips pressed in a thin line. you can't help but roll your eyes. "i don't hate you, mr choi."

"lies."

"why are you making this difficult?" it is your turn to whine now. "i promise i don't hate you. you're the best boss in the whole world! now please, please, please let me escort you to your room."

for a moment, you think he will comply. he stands up. takes a few slow steps towards you. finally, you think. but then-

"why do you hate me when all i do is love you?"

-it feels as if all air has been sucked out of your lungs. your tongue is as dried up as a raisin, and a low murmur fills up your ears. san's gaze is intense, crushing your sanity and making the little professionalism that is left crumble beneath his posture. he almost hovers above you, and were someone to walk in, you're sure they wouldn't even see you from his broad shoulders and back. his hair is no longer neatly slicked back, instead disobedient and framing his face, the black complimenting his dark eyes. the eyes that do not flicker. do not blink. only stare at you, waiting for you to say something. anything. fuck.

"why do you keep pushing me away?" his voice is a mere whisper. soothing, not accusing. he wants a reason to be at peace with himself, not a reason to prove you wrong. "what have i done to you?"

"mr choi-" you manage to say. your voice is raspy, like you haven't drank anything for a long time. "you don't mean that. you won't even remember this in the morning."

"you can't call me by my name even when we are all alone?" he tilts his head, giving you sweet puppy eyes. "this isn't a test. i'm not testing your professionalism. i genuinely enjoy your company, i have for a long time now. fine, i might not love you... that was a bit strong. but i like you. i really do. i have feelings for you. i've had them for a while now."

you swallow a lump in your throat. god, you never thought that a confession from one of your favourite idols would hurt like this, if it ever happened. you're supposed to be over the roof, jumping on him, returning the feelings. instead, you gather the little sanity you have left and place your hand on his conveniently naked chest and gently push him away. why does he have to be so warm and inviting? "forced proximity."

"what?"

"forced proximity, mr choi." you repeat, doing your best to maintain eye contact. you need to be strong and firm. he cannot see any shift in emotion. san is observant, always has been. but right now, you can't let him know that pushing him away is hurting you as much as it is hurting him. "you don't like me. you just have the illusion of liking me."

"are you..." he scoffs, taking a step back before continuing, "are you saying i don't know my own feelings? that i am wrong?"

"what i'm saying is that after spending so much time with someone for so long, you are bound to develop a certain... how do i put this?" you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you think. "delusion. or illusion. whichever you wish."

"you're calling me delusional?" san suddenly seems less tipsy. like this conversation has magically sobered him up. and angered him. "i cannot believe you."

"i'm not calling you delusional. i'm calling these... feelings, i guess, delusional. they don't exist. you might feel comfort, or some type of safety with me. but romantic feelings? think deep down, mr choi. why would you have feelings for me?"

when you said that, you didn't mean for him to actually start listing things. but he does. one by one, and he doesn't stop.

"you're so sweet, and caring. you wouldn't hurt an ant. i know because every time we walk, you tend to look on the ground and walk around ant hills, or any bugs that might be on the floor. you yelled at the manager for stepping on a snail the other day. you care for all members equally, which makes me insanely jealous, because you are my assistant, but i can't deny that it makes me equally happy and warm when i see you do that. you always ask me before creating my schedule, give me choices, even though you don't have to. you give me many days off, you tell the company off many times if you think they are being unfair, you never complain about the tasks you are given, you bring me things without me having to ask, you are here whenever i need you, and you respect my private time and my space. not once did i hear you complaining, not once did you refuse to do what you were told, not once did i see a frown on your face, other than when the management pisses you off. you are the prettiest thing i've ever seen, and just looking at you makes me feel well rested even though i haven't slept. your voice is something i'll never hear anywhere else again, and it's always in my head. when i read your messages, i hear you. when you're not beside me, i hear you. and i hate when you're not beside me. i want you with me all the time, i want you with me behind the cameras, behind the manager, behind the company. i want to take you to a café in paris if i want to. i want to take pictures with you on the bridge in amsterdam. i want to sit on the london eye with you. i want you to open up to me like i open up to you. i want to know what troubles you, not only what makes you happy. i want you to find comfort in me, as much as i find comfort in you. i. want. you."

san becomes blurry before your eyes. were it not for the lack of lights, he would've seen how hard you're trying to keep the tears from spilling. he is making it hard. so hard that you can almost hear your heart snap in half when the sentence leaves your lips. "that is just me doing my job, mr choi."

and you swear you hear his heart burst as well. pain. rejection. heartbreak. it swallows him whole. his figure shrinks, and his voice is small. barely audible. "what?"

"why..." you clear your throat, trying to get rid of the painful lump that is stuck inside it. "why else do you think i do all of it? it is my job. haven't you wondered why i never open up to you? why you only see me at my best? i cannot burden you. you are my boss. you cannot know these things about me. i am here to make your life easier, were it by bringing you a coffee or simply listening to you rant. what you feel for me might be simple fondness, one you might have for a friend. you notice these things because i am constantly by your side. you demand i be by your side. if i don't, you're all grumpy and a menace to the staff to the point that i have to show up whether or not the events have anything to do with me. you've developed separation anxiety, mr choi. you found comfort in me simply because i am the one by your side at all times. were it someone else instead of me, the story would be the same. in conclusion, forced proximity is the answer here. nothing more."

his words die in his mouth. his brows are furrowed. he is hurt. and angry. he has every right to be. you did this to him. you took a loving, kind man and destroyed him. and you'll never forgive yourself, ever. you'll see his face every night before falling asleep as guilt eats you whole.

but you'd feel even more guilty if you indulged. yes, your feelings for him do exist. but what you said isn't completely wrong. san might be under the impression that he likes you, even loves you. but san hasn't had much interaction with anyone else as much as with you. you cannot take his freedom away. he needs to meet other people, he can't settle for you. you wouldn't be the right match. it wouldn't be right in anyone's eyes. after all, you are a fan. he might not know it, or he does. either way, you'd feel weird. as if you took advantage of your position and hypnotized him into being with you. the rest of the fandom would find out eventually, and they wouldn't be kind. hell, they would show up with torches beneath your window, you're sure of it. and you'd maybe do the same, were you to find out that choi san is dating an atiny who just happened to get a job at his company and had the opportunity to work with him.

"okay." he simply says.

you don't respond. the weight of sadness on your chest is too heavy, as is the weight of his gaze.

"good night, miss y/n."

"good night, mr choi."

and suddenly, the words mr choi feel like poison on your tongue.

𓆩⟡𓆪

"you know how i never complain about my job?" you finally catch the manager alone in the hallway once you return to seoul. he is headed somewhere in a hurry, but it is the only chance you have to talk to him.

"no. what's that like?" he simply responds, eyes glued to his phone screen.

"funny. anyways, i don't know how to put this, so i'll just say it." you speed up your pace, only to stand in front of him to block his way and force him to listen to you. "i'd like to switch with jaz."

he almost bumps into you, not aware that you have planted yourself on the ground until you get what you want. "you want to switch? why?"

"i just think that it isn't a good idea to be with the same member for a long time. if you know what i mean."

you're playing a dirty game. and you hope jaz doesn't find out. "you mean... you think there's something going on between jaz and mingi?"

"i didn't say anything." and you wouldn't, usually. but it is the only excuse in your book. you cannot possibly tell him about san's confession. "i just think it would do us all good if we switched places. to avoid favoritism."

in truth, you cannot be near san. the trip back was painful enough, with san avoiding you like the plague. he refused to talk to anyone, really. but only you took it personal. because it was. he had only spared you a glance once you passed by his seat on the plane, and a worried one when one of the fansites almost tripped you. other than that, choi san has maintained his distance from you. it's for the best, anyway.

"you're right.i'll think about it, then text the new pairs in the group chat tonight."

"thank you, sihun. you're the best."

the manager simply rolls his eyes, then circles around you and continues his journey.

in the evening, you receive the long awaited message. you hadn't notified anyone, in case they decide to rebel and talk the manager into dropping the issue. this way it will already be decided, and they won't have any luck in changing his mind. when did you become so mean and selfish?

good evening, everyone.

it has come to my attention that a lot of you have become very comfortable with your idol, while some are still struggling to find a common language with theirs. thus, i have decided to reassign your positions in hopes of switching up the dynamics a little bit. the new pairs will be:

hongjoong and eric

seonghwa and jaz

yunho and gyuri

yeosang and y/n

san and melanie

mingi and thomas

wooyoung and hyori

jongho and sooe

no complaints, i don't want to hear it. this pairing will come into effect tomorrow. good luck.

the separate groupchat, without the manager, is flooded with texts. who ratted who out, plots of convincing the manager to change his mind, even going as far as convincing the members to say something. you occasionally respond with a witty or sarcastic message, trying to blend in and not seem suspicious. jaz and mingi would never forgive you if they knew.

𓆩⟡𓆪

kang yeosang is a sweetheart.

he is so sweet that it is painful. he feels almost fragile, and speaks so softly to you. he doesn't ask anything of you, even when you offer. yunho, mingi and him are the only ones in the practice room so far, aside from you and a few other staff members, preparing new moves for the choreography before others arrive. the rest had the privilege of sleeping in, putting all their trust in the three dancers of the group.

the boys haven't complained about the coupling so far, yunho and gyuri already bickering playfully like siblings and yeosang making small talk with you. mingi is in the corner with thomas as the assistant shows him something on the phone, but you notice how distant mingi looks. it's not like they won't see each other ever again. besides, it would've been too suspicious to ask to only switch you and san.

"i haven't had the chance to say this, or the guts, but i love your hair." yeosang catches you off guard. "it's so pretty."

the doors open, with san entering first. his smile drops from his lips as his eyes lock with you. you don't notice him yet, and it gives him a chance to collect himself. until his gaze lands on yeosang's fingers twirling with the ends of your hair. what the fuck?

"i want to do that for the comeback. talk my hairstylist into it, please?" his fingers smoothly run through the freshly dyed lock of hair. you're happy that it is obedient this morning and not a tangled and frizzy mess. "think i could pull it off?"

"of course you could. you're kang yeosang, you can pull anything off." you playfully nudge him with your elbow. "just don't do the hongjoong fireworks coconut cut, pretty please. that still haunts him. and us."

yeosang giggles, in his own cute yeosang way. he really isn't much different off cameras. "noted."

with that, his fingers slide from your hair, letting it fall and frame your face again. as you turn around, smile still on your face, you find yourself bumping into someone. "oh, sorr-"

firm hands hold onto your waist, steadying you. you don't expect it, especially since you weren't really about to lose your balance. as if this very person just wanted an excuse to put their hands on you. you look up, confused at first. and then, that lump in your throat. san's hands are stiff on your waist, afraid that you'll perish if he lets go of you. he gives you the softest expression you've ever seen, with dark glossy eyes hidden under half closed eyelids, relaxed brows and pretty lips. "gosh, you're so pretty."

words are caught in your throat. you look around, frantically. nobody hears him, you think. your hands find themselves once again planted on his chest, pushing him away. it's what you do best these days. "mr choi-"

"right, sorry." he clears his throat, and just like that, his expression shifts. no emotion is visible on his pretty face. at least not when he looks your way.

you don't get the chance to tell him that you have been separated. he walks over to yunho and mingi who are observing the video they took earlier of the new possible choreography.

"you know, i'm actually so happy i get to work with san. he was my first pick when we first got hired. but you stole him." the redhead, melanie, beams next to you. "oh, just look at him."

you don't want to. but you do anyway. to anyone else, san looks like he is immersed into the video. but you see the subtle glances he is stealing, trying to control himself but not being able to. even though you aren't standing close to each other, he suddenly feels suffocated. he can hear you, smell you, feel you. he walks over to the wall covered in mirrors, thinking that the further distance might help. but his eyes inevitably land on you through the mirror. and this time, you don't look away.

"he has gotten so big and muscular." melanie's commentary is golden as the two of you play an imaginary game of holding eye contact. as if the world will crumble if one of you looks away.

san does indeed look handsome today. he wears a black compression shirt and black sweatpants. his hair is a fluffy mess. he hates combing. even though his shirt is long sleeved, it is so tight that it hugs every curve and dip of his muscles, feeding you sights you are so privileged to see. were you an atiny still behind a fan account, you would've begged him to put you in a headlock. now? you have to force yourself to look away before you become a tomato on the spot.

"what's it like?" she pries. "working with him."

"it's..." everything. "okay, i guess. he's not mischievous, he listens to everything i say. he's nice."

"oh, i can't wait. how does he like his coffee? does he like sweet or savory? what's his favourite dish?"

throughout the dance practice, melanie talks your ear off. first with questions, then with shameless comments. at one point, you have to stop her. "you're not here as a fan. you can't say things like that. it's disrespectful."

"boo-hoo. miss perfect here can't handle a few comments." the redhead rolls her eyes. "they're grown men."

"okay." you give up. san will handle it. he has boundaries. one comment from her and she'll go straight back to her father who arranged this job for her.

"i'm craving an iced coffee..." yeosang approaches you, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. who was the idol here again? "would you maybe mind going to the shop across the street and getting one for me? and whatever you wish for yourself, of course."

a black card is placed in your hand. "don't ask me these things, mr kang. just give me an order and i'll do it."

"i can't do that and you know it." he laughs shyly. "but please, would you? i would be grateful."

"of course, mr kang."

the boys are taking a break, and conveniently, san stands right next to the door. he eyes you as you approach him, biting the inside of his cheek. "where are you going?"

"to get yeo his coffee."

"yeo?" he scoffs. "his coffee? since when are you his assistant?"

"since last night." you simply reply.

he doesn't expect it. his brows seem to stay furrowed these days, you being the reason behind it. "what do you mean?"

"our positions were reassigned. i am no longer your personal assistant." you say it so nonchalantly. like you don't care. and you admire yourself for it. you didn't know you had it in you.

"you're lying." his demeanor switches from tough to disappointed, with his arms no longer crossed over his chest but hanging on the sides of his body. "tell me you're lying."

"why would i lie about something like that?" you don't allow him to continue interrogating you, instead exiting the practice room.

he follows, ignoring the calls behind him. "wait!"

"mr choi, i have been given a task. please let me do my job."

"oh, so he's yeo, but i'm mr choi." bitterness is evident in his voice. "you're so- so-"

"what am i, mr choi?"

"mean." he finishes. he looks frustrated with himself. could he not have found a better word?

"i think i heard that one before from you, mr choi. do you wish for anything from the shop?"

"you know what?" he clenches his fists. he stands silent for a while, eyes roaming your face for any indication that you might be simply teasing him and that this is all just a harmless joke. but you don't budge. you look at him, yet it feels like you are looking through him. you don't care. this truly is just a job to you. "i'm glad we switched. at least melanie won't hurt me like you did."

the words make your blood boil. suddenly, you don't feel bad. "excuse me?"

"i poured my heart out to you, and you-"

"do not fucking guilt trip me." you raise your voice. a light gasp leaves his lips, and his fists unclench. he takes a step back as you approach him angrily, finger pointing into his chest, threatening to stab him. "i do not owe you anything. your feelings are not my problem. i meant what i said, every single word of it. this is just a job. you are just my boss. i am here to collect my paycheck and leave. i do not wish to arrive at work and have to deal with this. get your shit together and stop this madness before you get us in trouble for nothing."

your words strike him like an arrow through a heart. a poison arrow. you've never spoken to anyone this way. not even the management. this is a new side of you he is meeting, and he is a fool for falling even deeper for you. "look me in the eyes and tell me there wasn't a single moment when you looked at me and wished for something more than just a business relationship. that there wasn't a moment where you felt so comfortable with me that you wanted it to last forever."

anger overshadows your usual kindness and thinking process. you approach him, unintentionally causing him to further step back and collide with the wall. the height difference is comical, and were it not a serious situation, one of you would've surely made a witty comment about it. to anyone standing aside, it would've been weird seeing someone like choi san get cornered by someone smaller than him. luckily, you are alone in the hallway, and it is now your turn to pour your heart out.

the tip of your nail is buried in his chest, causing him to stiffen and not move a muscle against the cold wall. you look him straight in the eyes as your teeth bite and abuse the inside of your cheek before speaking. "there wasn't a single moment where i looked at you as anything more than my disobedient and spoiled boss."

"you're lying."

"i'm not."

"you are. i don't believe you." he isn't sure who he is trying to convince with his words. you, or himself?

"i am not lying."

"you'll have to do better than that to convince me."

"i will not prove my non existent feelings to you. are you out of your mind?" you are in disbelief.

"you're just saying that because you don't want to lose your job." he argues further. "i'm not insane."

"there wasn't a single moment where i felt anything romantic for you."

"lies."

"i swear to-"

"you're telling me that all those times when i'd accidentally touch you and you'd blush furiously were nothing?"

"stop."

"all those times when i'd lend you my coat because you keep losing your jackets and i'd catch you secretly sniffing it or hugging it after you're done wearing it?"

"stop."

"all those times you stayed up late to talk to me was just work to you? who does that? you could've chosen not to respond. those aren't your working hours. instead, you were always online, whenever i'd send you anything. and don't tell me it's just because you were doing your job. i don't know how much my boss would have to pay me for me to listen to him talk for two hours straight about things that don't even make sense in the middle of the night. no sane person would indulge in the things you did, for a paycheck, and-"

"san."

and that's all it takes for him to stop. his name dripping honey from your lips, but with a bitter aftertaste. he hates that this is the only moment where you have called him by his first name. "yes?"

"leave me alone." you finally say. "we can remain professional, as we were until you ruined it. or..."

as much as he doesn't want to ask, deathly afraid of the answer, the words still see the light of the day. "or...?"

"or i'll leave. and you'll never see me again."

𓆩⟡𓆪

business dinners aren't unusual for the kq company. business banquets that include the staff? a little.

the company is celebrating its anniversary, and has decided to invite all its artists and staff. all those who make this company still stand. you feel proud for being a part from that.

yeosang has forwarded you the digital invitation, and you glance at it once again as you get ready, just in case you missed anything or misread. the dress code is a simple black tie. initially, you weren't taking this seriously. until the private group chat was flooded with images of various gowns, suits and accessories. suddenly, your pants and blazer seemed like sweats compared to what they were wearing. thus, here you stand in an off shoulder black gown with a leg slit in front of your mirror, retouching your makeup. the corset is tight around your waist and ribs, but the rest of the dress falls comfortably and rests against your body. with san, you always opted for pants, jumpsuits, vests. you can't remember when you wore a dress. mostly because you always deemed it impractical for work.

you haven't heard from san for two months now. you see him in hallways, at shows and social media. yeosang doesn't drag you along with him wherever he goes. he values your free time and doesn't like to bother you. deep inside, you miss being tugged all ways at once. it made you feel like you were important and capable. yeosang has given you a vacation, it seems.

the red lipstick is wiped for the third time tonight, making your lips irritated and swollen. it doesn't look right. but you don't have time to reapply or find a new shade, hearing the ride honk just below your window. the five minutes of going down the stairs in your heels, with your hands holding your gown so that you don't trip, feel like a fairytale. it dies once you see the manager in the fancy car, already moody.

"do i want to know?" you roll your eyes as you sit and fasten your seatbelt.

"we asked for artificial flowers. they delivered live ones, thinking that we were picking the cheaper option and they're doing us a favour. in their minds, it was a thoughtful gift. it's-"

"-a disaster." you finish for him. melanie and jaz look confused in the back. you don't. you know exactly why this is an issue. "poor san."

before the redhead can ask, the engine starts, and the manager speeds up so that you can arrive on time. you'd be lying if you said that you weren't bothered by her touchy relationship with san. she always has her hands on him, but in a way that nobody can tell her anything about it, not even san. his hair always needs fixing, his collar straightening, his tie or buttons adjusting. and he doesn't complain. you hate how jealous it makes you. you almost regret your secret meddling in the new pair ups.

the mansion is located just outside of seoul, on a hill overlooking the city and surrounded by a forest. the banquet hall is breathtaking. the first thing you notice is the strong scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. then, endless tables of sweets. cakes, dessert cups, chocolate fondue, cookies, fruit, and whatnot. the colours are inviting, a contrast to the black and white attire that the personnel is rocking. everybody looks breathtaking. you dare say that even the ceo looks handsome tonight.

the seats are assigned, of course. the personal assistants sit at the same table, not in a bad spot. you have clear view of the empty space in the middle of the hall. for dancing, you assume.

"girl, where is your lipstick?" sooe raises her eyebrow.

even if you had it to begin with, it would've been gone with the cake in your stomach right now. "the shade was so ugly that i simply decided not to wear one. red doesn't suit me."

"no, orange doesn't suit you." gyuri corrects. "you haven't tried proper red. here."

she hands you a lipstick. dior, of course. your essence lipstick can't compete with that. "i'm okay-"

"it would be a crime to wear a dress like that and not to have red lipstick on." eric comments, eyes not leaving his plate of food. "this cheesecake is heaven. i won't even need dinner."

a sneeze grabs your attention. nobody pays attention to it but you. you wouldn't either, if you didn't know who it belonged to. before he can spot you, or vice versa, you almost run from the table under the excuse that you're going to apply the lipstick.

the ladies room is empty besides you and another member of staff, who is fixing her hair in the mirror. she smiles as a greeting. relief washes over your body, happy that she isn't one of those your group calls "the bully crew". those are people who have been here since day one, and are impossible to work with. always mean, bitter and judgmental. then they say that the younger generations are rude.

the girl soon finishes, and just before exiting, throws a compliment your way. "you have a very pretty neck."

"that's so random." you laugh. "but thank you."

"maybe it's the dress, but really, i mean it. it's weird to me too, i- oops, sorry. i was just on my way out." before you have the chance to find out what interrupted her, another sneeze echoes through the hallway and the ladies room.

the hand that holds the lipstick stiffens. through the mirror, you can see into the hallway that leads both into the men's room and the women's room. the girl scurries past him, leaving you without finishing her sentence. the person she bumped into starts walking, and you know he has to pass by the open doors of the room in order to reach his destination. like a coward, you hide in one of the stalls. then, familiar voices.

"did you see her anywhere?"

"keep your voice down." you recognize seonghwa. "we just got here. you need to calm down."

san sneezes again, then whines. "i'm going to die here tonight. i won't even see her."

"you're so dramatic. how did she put up with you for so long?" you can almost feel the older man roll his eyes.

"whatever. can't believe yeosang snatched her away from me."

you can almost feel seonghwa roll his eyes. you do, as well. "he didn't snatch her. nobody knew that they would switch us."

"yeah, right. i still want to know why he was touching her."

"her hair, san. i keep hearing this story once a week, and frankly, i'm tired of it. she's not gonna forbid him to approach her."

"you don't get it..." san mumbles.

their voices echo even when they enter the men's room, due to non existent doors. you should use the chance and run away. but your feet stay planted on the ground, and you even put the toilet lid down so you can sit. you might be here for a while, even after they leave. you need time to collect yourself. going back to the table with cheeks flushed and tears in your eyes is not an option.

you miss him. the whole situation seems like a breakup, like san is your ex boyfriend and you both desperately wish to get back together, but you know you can't. it wouldn't work. you hate yourself for thinking that way. all those months of holding back, and now you allow yourself to feel vulnerable after successfully pushing him away.

"melanie is getting on my nerves."

you can't help the snort that leaves you, and you slap your palm over your mouth. seonghwa chuckles. "she's enjoying her new position, isn't she?"

"a bit too much." san's voice is horse, and he sounds congested. "i caught her taking pictures of me in the dressing room the other day. i'm too tired to do anything about it, really."

"san, that's serious." seonghwa's tone changes, as does your expression. he better be joking. "you have to report that to-"

"i really don't have the energy to deal with that. you know her father will convince the management to make her stay."

silence envelops the place for a few moments. you hear soft sniffles, then water running. this might be the moment when you should start meddling. san won't do anything about it, and it will make melanie think that she can get away with it. she won't stop there, you know it. you heard all sorts of comments and fantasies out of her shameless mouth. were you a hypocrite? perhaps. the difference being that you viewed san as a kind, loving person who, if not an idol, would be your dream partner. melanie viewed san as something that you can't describe respectfully even if you tried. she wanted him physically. and she is working on it, she proudly announces it every now and then. nobody in the group bats an eye except you, but you don't say anything. she has already called you out, accusing you that since you were no longer his personal assistant that you had no right to say or do anything that includes him.

this is too far. she is out of her mind. you're sure you'd feel the same disgust and need to meddle if it were another member. this type of behaviour is getting out of control, and you might have to do a little more yelling for the management to wake up and start protecting its artists.

"anyway..." he trails. "i'm going back. do i look less pathetic?"

"no." seonghwa replies. "you look like a dumpling. these allergies have no mercy on you."

san sighs, defeated. "well. this is the best i can do. let's hope i don't see her at all, for her sake."

it should surprise you that san still speaks about you. more than that, it should surprise you that seonghwa knows about it as well. he doesn't scold him. if seonghwa had no problem with it, why did you create one?

"i'll see you there. i'm just going to wash my hands." the older man announces.

you hear footsteps, then water running again. you finally step out of the stall, gently closing the door after you. hurriedly, you rummage through your clutch, and soon enough, you find what you're looking for. you hear footsteps again, except this time, you don't hide. "mr park?"

seonghwa turns around, surprised. he wears simple black slacks, and a black, slightly sheer button up. just his style. "hi, love."

"could you..." you approach him with the item that you dug out, holding it out for him to take. "give this to him?"

the man takes the small bottle of nose drops, then smiles. "you still look out for him."

he doesn't mention anything about you eavesdropping. he's as nosy as you, and you both know it. many times you've found yourselves accidentally looking each others way every time something happened or you'd hear something. and each time you both had to fight yourselves as to not burst out laughing.

"i just had them with me, really." you shake your head. "i don't ever empty my bags. just store things in them until they refuse to close. that has been sitting in there for a while."

"right." he allows you to think you can fool him. "should i say they're from you?"

you shrug. "i can say no. but you'll still tell him, won't you?"

"and you mean to convince us that you aren't an atiny. you know us better than anyone else, and you've been here the shortest amount of time." his hand finds its place on the top of your head, giving you a few pats and a playful hair ruffle, before retreating. "do you need anyone to talk to?"

"no." you quickly reply, flustered. "and i'm- i'm not an-"

"you're not." he nods. "it's our little secret. it has been since the day you walked in and were the only one who didn't want to choose between us."

there goes your meddling. "thanks."

seonghwa then greets you with a smile, and finally exits to find san. the lipstick is applied with shaky hands, and loose hair strands successfully tamed. by the time you get back to the table, the ceo has already stood up to give a speech. luckily, the table is tucked in the corner of the room, saving you from embarrassment of being the only one standing.

as the ceo starts, your eyes wander over the tables. it isn't difficult to find them, their table is at the front, along with the xikers one. san sits with his back facing the room. you wonder if seonghwa has given him the drops already, and if he feels a bit better. it doesn't even matter if he knows who they're from. he can guess, anyway.

the speech is wrapped up, with gratitudes towards the staff, from the older ones to the recently joined ones. "you all make kq, not only the artists." he finishes.

half your table is gone, and you would've stayed sat, were it not for jaz dragging you along to dance with her. your plate of food will have to wait. jaz looks the most stunning tonight. the white dress looks gorgeous on her dark skin, and her usually slicked back hair is replaced by luscious curls that fall over her shoulders and down her back. you feel so basic and underdressed just standing next to her.

"i'm gonna need you to cover for me." she whispers into your ear when a dance move brings her close to you. "mingi wants to use the fact that everybody is here so that we can have some peaceful time alone."

you can't say no. not after you were the one who separated them. "of course. i'll figure something out."

"thank you!" she hugs you tightly. "if you need anything ever, don't hesitate to ask."

there are all sorts of things you need. none of those can be helped by jaz. unless she is a sorceress who can erase your feelings for someone. "i'll keep that in mind."

once jaz successfully slips away, with mingi following soon after, you start feeling tired. it is past eleven, and you don't even realize how long you've been dancing. gyuri and thomas retreat to the table where melanie and sooe haven't moved, and eric is enjoying his third piece of cheesecake and fourth éclair.

"you know that there is a bunch of steaks right in front of you?" thomas playfully smacks the back of his head. "y/n, do you want one?"

"no, thanks." you aren't hungry. not when you see melanie eyeing someone up in the crowd behind you. "i'm going to get some fresh air, maybe when i get back."

you don't know where you are going. the place isn't that big for you to get lost, so you take your time exploring. no balconies so far, and the porch is occupied by smokers. you find a staircase, and that feeling of the fairytale is back again as you take the gown in your hands and start walking. the stairs lead you to a rooftop. you wonder why the event wasn't taking place here. it is as big as the hall, and instead of the dancefloor, there is a pool. the view is breathtaking, with minimal light pollution allowing the stars to glimmer above the still alive city of seoul. the city never sleeps, and is beautiful at any time of day. it's so easy to forget where you are, having to spend all your time inside or wherever your job requires you to go.

the door closes behind you, and you can't help the quiet groan that leaves your lips. you really needed a few minutes to yourself.

"oh, sorry. didn't realize someone was here."

out of all people.

"i just came to catch some fresh air, i'll be gone soon. please don't mind me."

does he not realize who you are? or has he finally come to terms with everything? "don't worry, mr choi. i'm leaving anyway."

when you turn around, you don't know who looks more in awe. more pathetic, better said. his jaw hangs as his eyes roam your figure. you know you aren't masking your expression, because choi san looks absolutely dashing. he wears a white button up, black slacks, a black vest and a tie. you know he dressed himself up because his tie hangs poorly around his neck. melanie must've tried fixing it, she had to. he didn't allow it.

"i don't think i've ever seen you in a dress." he breathes out. such a privilege to have an idol breathless because of your appearance. "you look beautiful."

"thank you. you look handsome as well, mr choi."

he doesn't complain about you calling him so. instead, he walks over, slow and careful. as if he'll scare you away if he moves any faster. he joins you by the fence, and soon enough, his scent envelops you. "i often forget how beautiful seoul is."

you hum, nodding your head.

"enjoying the party?"

"i'm up here. what do you think?"

a soft chuckle meets your ears. you miss hearing that. you allow yourselves a few moments of comfortable silence. nothing but the sound of the leaves rustling in the gentle summer breeze, distant sound of the city, and an occasional cricket. san is leaning on the fence with his arms covering the railing, and his chin resting on top. you, on the other hand, stand still with your palms gripping the same railing. your eyes betray you many times, choosing to glance his way more often than you'd like. he has his eyes closed as he breeze caresses his cheeks and moves the loose strands of his slicked back hair. he looks content.

"you smell cozy." he mumbles, eyes still closed. "like a vanilla candle."

it is your turn to chuckle. "your sinuses cleared up?"

and just like that, you betray yourself. the smirk on his lips is all you need to see. "so it was you."

"guilty." you turn around, leaning your back and elbows against the fence. you tilt your head back, exposing your neck and chest to the breeze. it helps cool you down. "i'm glad you feel better."

you hear him shuffle, before he opens his stupid mouth again. "you don't know how breathtaking you look."

tilting your head to the side, you can't help but glare at him. he is still in the same position, only now his cheek lays on the arms that cover the railing, using them like a pillow as he looks at you. he has never looked more soft and vulnerable.

"you're a dream."

"is this how it will go?" your voice is equally quiet. you don't get angry at him. you aren't irritated. you can't be, not when he looks at you like that. "you'll keep confessing, and we'll avoid each other for a while until you confess again the first chance you get?"

"i'm not confessing. i'm just stating facts. you look gorgeous. any sane man would see and say that if they were here instead of me." he then stands up straight, hands fixing his vest and tie. "i guess i'm just the lucky one. conveniently."

for a moment, you think he is going back to the party downstairs. but he simply plops on one of the deck chairs by the pool. he doesn't invite you over, but you still join him. you opt to sit on it sideways so you can face him. the pool water and the lights in it illuminate his slightly puffy face and rosy eyes. the moments when you hate flowers have become less rare since you started working for him. right now, you despise them.

"i was hoping you were right." his gaze is fixed on the water. "forced proximity. i prayed you were right. but i've seen you for five minutes tonight, and all i want to do is fall on my knees for you. beg you to give me a chance. to show you how good it can be, and how nobody can harm you in any way. to show you what it's like to be mine."

you stay silent. surprisingly, you don't feel annoyed with him anymore. you let him speak.

"i can't believe i ever doubted my feelings. i wanted to, for your sake. because you want nothing to do with me." your heart tightens. "you've made it clear multiple times, and i was trying to decide what you feel for you." the familiar lump in your throat appears. "i called you a liar, and accused you of breaking my heart, when you've rejected me so gently once. i was trying to make you doubt your own feelings." and your eyes sting.

"why are we back on page one?" your voice is hoarse.

san doesn't look at you yet. and it bothers you. "this might be the wine speaking out of me."

"you know you can't drink." you gently scold him.

"i didn't know what to do with myself. i was overwhelmed by everything. knowing that you are in the room but i can't see you. hearing you, smelling you. god, that scent. like the coziest warmest autumn evening. but you were still far from my eyes." the man says. he tilts his head back, resting it against the backrest. "then, i find you here. i told myself i wouldn't put you in an uncomfortable situation. and look what i'm doing."

you try swallowing, hoping to make the lump go away. but it stays stubborn. "it's okay. we're just talking. you're not doing anything to make me uncomfortable."

he closes his eyes again, this time enjoying the sound of the water and your scent that envelops him, even when there's a distance between you. it gives you time to admire him some more. you watch his chest rise and fall peacefully, and when your eyes land on the stupid tie, you can't help yourself. you stand up, walking over to him and sitting on the edge of the deck chair where he rests. he flinches, eyes shooting open. "what are you-"

"shh." you hush him. you've never been so close to him before. your body is pressed against his side as you lean over him, fingers working on loosening the tie so that you can do it properly. you pretend you don't feel his gaze on you. like you don't see his hand twitching, yearning to touch you. "i've spoiled you. you can't even tie your own tie."

he doesn't laugh. he simply gawks at you while you work on the piece of fabric. if he knew that that's all it takes to bring you closer to him, he would've worn his shirt and pants inside out. then, you flinch. your breath stops, as do your fingers. choi san cups your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. "it's obvious that you never wear red lipstick."

he moves his hand sooner than you'd like. the tip of his thumb is red, and before you can offer him a handkerchief, he brings it to his lips. the action is intimate, and your lips are on fire. you wish you'd smeared it a bit more. your eyes stay locked for a worrying amount of time. but san doesn't move. he doesn't lean in. he doesn't say anything.

you do. you find yourself in a trance, consumed by his scent and very being, and you lean in. slow and unsure at first. then, you feel yourself sliding off the chair. san's hand grabs your waist before you can fall, pulling you back on the chair and on top of his body. you don't resist. his eyes flutter shut first. it's now or never.

you close the gap, inch by inch, until the tip of your nose brushes against his. it's pure torture on both ends. your brain and heart are fighting a battle inside you, and san knows it. it's why he isn't making any moves besides holding your body secure so that you don't fall. he lets you set the pace. his warm breath caresses your lips. you can't help the painful exhale of desperation that leaves you, right before tears swell in your eyes.

"i can't." you quietly cry out. "i'm sorry."

san doesn't have time to process the situation. you are already standing, quickly tapping the corners of your eyes with your fingers and throwing your head back before the tears ruin your makeup. a scoff of disbelief leaves his lips. "why are you doing this to yourself? to me?"

"i'm not doing anything. it is wrong." your voice shakes. "i just- i drank some wine too and-"

"why are you denying yourself happiness?" he stands up as well and approaches you. you take a step back, just in case. you can't be tempted again. this was too dangerous. "why are you hurting both of us like this?"

"look, i'm tipsy. i don't want to do something that will give you hopes when i've told you many times that-"

"so what, you're telling me you go around kissing guys when you're tipsy? that i'm not special?" you know he isn't hurt, because he knows it isn't true. he is just trying to lure the truth out of you by making you angry. "do you do this with yeosang as well?"

"shut up." you sniffle. "don't even."

"talk to me. why is the idea of us so horrible to you?" his words are firm, but his tone gentle. he approaches you, and you can't help but step back, feeling overwhelmed. "you don't even need this job. you could do anything you want, i'd be your biggest supporter. you could quit, and-"

"it's not that simple!"

san is blurry before your eyes, just like the first night he confessed. this time, however, there isn't a wall to stop you from walking behind. but there is a pool.

your next step has your foot hanging in the air for a split second, right before a gasp leaves your mouth and you reach for san. your hand slips through his, and soon enough, your body is swallowed by cold water. san wastes no time in jumping after you. before you can sink any lower, his hands plant themselves on your waist, pulling your body against his as he swims to the surface. you didn't expect the pool to be so deep.

while you are busy coughing water and gasping for air, san has swam over to the edge of the pool where the water is a bit more shallow. his voice is nothing but a hum in your ears as you try to recover. your body trembles against his. from the cold water, and from shock. it's just water. but you never learned how to swim. each attempt resulted in you having a panic attack and ruining the fun for everyone else.

"princess." his voice finally reaches your ears. "i've got you."

"san," you cry out. he hushes you, simply hugging you closer and resting your head into the crook of his neck.

"it's okay. i'm right here." he hates that he breaks the boundary by kissing the top of your head. but it is his way of comforting, and he doesn't think in the moment. "i'm so sorry."

his drenched shirt is scrunched between your fingers, but he couldn't care less. he's glad you aren't running away from him after falling in because of him. "please don't let go."

"i won't, but we need to get you out of the water." he gently tucks his fingers under your chin, lifting your head so that he can look you in the eyes reassuringly. panic sets in, and you start trembling more.

"no, no!" you pull on his shirt, latching yourself onto him. "don't let go, please don't let go. please, please, please, please-"

"princess," he cups your cheek with one hand. "i'm right here. i won't let go of you. can you trust me?"

"no."

san knows you don't mean that you can't trust him. you aren't ready to move, and he understands. he tucks your head back into the crook of his neck, and leans against the pool wall for support. he gently sways you in the water, eyes fixed in the way your hair and gown move under the gentle current of the pool springs.

time stops. it feels so natural, being this close to him. his hand rubs your back in an attempt to warm you up in the cold water. he hushes your quiet whimpers, lips brushing against your ear shell. "i've got you."

"don't let go."

"i won't. i promise." the man assures.

you don't know how long you stay like that. all you know is that san has managed to calm you down and is pulling you out of the water. even though it's summer, you are still shivering. san's brows are furrowed, worry painting his pretty features.

"my phone is drenched, it won't turn on. can you stay here while i go get seonghwa?" he crouches in front of you while you sit on the chair, his vest that he managed to discard before jumping covering your upper body. "i'll be right back."

"okay."

seonghwa doesn't judge. he doesn't have sarcastic remarks. he doesn't scold.

hongjoong does. as if you weren't overwhelmed already, hongjoong has decided that scolding and yelling inside the car was the best thing to do right now.

"let me just make this clear: i'm not mad at her, i'm mad at you." he looks at san through the rearview mirror.

you have sunken into the car seats in the back, wrapped in san's vest and seonghwa's coat. even though hongjoong's words aren't meant for you, you can't help the new wave of tears that coat your cheeks. you have trouble breathing again.

seonghwa notices you detaching again, a new panic attack threatening to pull you into its void. "joong."

"what? i'm tired of him, seriously. why doesn't mingi have any problems? i never had to interfere with him and jaz and save their asses. they're careful, and-"

"joong."

your breathing quickens. san doesn't notice, even though he sits in the back with you. he is busy fighting with hongjoong. the situation you were scared of happening is unfolding right now, and nothing happened between san and you. you have already gotten him into trouble. fingers reach for the button on the car door in an attempt to open the window. once it does, you stick your head out, then try breathing.

"why are you being such a jackass about it? it was an accident! you think i wanted to push her?"

"do you think i care? it's not about tonight only, san. it's about you for the past few months. you aren't subtle at all!"

"guys," seonghwa says a bit louder, eyes switching from the road to the rearview mirror every now and then.

"and just what have i been doing for the past few months that you think you have the right to be yelling at me right now?"

"having to explain why you keep dragging her everywhere, having to convince the manager to even let you do that, going to such lengths to delete videos and pictures of you gawking at her, getting dispatch off our asses-"

"and doing all that for mingi wasn't an issue? for me it was?"

"i didn't have to do it for mingi! he was careful!"

"ENOUGH!"

the car stops abruptly on the side of the road. seonghwa exits, rushing over to your side and opening the door. you fall into his arms, a sobbing mess once again, struggling to catch your breath.

"it's okay." he pulls you into a hug.

"i'm sorry." you feel pathetic. it's all you can say. "i'm so sorry. it's all my fault."

"it's not your fault. hongjoong and san are just being pricks right now." the older man pats your head. "do you want to go home or would you like to stay with us?"

"my home, please?"

"you got it." he helps you sit comfortably again, then fastens your seatbelt for you.

the rest of the ride is quiet, with san fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves on seonghwa's coat that shields and warms your wet body, quietly telling you that he is here.

when you wake up, it is still dark. you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes, and meet san's focused face. he carries you in his arms, going from door to door trying to figure out where you live. once he finds your last name, he struggles fitting the key in the keyhole.

"let me." you whisper. "put me down."

once your feet touch the ground, you need a moment to steady yourself. your apartment is just as you left it: a mess as you tried to get ready for the event. you are grateful that the darkness has swallowed it. san doesn't need to know how messy you are outside of work, where you are always organized and tidy.

"uh... do you want slippers?" you point towards a spare pair of slippers that are only used by your family when they visit. "i mean... if you want to stay for a while. or do you have to go back immediately?"

san looks at the slippers, then at you. "do you want me to stay?"

"please." your voice is so low, that if san wasn't so focused on you, he wouldn't have heard it.

"i'll just text hwa. my phone came to life."

you nod. "i'll uh... go put on some tea, i guess. what's the time?"

"does it matter? if you crave tea, i'll make it for you." he simply replies, eyes glued to his phone as he types a message.

now that you look back at your time working with him, san had moments where he loved acting as your boyfriend. you simply didn't allow yourself those delusions. you ignored them. but san loved buying you things, making you try various food and drinks, took pictures of you, gave you his jacket even when you really didn't need it. the response came so naturally from him, as if he usually makes you tea whenever you crave it.

"well?" his full attention is back on you as soon as his phone is tucked in his back pocket. "what does your heart desire?"

"honestly? i'd kill for a cup of cocoa."

your answer makes san chuckle fondly. he makes his way to your kitchen, as if he knew the place by heart. you're grateful that you've decided to wash the dishes today. you have a habit of hoarding dishes before making yourself wash them. you'll do all chores without a problem, from vacuuming to washing the windows. but dishes? you hate yourself for it. it is such a simple task, really. but your brain makes it hard for some reason.

san rummages through your cupboard, not bothering to ask where anything is. he finds the cocoa powder, then the milk in the fridge. "how chocolaty?"

"i trust you."

the clock shows a little past one after midnight. it is monday, and the boys have a day off. still, you can't help but feel bad for causing a mess and ruining their sleep schedule. while san busies himself with making two cups of cocoa, you quickly text seonghwa.

y/n: i'm so sorry for tonight. please tell mr kim that it is all my fault, that mr choi had nothing to do with it. i'm truly sorry for putting you in those positions. i promise i'll do everything to fix it and assure that it never happens again. again, i am so sorry.

park seonghwa: don't be silly. hongjoong was just being an ass. between you and me, he might've been a bit tipsy. plus, eden is on his back about the comeback. he was just unleashing himself on innocent people. don't burden your little head with it.

y/n: i can't help but feel guilty. no matter what i do, i'm messing mr choi up. i've distanced myself from him in an attempt to fix this, but it's only getting worse.

park seonghwa: san is already messed up on his own, even without you. he's been a menace before you came along, don't worry. he just became worse when you arrived. the two of you should take your time to figure out exactly how you feel. i won't say what i know, or how much i know, but i'll give you one advice: talk. don't hold back. that's the only way you'll resolve this.

y/n: thank you, mr park

park seonghwa: you know, it feels weird having an atiny call me that. you are the only one still calling us that in private among the assistants, and you technically know us longest and best. think you can work on that? :)

y/n: i'll try :)

park seonghwa: yay! now go before he gets all pissy and pouty again. warm yourself up, we don't want you catching a cold. good night, tiny ♥

y/n: good night, seonghwa. ♥

you sigh with content. one thing at a time.

"where's your bathroom?" san asks as he pours the hot cocoa in two cups.

"first door on the left."

he comes back with a towel and clothes. was he in this apartment before, but you weren't aware? how did he find your pajamas?

"here," he hands you the clothes, then turns back to stirring the cocoa.

the drenched gown is replaced by a cozy t-shirt and sleep shorts. you don't pay much attention to what you are wearing, until san looks over and chuckles. "what?"

"ateez world tour." he reads out loud.

you look down, and right across your chest, the words he just said. that bastard. "you did this on purpose."

"i promise, i didn't. it was folded inside out and just laid on your chair on top of a pile of other clothes. i thought it was a normal black t-shirt. the pile waiting to be ironed, i assume?"

right, aside from washing dishes, you hated ironing clothes as well. you can't be bothered to pick up the gown, instead pushing it with your foot to the corner. seonghwa's coat and san's vest are neatly folded and placed in the laundry basket.

"come here." he calls you over.

your bare feet tap against the cold parquet floor as you walk over. at no point this evening did you know what san was about to do next, and neither do you know now. he picks you up by your waist, placing you on the kitchen counter. the towel is soon in his hands, drying your wet locks of hair. he stands between your legs like it's nothing. like you do it every day. like all of this didn't happen because you refuse to say your true feelings out loud.

"i can hear you thinking," he whispers.

"i got it." you snatch the towel from his hand, a little harsher than you wanted. he frowns, but lets you have it. "thanks."

you stay sat on the counter, swinging your legs in the air as you watch him focus on the cups. as if he was making the world's most complicated cocoa, using a dozen ingredients instead of two.

"what now?" you dare ask.

"now..." he sighs. "we drink cocoa."

"you know what i mean." you accept the cup from his hands, and your fingers inevitably brush against his. your skin is on fire, and god, it takes everything in you not to drop that cup and pull him close to you. "are we going to act like this is normal? my boss in my apartment at this hour, while i sit here in my sleepwear?"

"you keep worrying your pretty head with stupid things." san takes a sip of his beverage. he hums, then takes another one. "you were right. cocoa is much better than tea."

"san."

pretty eyes finally lock with yours. his brows relax, and his face softens under your gaze. "yes?"

"you need to put yourself in my shoes. i can't help but feel like i'm taking advantage of you. i'm a fan. a staff."

"so?"

"the fandom will be against it. the company as well."

"and why do you care about their opinion when the only one that should matter is ours?" it feels like he is scolding you. you know he isn't. he is just getting annoyed at the situation both of you are in. "this could be the best thing that can happen to us."

after a moment of silent thinking, you sigh. "i have to sleep on it."

you don't ask san to stay. he doesn't offer to leave. he just takes his place on the couch once he tucks you in your own bed, but not without making a witty comment about the photocard holder and his photocard that lay on the nightstand next to the bed. "you're so cute it hurts. want me to sign it?"

"go away." you bury your head in the pillow. "and leave the door open. i don't like being in the dark, and the street lights have been broken for a while now. leave the bathroom light on, and don't close that door neither."

with each moment that passes, san keeps finding out more things about you. things so unimportant that everyone would forget after a moment or two, but he remembers. it makes him fall for you harder and harder. right now, you are impossibly cute, confessing that you are scared of dark. "i'll be on the couch. if you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me up."

"okay. thank you." your voice is muffled by the pillow. you hear him chuckle, then feel his hand pat your head playfully. "good night, princess."

"good night."

the second time you open your eyes, it is light. for a split second. then, booming thunder. it's been a while since a thunderstorm this strong has hit the city. overcoming your fear of it for a split second, you run over to the windows where the curtains move from the strong wind. the wind makes it hard, pushing the window against you as you try your hardest to shut it. the shuffling and grunting must've awoken san, because soon enough, he gently nudges you aside and closes the window with little to no effort. the room lights up once again, causing you to flinch and cover your ears. your heart beats loud while you await the loud noise to echo in the room.

once it passes, san takes your hands in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs on your knuckles. "want to-?"

"will you sleep in here tonight?" you beat him to it. you don't know where you're getting the confidence, or the audacity. you're doing everything contrary to what your previous self wanted and worked hard to maintain.

a few months ago, you were going crazy because san laid on your bed for a few minutes back in milan. now, it is happening again. he tries to cover you with the blanket once he lays down, only to find you completely submerged from head to toe in it. "hey, where did you go?"

"i'm scared. leave me be."

"is this how you sleep when there's a thunderstorm? with your little head hiding under the blankets? suffocating?"

"san..." you whine, begging him to stop teasing you.

you forget how to breathe for a moment when the blanket lifts and san dives in below, joining you. "my name sounds so pretty from your lips."

"i didn't invite you here to flirt." you scold, gently poking his chest with your finger. "if both of us are here under, who is keeping watch out there?"

"my photocard." he laughs.

a gasp of disbelief escapes your mouth. he'll never let go of this. "one more word and you're losing blanket shield privilege."

"is that so?" he cocks an eyebrow. his hand then sneakily finds its way to your waist, only to poke you and make you jolt. his other hand joins, poking at the other side, until you are a laughing and screaming mess and the blanket slips from both of you.

he's strong, and doesn't budge, no matter how hard you fight back. his figure covers your entire body as he hovers above you, pinning your wrists above your head with a single hand while his other hand shows no mercy by tickling you. "stop, please!"

"say i have blanket privilege."

"you have blanket privilege!"

"now say i'm your favourite boss." he halts for a moment, giving you the chance to say it.

you don't, instead sticking your tongue out in an attempt to further annoy him. it works, an exaggerated gasp leaving his lips. you use the chance to slip one of your hands out of his grip, poking his side. he yelps, then falls on the bed next to you. soon enough you find yourself on top of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

san is incredibly strong. you've witnessed many situations since you worked here, from carrying two members on his back to picking up his makeup stylist's desk all by himself and moving it where she wanted. he has more strength in his pinky finger than you have in your whole body. yet he still lets you pin his hands above his head, your smaller hand struggling to grasp his wrists. he plays along. he lets you have it.

he isn't that ticklish. but you are too proud and excited that you've managed to tackle him that you don't even notice. your giggles are everything san wants to hear for the rest of his life. your fingers poke at his sides, over and over, and you are so into it. then, a grunt.

you stop, confused. san doesn't say anything. he simply stares at you, soft eyes admiring your features in the dark. it is only when his gaze drops to where you're sitting that you realise. you don't speak. you don't breathe, either. suddenly, you feel him. below layers of clothes, his body burns hot. as does yours, especially your face and core.

when light illuminates the room for a moment again, you flinch a little, but the clear sight below you makes you forget about your fear. san looks... submissive. his hands stay pinned above his head, and you remember that your loose grip is nothing compared to what he can do. his hair falls over his pretty eyes, which stare back at you through half closed eyelids. lips sticking in a natural pout, plump  and inviting. oh, so inviting.

"sannie," you test the waters with a low whisper.

a whimper. a fucking whimpers leaves this man's lips. he doesn't seem to be embarrassed. instead, he gulps, and bites his lip. you roll your hips, so lightly and slowly, not even sure that he'll feel it. but he does. and he shudders. it makes your body feel as if it's on fire. you've never had an effect on someone like this. and you're enjoying every bit of it.

san craves your attention. your validation. he always has. you've just been connecting it to his teasing nature. didn't really take him seriously. now, you have him wrapped around your finger. and you don't know what to do with it. a whole man, many girls crush and fantasy, lays down at your mercy. and you? you move the hair out of his eyes, press your lips against his forehead, and cup his cheek. "one thing at a time."

𓆩⟡𓆪

monday morning comes and goes, with you waking up alone in bed. the storm has calmed at some point during the night, but you didn't feel or hear anything. except the pair of arms that have held you through it all. you didn't push him away. you've worked for him long enough to know that san needs to hold onto something to fall asleep. it wasn't on purpose. he fell asleep before you, and at some point, he let go of the pillow he was hugging and replaced it with you.

san respects your boundaries. sure, you might need to tell him once or twice to stop calling you nicknames or move his hand from your lower back, but other than that, san tries his hardest to keep his hands to himself. you wonder if it's like that with melanie. if enough time passes, will san prove you wrong or right? will he start developing feelings for her? is forced proximity truly the answer?

selfishly, you hope it isn't.

your phone rings early in the evening, the manager's name glaring at you from the screen. you groan out loud. this is your day off. but then again, being yeosang's assistant has given you many days off. you can take this phone call.

"yes, sihun?"

"pack your stuff, you're flying early tomorrow. yeosang has been invited to a fashion show in two days, and because you have decided it would be a good idea to mess up perfectly good pair ups that have functioned from the beginning, the schedules are all fucked up."

"wait, what?" you find yourself standing up from the couch. you swear you can still smell him on it. "also, that was an idea. don't blame me as if you were forced."

"not only was yeosang's invitation to the paris fashion show lost, we also missed an opportunity to collab with a huge western artist. does the name megan the stallion ring any bells? plus, yunho was offered a role in a drama, and-"

"why are you blaming me for all this?" your heart beats fast, threatening to jump out of your chest. "what kind of organization did you have in the first place that a minor change like switching assistants costed you lost invitations and collabs?"

"if you want to return from paris as yeosang's assistant, or just an employee of the kq entertainment, i would recommend to zip it and start packing. five o'clock sharp in front of the building, not a minute late. if you're late, don't bother to show up. at all, ever."

"but-"

"five am, y/n."

and as if that wasn't enough to ruin your evening of rewatching the walking dead and stuffing your face with pringles, a single message causes you to sit back down on the couch.

choi san: you requested to switch? wish i'd known sooner, i wouldn't have wasted both our time. didn't realize you'd go to such lenghts, but then again, i really must be that annoying and can't take a hint. i apologize for crossing the boundary last night. rest assured, it won't happen again.

y/n: it's not like that !message failed to send!

y/n: san? !message failed to send!

this user has blocked you.

you're about to find out whether or not you were right, after all. far from eyes, far from mind.

𓆩⟡𓆪

yeosang wearing prada and sitting front row on a fashion show, looking ethereal and socializing with those around him is all the fandom ever wanted. you proudly watch from the side, and every now and then, yeosang's eyes widen slightly as they frantically search for you. you are being pushed around by photographers, and can't stand still in one place. when he finally finds you, you can see relief wash over his pretty features. you nod assuringly, urging him to talk to the celebrities around him.

if you thought san needed reassuring and validation, yeosang needed it times two. his english skills have improved in the short time you have been working for him, but you are the only person he could practice with. now, surrounded by only english speakers, and without your poor and broken korean to help, yeosang felt like he was thrown in shark water without a way out. you can see panic set in his eyes whenever someone speaks too fast or when he forgets a word.

but all is gone as soon as he locks eyes with you. you are his life jacket, his boat in this situation, and he is holding onto you for dear life as doja cat and zendaya keep talking to him and over him. at one point, yeosang leans back so that the two can speak comfortably, and they waste no time in leaning over him and continuing the conversation. he gives you a funny look, and you can't help the giggle that leaves your mouth.

yeosang doesn't stay at the after party. as soon as everyone has finished taking pictures with him, and before an interviewer can get his hands on him, yeosang disappears into the crowd and finds you. "take me away."

once back at the hotel, he insists that you join him for a late dinner. you hesitate before walking into his hotel room. strangely, you don't feel weird for sitting on his bed and eating with him at this hour, all alone with him. perhaps because you don't harbor the same feelings towards him as you do for san. yeosang is sweet. he isn't a tease, he doesn't make you question your sanity and make you roll your eyes hundred times a day.

"how's the pasta?" he asks, glancing over at your plate of truffle pasta. "any good?"

"it's great." you nod. "how's your steak?"

he doesn't respond, instead nodding with his mouth full. he takes a sip of whiskey from his nightstand, then wastes no time in stuffing his mouth again. you can't help but laugh fondly.

"didn't take you for a whiskey kind of guy." you confess.

"what kind of guy did you take me for?" the man raises his eyebrow playfully.

you hum at first, as if thinking. yeosang cuts his steak in peace, until your answer causes him to stop and gasp dramatically. "honestly? a banana milk kind of guy."

"you take that back." he threatens with his fork. "it's strawberry milk. don't disrespect me."

you enjoy this playful banter. no pressure, no expectations. just the tiredness and tipsiness talking out of both of you. you try the whiskey, he tries the leftover pasta. eventually, half the bottle of whiskey is gone. you didn't think you'd enjoy it that much. yeosang wasn't of any help. moreover, he encouraged you to drink.

now you struggle to move from the comfortable bed you're sat on, even after the man plops on it and closes his eyes, muttering a good night.

"you can't go to sleep with your makeup on."

"watch me." he simply covers himself up to his neck.

your words have no effect on him. they simply enter one ear and exit out the other. frankly, you're not sure they even get to his ear. it feels like they're bouncing off it and hitting you back in the face. in just a few moments, you raid the hotel bathroom in search of wet wipes and any kind of face serum he has brought along. it didn't help that he had a whole line of skincare on the counter. you don't know those things. he'll survive one night without it.

the moment the wet wipe touches his cheek, yeosang's eyes shoot open.

"that's cold." he frowns.

"yeah, well, suck it up."

yeosang's gaze is so much different than san's. san is intense, and dark. yeosang's is curious, and sweet. brown orbs glimmer as he follows your hand movements that reveal his face bit by bit. by the time you have wiped almost everything off, yeosang is wide awake. a light shudder leaves his lips when your fingers brush the wipe over his birthmark.

"there it is." you smile as you reveal it. "pretty."

the man blushes furiously. you think it's the alcohol. he hopes you don't know it's something else.

"close your eyes. you have a bit of eyeshadow left."

you don't need to tell him twice. he makes your job so much easier that you could just kiss him on the head sometimes.

"warning, this is also going to be cold."

you've done this countless times with san. but the moment your fingers touch his skin directly, your heart skips a beat. this isn't casual. not with yeosang. you try not to notice the way his eyes stare at you as your fingers rub the serum on his glass skin. the way he grips the cover. the way he slightly squirms under it. the way he gulps whenever your fingers touch the area around his birthmark.

"almost done," you whisper as your hand moves onto the space between his eyebrows and his forehead. it seems to be another sweet spot of his, because he almost purrs when your fingers gently rub the serum into his skin. you don't want to stop. not when he closes his eyes and hums contently while you do something as simple as putting a product on him, something that he does himself every day.

"no wonder san is in love with you."

you freeze. fuck, does everyone know?

"a person just puts their walls down around you and trusts you completely." he rambles on. "your mere presence is very comforting. i hate that he got to you first."

"okay." you sigh. the wipes are thrown into the small bin near the nightstand, and you have to walk a few steps around the room before you can speak. your thoughts are scattered, and at this point, you might have to ask yeosang to slap you to make sure this is not one of your daydreaming shifts when you used to work at the coffee shop. "let's pause. just for a moment."

"oh, i'm sorry." the man sits up straight, rubbing his eyes. "i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. i just mean that... a person can trust you easily. honestly, since you started working with me, i've stopped using my brain."

"yeosang." you sigh once again.

wide curious eyes look at you, and the words stop in your throat. is it possible that the forced proximity was an issue on your end? this is surely the alcohol. and the way yeosang is starting to act exactly like san. maybe you have a type.

no. what you have is a serious case of delusion. you need a vacation as soon as your feet touch korean soil.

you turn the lamp near the bed off, ensure that yeosang has a glass of fresh water in case he wakes up during the night, and prepare his outfit for tomorrow on the armchair. he only watches, not uttering a word. it isn't until you reach the door and light switch that you hear shuffling, and you turn your head to see him laying back down.

"good night, mr kang."

you miss the pout on his lips once the main light is off, but not the quiet "good night, tiny" before exiting and heading for your room.

𓆩⟡𓆪

your paid time off is approved within a day. manager sihun agrees that you need time away, but for different reasons. you're offended.

"it feels like your quality of work has declined."

you have to hide your snarky remarks. if that is what gets you time off, then let him have it.

in no time you find yourself sipping a freshly squeezed lemonade on your balcony. a book in your hand, fresh out of the shower, hair drying in the sun, with the whole day ahead of you. until your work phone vibrates on the table. you ignore it. you don't know why you even brought it out there in the first place. a habit, maybe.

the page of the book is barely flipped before the phone vibrates again. and again. and again.

"are you serious right now?" you groan.

park seonghwa: hey :)

park seonghwa: can i call you?

park seonghwa: oh wait

park seonghwa: you're on you time off?

park seonghwa: imsosorrypleaseforgivemejustignoremekbyehavefunonyourtimeoffdontmissustoomuch<3

y/n: it's fine, mr park. how can i help you?

park seonghwa: hi!

park seonghwa: oh :(

park seonghwa: mr park?

y/n: is something wrong? are you understaffed?

the dancing dots appear in the corner of the screen near seonghwa's profile picture. then, they disappear. and reappear. and disappear once again.

y/n: mr park, may i know wh|

your typing is interrupted by his name taking up the screen. with a sigh, you press the green icon.

"mr park?"

"first of all, i don't like that." he complains on the other side. "yeosang broke you."

"i assure you, mr kang had nothing to do with anything." you can't help the eye roll. "may i know-"

your words are cut short once again by a voice in the background, then a crash. "san, you absolute moron. i am so sorry, ma'am. we'll pay for that and clean up the mess."

you stay silent, eavesdropping the conversation. seonghwa's voice turns into an angry whisper, but the phone is close enough for you to hear everything.

"pull yourself together. there's six cameras on you, and you're drunk from half a cup of beer?"

"i'm not drunk."

"you're getting there. in the middle of namhae, in broad daylight, fooling around with that gopro and breaking stuff. what else do you call that? you're lucky the staff are busy cleaning what you just did and their attention is off you. i'm calling y/n, just so you know."

"i don't care."

"you don't care? alright. hello, y/n?"

"give me that."

"yes, he's being a pain in the ass. can you come over?"

"give me that!"

"what's that? you'll be here in fifteen? great."

"park seonghwa, give me that phone!"

"too late. she hung up."

you hear complaining and whining, then shuffling. he must've exited the room they were in, because seonghwa is back on the phone.

"i just wanted you to hear how miserable and pain in the ass he is."

"with all due respect, what does that have to do with me?"

"i'll send you a video. i want you to watch it, then come to whatever conclusion you want. i'm not forcing you to do anything, nor am i guilt tripping you. i'd just hate to see two people suffer a heartbreak they don't need. it's all up to you."

once the call ends, you feel as if your head will burst. you selfishly wish seonghwa hadn't reached out to you. just when you got san out of your head. you can't have one day of peace at this job you used to love.

the promised video plays on your screen, showing san in the back of a car and seonghwa next to him. the older man holds the phone so that san doesn't know he is being filmed. the familiar pout is present on the younger ones lips as he looks out the window, arms crossed over his chest.

"sannie, you're sulking again." seonghwa teases.

"leave me be."

"we're filming content for the fans. will you be like this the whole day?"

when san turns his head towards seonghwa, and the camera, you don't expect his eyes to be red and glossy. then, with the tiniest voice ever, he mumbles. "i miss her."

"i know." seonghwa sighs. "but you drove her away. you blocked her number without giving her a chance to explain."

"i know i'm stupid. you don't have to say it." his fingers play with the buttons of his shirt. you can't help but thank seonghwa for giving you the first peek at san dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled up with his forearms out for everyone to enjoy. "she hates me."

"she doesn't hate you."

"you don't know that. for all we know, she thinks that you hate her."

san turns his head to look at seonghwa abruptly, then starts shaking it. "no. it's not like that."

"well, if i was her, that's the impression i'd get."

"i could never hate her. she could break my heart over and over, and i still wouldn't find it in those broken bits to hate her. she's all i think about. i thought the distance would do us well. it's killing me, especially seeing her near yeosang. or anyone that isn't me. do you know that i haven't washed or used my coat that she wore in amsterdam when it was cold? it still smells like her."

"loser." seonghwa tries to lighten up the situation by pinching his thigh.

"ow! stop it." san isn't having it. "i genuinely miss her. i'm so close to showing up at her door and falling to my knees, i swear."

he then returns to silence and turns his head back towards the window. the video ends with seonghwa smiling at the camera.

choi san will be the death of you.

𓆩⟡𓆪

the week passes fast. you'd wake up in the morning, one past noon being morning to you, rot your brain on social media, and before you knew it, the sun was down and you were transferring yourself from the couch on the bed. your diet consisted of shin noodles and a single boiled egg, paired with unnatural amounts of red bull (i just had to describe myself i'm so sorry <3). luckily, you didn't have any pets. you wouldn't have the energy to walk them or take care of them.

seonghwa's phone call ruined your plans. you wanted to spend the week reading all those books you've purchased and never have time to read, go for morning walks, maybe even go to a spa. but every time you closed your eyes, you saw san.

you saw his hurt face the first time you've rejected him. you saw his pout. you saw his glossy eyes. you heard his voice.

your last day was no different. kuromi pajamas, mouthful of noodles, the new season of your favourite show playing in the background while you mindlessly scroll on tiktok. until the doorbell interrupts you.

when you look through the peephole, you don't see anybody. an empty hallway. just a glimpse of somebody running downstairs. you shouldn't open it. everything about it screams danger. but you do anyway, sticking your head out first. step by step, you make it to the railing, and then lean over it in hopes of catching the person that just interrupted your last night of so called selfcare. he wears a hood, but something in the way he walks is familiar to you.

"hey!" you call out.

the person stops. the hallway lights illuminate the rings on his finger, one of them especially familiar to you. you bought it on your trip to italy, and gave it to none other than choi san for his birthday.

"mr choi." disappointment is evident in your voice. "will you please come back so we can discuss your need to ding-dong-ditch me?"

you can see his figure slouch. slowly, as if he'll scare you if he moves any faster, he makes his way back up the stairs and stops at the top. he doesn't raise his head to look at you yet. not when you step away from the railing, and not when you stand in front of him. only when your hand finds its spot under his chin and raises his head, his eyes find yours. he wears glasses. they give him the nerdy boyfriend image.

"what are you doing with yourself, mr choi?"

"what..." his voice comes out hoarse, and he clears his throat before continuing. "what do you mean?"

your hand leaves him sooner than both of you would like. you step back, then answer. "i mean, what are you doing chasing a fan? a staff member? while your phone is bursting with messages from the most drop dead gorgeous and talented idols."

"you don't know anything." he simply replies.

he doesn't move. you do. you walk back into your apartment, leaving the door open. you only spare him a glance over your shoulder; a silent invitation. he takes it. closing the door behind him, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly on the shoe rack, wearing the slippers he claimed last time. it all felt natural. you felt natural.

"red bull?" you offer.

he can't help the quiet chuckle when he sees your head in the fridge. "no, thank you."

"hmph," you purse your lips. "i've got cola, melon milkis, a week old carton of orange juice, chocolate milk, and two bottles of soju: peach and strawberry. you pick."

"a glass of water is fine."

"boring." you say.

he knows you are joking. still, he rolls his eyes playfully and joins you in the kitchen. "i'll have a red bull, then."

"which one?"

"what do you mean which one? there's more than- oh. okay." you open the fridge door fully and step away, revealing the colorful collection to a surprised san. "you little addict."

"says the man who lives off lays and milkis." you bite back.

"alright. give me the green one."

"which green one?"

"there's two?"

"duh." you say, rolling your eyes. "the light green and dark green."

"i trust you."

in a few minutes, san and you are settled on the balcony couch, sipping the energy drinks and looking at the busy streets below. the couch is big enough for three people to sit comfortably, yet san has squeezed himself in the corner. you sit on it sideways, facing him. it doesn't seem as if he thought any of this through. he came here on impulse, you know it. you know him.

"how's working with yeosang?" he fidgets with the can.

"that's what you came to talk about?" you tilt your head to the side so that it leans against the backrest.

"no." he mumbles.

"you didn't answer my question, san." his name out of your lips has him perk up. "what are you doing chasing after a fan?"

"i'm not chasing after a fan. i'm chasing after my personal assistant. well, ex personal assistant."

"does that sound better in your mind?"

he opts for silence again. you're making it difficult, yet he is willing to try, again and again. he wouldn't have come here for no reason. the man takes another sip of his can, as to avoid talking. your can is downed already, and your lips and throat feel dry. you leave the balcony just to get the two bottles of soju, then plop back on the sofa.

"here." you set the bottles on the table, allowing him to choose. he abandons the can of red bull and reaches for the peach soju.

"i thought i wasn't allowed to drink." he says, then brings the beverage to his lips.

"take small sips, san. we've got time. unless you have somewhere to be?"

he shakes his head. "no. even if i did, i would've cancelled."

"if you say so." you take a sip of the alcoholic beverage, and san mimics you.

his gaze is locked on the city through the glass balcony, and his face is still covered by his hoodie. in an attempt to relax his stiff posture and nervous fidgeting of hands, you sprawl out your legs and rest your feet on his lap. instead of relaxing, san further stiffens, the soju bottle in his hand stuck in a deathly grip. you try to pull them back to yourself, seeing that you've caused further discomfort. yet san's hand simply finds its spot on your legs, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin where your pajama bottoms have hiked up.

"sannie." you call softly.

you swear you hear a shuddered breath. his head leans on the backrest, and he tilts it sideways so that he can look at you. he scrunches his nose so that his glasses sit better. "hm?"

"talk to me." you urge him. "say what's on your mind. you didn't come here to ask me about yeosang. or to sit in silence."

he hums again. "the silence was comforting. but no, it's not what i came for. though, now that i think about it, i think i did enough talking. i came to hear what you have to say. if you have anything to say."

"you were honest with me up until now. and i appreciate that." you start. it is your turn to pour your heart out. "and it is only fair that i do the same. but i think it would be more interesting to lead this conversation with questions."

"like twenty-one questions?" he immediately gets it.

"right. i'll give you a head start. you can ask me three questions."

"one is enough. as you said, we have time." he doesn't take long to figure out what he wants to ask you. words smoothly slip out of his mouth. "have you slept on it? 

"and why do you care about their opinion when the only one that should matter is ours?" it feels like he is scolding you. you know he isn't. he is just getting annoyed at the situation both of you are in. "this could be the best thing that can happen to us."

after a moment of silent thinking, you sigh. "i have to sleep on it."

right. you left him without an answer. technically, he left himself without an answer. "i didn't get enough sleep to decide."

he laughs. "meanie."

"my turn, then. since you don't want the head start." you take a sip while you think. the gentle touch on your legs is a distraction. for a man so big and tough, choi san has the softest hands in the world. "when did you realize your... feelings for me?"

it feels odd. feelings for you. choi san has feelings for you. such feelings that he keeps coming back, no matter how many times you reject him. if you were him, you'd hate yourself. yet san looks at you with such fondness in his eyes, that for the first time in a while since you parted ways with him, you find yourself looking away and blushing furiously. only he has the power to make you feel small, yet safe.

"well?" you clear your throat.

"it started in london. when i begged you to join me on a secret mission to five guys in the middle of the night, and you came with me. after that we went for a walk because i overate. i think the exact moment i felt something fuzzy in my stomach was when i plopped on the bench and held onto my stomach, and you had the time of your life giggling and taking photos. i realized then that i loved that side of you, and that i might be falling for you. then, i was sure when we went to amsterdam, and you were so excited to go for a walk and buy souvenirs that you forgot your jacket at the hotel. i lent you my coat, and when i saw it on you, i knew that i wanted you to keep borrowing my clothes."

you remember seonghwa's video where san confessed he hasn't washed or used that coat since you did. you look his way again, only to find his eyes still fixed on you. he examines your face in search of any negative emotion. but you only smile at him, causing him to breathe out in relief.

"my turn. did you really mean what you said back in milan? when i first confessed to you?"

"it's hard to explain." you sigh. "just because i was doing my job, doesn't mean i didn't enjoy it."

"so i'm not a spoiled and disobedient boss?" he presses in a teasing voice.

"not all the time. and that's two questions, sir. now i get to ask two." you dig your heel into his thigh as a way to punish him, and he returns the action by pinching your calf. "ow!"

"you're being mean again." he pouts.

"only for you." the alcohol is starting to get to you, because in no way would sober you wink at san and continue the conversation like it's nothing. like you don't see him blushing and looking away, a smile dancing on his lips. "you bring out the worst in me, it seems."

"so it's my fault." he laughs. "go on, then. ask."

"hmm..." you trail, thinking. "you've gotten plenty of confessions from many idols. how come i am the one that peaked the interest of the choi san?"

"first of all, the choi san? i'm not that special."

"yes, you are. you have millions falling on their knees for you. you're one of the most popular and influential idols right now. so many rookies look up to you, want to be you. sometimes it seems like you aren't aware of your popularity. guys want to be you, or be with you, girls as well. and-"

"second of all," he interrupts you, not believing a single word out of your mouth, "all those confessions don't mean much to me. i don't feel any connection to those people, and honestly, i don't want to waste my time to find out whether or not i'll feel any. i like to live in my own bubble, with the guys and our staff. it's familiar. it's cozy."

right, you forgot his introverted side for a moment. "still. as a long time fan of many groups in the industry, i've never seen idols as pretty as the ones in this generation."

"no amount of beauty will make a true man swoon if their personality is a zero. only those who are shallow won't look past a face."

"so you settled for me because i'm a little ugly but have a personality?"

you expected him to laugh with you. it was funny in your head. but the man simply looks at you, brows furrowed. your laughter dies out. you just had to ruin it.

"sorry." you mumble.

"don't ever say that again." he doesn't scold you. he isn't angry. he is disappointed. "i can't believe you would ever think of yourself like that."

"it was just a silly joke."

"i don't like it. it breaks my heart." his voice is quiet. "i have- actually, never mind. my turn, was it?"

"you have...? you have what?" you set the bottle down and sit up straight, legs still on his lap. "choi san don't leave me hanging."

"it's stupid. if i show you, i might as well just jump from here to save myself from humiliation."

"okay, now i need to know. you can't just say that and then move on." he avoids your pleading eyes.

you pull your legs away from him, and before he can protest, you get on your knees, still on the couch, and clasp your hands. he knows he's weak. yet he still looks at you, and he wants to smack himself from the way his bottoms feel tight after seeing you on your knees with big pleading eyes. "you'll think i'm weird."

"i won't! i promise. please, please, pretty please?"

and just how can he say no to you? hesitantly, he reaches for his pocket. he pulls out a wallet, and you're confused at first. until he pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to you. "i'll see myself out."

"you're not going anywhere." you plant your palm on his chest, pushing him back to lay against the couch. you turn the paper over, and your breathing stops. it's a polaroid from back in paris. you remember snapping pictures of him and the manager as a joke. you remember the manager doing the same to you. you thought the pictures turned out bad, you didn't even want to look at them. your outfit was a mess, your hair as well, and you had a chocolate stain on the dress you wore. none of it was visible on the photo. just san and you, acting silly in front of the eiffel tower, smiling wide. sihun was only taking pictures of you, yet san managed to smoothly photobomb and earned himself the cherished polaroid. "san..."

"i know. it's weird. i'm sorry."

it wasn't weird. unexpected? sure. you weren't even aware that you had a picture with san. that day was very difficult for you; you had forgotten to pack san's famous leather vest for the show, you spilled coffee on two of your outfits, and the chocolate from the croissant dripped on your third one. the wind kept tangling your hair, and you dropped your stone magnet as soon as you stepped foot out of the shop and broke it. what was a disastrous day for you was a memorable day for san, it seems.

"oh, san." you become all giddy and soft at the thought of him carrying the photo in his wallet.   "you were just carrying this around all this time?"

"...no?" his pretty eyes lock with yours, the city lights making them glimmer.

he expects you to call him weird. to slap him. to tear the photo. what he doesn't expect is for you to bring the polaroid to your lips, then press a kiss to the back of it.  the action leaves a pink imprint of your lips behind, in the shape of a heart. you return it to san, who is stunned by your action. "you're so cute it hurts."

you stand up and pick up the empty cans, but not before playfully poking his dimple. he is left in silence for a few moments, replaying what just happened. his fingers brush the pink print you gifted him so generously, and he doesn't know what takes him over. he brings it to his face, pressing his own lips on the same place you did. he allows himself a short moment of peace, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet scent you've left behind. gods, what a fool. kissing a piece of paper.

he thinks that you don't see him. but you do, in the reflection of the open glass door of the balcony. you allow him to have the moment while you rummage through your cupboards. by the time you are back on the balcony, san is almost laying on the couch. his cheeks are flushed both from alcohol and your actions, fingers fidgeting with the polaroid, and his dimples on display as he foolishly grins at the picture.

"i hope you're not on a calorie deficit." you toss a small bag of chips his way. he fails to catch it, and it lands on his face. "oopsies."

"i'm not. i'm bulking." he says as he examines the bag.

"and you hide it all under that hoodie. tsk."

he stubbornly wears the hood still. you don't have a clear view of his pretty face, aside from the glasses that peek out and rest on his nose, and it bothers you. but you won't press him. you'll let him set his own pace. "are we continuing the game?"

"if you want to. it's your turn, i think."

he watches curiously as you open a box of strawberry pepero. "when you got the job and had the opportunity to choose first, you didn't want to choose. why?"

"as a long time atiny, i didn't want to. i didn't want to make it seem like i like one of you more than the rest." you shrug.

"and you ended up with me."

"and i ended up with you." you confirm. "were you disappointed? i don't speak your language. i don't fit the beauty standards. i was pretty clumsy. i wouldn't hire myself."

"you're too harsh on yourself." san scolds. "i was actually happy and excited. i could practice my english with you. and look at me now! unstoppable."

unimpressed, you bite on the first pepero stick. "so i'm just an english lesson to you."

"you're being mean again. anyways, my turn."

the man takes a moment to think as he chews on the potato chips. he politely covers his mouth as he does so, and reminds you just how perfect he is. how something as simple as chewing has you make heart eyes at him you don't know.

"who was your bias before this?"

you choke on the treat. you didn't expect that. the reaction has him perk up. he sits up straight, crossing his legs and looking at you with an amused grin, awaiting the answer.

"well?"

"you won't get mad?"

he already frowns at the fact that it isn't him. "no..."

"alright then." you take your sweet time chewing the treat, making san's patience run dry. "my bias was..."

"you're killing me." he whines.

"wooyoung."

"what?!"

"my turn!"

"wooyoung?!"

"oh, come on. it was long ago. you're my favourite now. maybe. besides, you said you won't get mad."

"i lied."

he lays back down, sulking. arms crossed over his chest, and his lips poutier than ever. "are you really mad because you weren't my bias since day one?"

"no. i'm mad because out of all of them, it had to be wooyoung."

the streets are slowly dying out, and the building lights are dimming one by one. it is well past midnight. san is cozy on the couch, not showing any signs of getting up and leaving any time soon. you don't mind. you're happy that he feels comfort in your place. in you.

once done sulking, he sits up straight again.

"want one?" you point at the box of treats.

"sure."

he watches you pull out a single one. his hand tries to grasp it, but you simply avoid it and aim for his lips. you place the pink treat on his lips, which so obediently part and take the sweet stick between his teeth. you're grateful for the soju. otherwise, you wouldn't have san eating out of your hand as he looks at you like you are his whole world. you gently push the treat as he chews, and when your fingers graze his plush lips once he gets to the end, you have to fight yourself to not jump on him. san makes it hard by mischievously licking his lips, and your thumb in the process.

"another?"

he nods. in no time, you push him so that he leans against the backrest again. he gasps when you sit on his lap, hands flying to your thighs for support. the hood is finally pushed back by you, revealing the pretty flushed face under the moonlight and street lights. his touch burns your skin over the thin fabric of your pajamas. you are in awe of the size of his palm, which covers a significant amount of your thigh.

"open up." your voice is a mere whisper. he does as you say, and you waste no time in placing the pepero stick between his teeth, but not before playfully teasing him and swirling it around his tongue first. the strawberry and ruby chocolate melt on his taste buds, and he wishes for nothing more than to taste the other pink that is your lips. as he bites down, a satisfying crunch meets your ears. "good boy."

he almost purrs when your hand caresses his cheek. he might combust on this very couch tonight.

"you're so pretty. i could just put you on my shelf and watch you all day long." you're not sure where all this is coming from. you had buried it deep down. was the bottle of soju really enough to make all of this flood out of you? curiosity paints his features, resulting in big glossy eyes and furrowed brows. "my pretty boy." 

he almost whimpers. he's lucky he has the treat in his mouth, because he masks the pathetic whimper by swallowing the pepero. he watches as your other hand retrieves another one, this time placing it between your lips. his face feels warm under your touch. his body is at your complete mercy. all he can do is squeeze your thighs from nervousness as your face inches closer and closer to him. the other end of the stick is pressed against his lips, and he takes it again. he forces himself to go slow, and not like a guinea pig eating an asparagus.

eyes are fluttering shut, breathing becomes shallow, and anticipation pools in lower stomachs as the pepero stick becomes shorter and shorter. san feels your warm breath caress his lips. he smells the strawberries and your lip gloss. he feels your hair tickle his cheeks as your upper body hovers above him. he is aware of the burning situation on his lower area where the two of you are connected. he is overwhelmed.

there is a single bite that separates the two of you. san stops. he isn't brave. you stop as well. and for a moment, he panics. his hands squeeze your thighs in an attempt to keep you from running away again. not this time. not again. and you don't disappoint him.

you bite down on the last bit, and finally, press your lips against his. san exhales into the kiss. he has dreamed of this moment every night. every day. every time he'd see you reapply your lip gloss or lip balm. the scent of sickeningly sweet fruits envelops him, and while he would usually complain, he now welcomes it.

every time he smells a strawberry, a blueberry, a cherry, or a chocolate, he will be reminded of the way your pretty lips feel like a plush cloud against his. of the way you take his bottom lip between your teeth, gently tugging it. of the way your hot tongue swipes over the now slightly swollen lip, as an apology. of the way your body yearns for him, fingers tangling into his hair, playing with the strands. hips hopelessly seeking friction. shallow gasps leaving you whenever you pull away to catch your breath.

of the way his hands can't get enough of you. the way they slide under your top, just to rest on your waist. feeling your burning skin under his touch. fingers tracing up your spine and leaning you further against him. like he doesn't want a single atom to stand between you. his other hand gripping the back of your head, deepening the kiss. tasting you like it's his last meal. like he was made to touch you, taste you.

like he was born to love you.

san effortlessly picks you up. he walks over to the nearby wall, pressing you against it. the cold concrete cools you down. soon enough, your clothes are a mess on the floor. you can't help the exhale of awe that leaves you as your fingers trace san's shoulders, collarbones, then his chest and abs. he fails to hide a proud smile, dimples cutely peeking out. his glasses are all fogged up. you don't want to remove them. the contrast between his face and body should be studied.

"still think i'm pretty?" he huffs, trying to unbuckle his belt while he still holds your body against the wall. he is insanely strong.

you respond with a courageous act; tongue swiping from his collarbone and up his neck, until you stop by his ear. you bite down on his earlobe, and then graze his ear shell with your lips before whispering:  "the prettiest."

hands clumsily help him undo his belt, and once his pants hit the floor and he is left in boxers only, he doesn't waste time in pinning you further up the wall so that your legs fall over his shoulders. fingers dig into your thighs as he dives in, teeth pulling the thin fabric aside and tongue eager to taste you. you're lucky it's nighttime.

pretty eyes look at you as the tip of his tongue barely grazes the sensitive bud between your legs. watching your face. studying your expressions. enjoying the way your brows furrow and mouth hangs open as he finally tastes you. you hold onto his shoulder with one hand, and pull his hair with the other. sweet moans are music to his ears. he notices you enjoy slow but deep strokes. so that's what he does: savours you slowly, deeply, to your core. it feels as if all air has been knocked out of your lungs.

before you can fall apart in his mouth, your hand yanks his head away. you half expect the moan that leaves his flushed lips. san carefully sets you down. he then watches in awe as you lower down on your knees. the boxers free his needy cock from their grip. it finds relief in your gentle grasp. san hisses as your tongue softly swirls around his sticky tip. he chokes when your lips close around it, barely even stuffing the tip before you gag. tears prickle your eyes as you test your limits, pushing his thick length to slide down your tongue and touch the back of your throat.

you didn't take san as a noisy man during sex. not that you thought about him in that light. once or twice, maybe. you aren't complaining. not as his hand caresses your hair, gently pulling it every now and then, refraining himself from just snapping his hips and making you cry as he loses himself to the feeling. his moans are pathetic. in a hot way. in a way that makes you realize you want to have san squirming, whining and begging under your touch.

so when both your hands join your mouth on his throbbing cock, san loses his mind. his whimpers intensify, and his hips hopelessly move in rhythm with your head. "fuck-"

you pull away, but don't stop your hands from moving. "you close, baby?"

"oh," he breathes out at the new nickname. "so close. fuck, so close."

"you want to make a mess on me?" you offer, sticking your tongue out and placing his cock on it.

"no," he declines.

"why not?" to your knowledge, every man wanted that. you've tried it. weren't exactly impressed. but for san? you'd do it again and again. "you don't want to paint my face? my tits?"

he shakes his head breathlessly. "you are too pretty for that. it's degrading. i don't want it."

and just like that, he makes you melt all over again. just when he thinks you'll tip him over the edge, your hands abandon him. but it's late. his cock twitches, and he gasps in disbelief as he watches himself leak on the floor. he lets out a frustrated grunt from the ruined orgasm. he misses the way your eyes darken at his needy and upset expression. you felt sorry at first. but now, you might have discovered a new side of san you like.

"aw, my poor sannie." you cup his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. you feel liquid on them. fuck, is he crying? "baby?"

"i'm- it's fine," he looks away, humiliated.

"sannie." like a lost, obedient puppy, san's glossy eyes lock with yours. "you're so good to me. such a patient little puppy."

"i am?"

"of course you are. you're my pretty boy. and i'll reward you for being so good to me."

"really?" he is intrigued. "how?"

"are you feeling frustrated?" your fingers move the loose strands of hair from his face, caressing his head in the process. "did i ruin your orgasm?"

"n-no..." he stutters.

"i did, didn't i? poor baby." you award him with a sweet kiss. enough to have him chase you when you pull away. but you press your finger against his lips, silently telling him to wait. "you want to cum, sannie?"

"yes, please." san breathes out. "pretty please."

"then use me, baby." you give yourself to him, fingers unhooking your bra and leaving you bare before his eyes. "use me, punish me, breed me, destroy me. do whatever you want. i'm all yours."

san's mouth waters. his ears are buzzing. he hesitates, at first. once his hands lay on your body again, fire reignites within him. he pulls you in for a kiss, desperately searching for the sweetness of your mouth. the taste of you melts on his tongue. you let him set the pace. he is so lost in the way you taste that he doesn't even realize he is rubbing himself against you, hips hopelessly searching for friction.

"need any help?" you purr into his ear as he switches to kissing your neck.

he only hums, and you waste no time in gripping his sensitive cock again.

"you have such a pretty cock, sannie."

if only you knew before how hot male whimpering was. you would've found yourself a submissive man as soon as possible. but your patience and unknowledge is rewarded, life gifting you san for what you've missed.

san turns you around so that you are bent over the glass railing. you feel his sticky tip brush past your thighs, rubbing against your clit, before diving into your warmth. when he bottoms out, he releases a moan of pleasure and relief. you wish you could see his face, but you'll settle for shameless moaning into your ear as he presses his torso against your back and starts moving. you feel him deep in your belly, so much that the sight of it has a new wave of arousal gushing out of you.

"you're so pretty," he is a blubbering mess. his grip is strong on your waist, and so is the one in your hair. your head is pulled back so that you can catch a glimpse of his fucked out face. "you feel so good- fuck-"

"come on, baby. use me."

"i want to- i want to-" he breathes out between moans.

"you want to cum?"

"yes, please. please, please, please- i can't- ah!"

he's taken aback when your hips slam into his. he lets you regain control, pathetically clinging to you as you work your hips at a rough and fast pace, inching him closer to the promised orgasm. then, you slow down. you feel his every vein against your walls. you feel his leaking tip kiss your cervix as you take him deep, causing both of you to gasp and reach for each other. not able to take it anymore, you pull out just enough so you can turn around. he slides back in like he was made for you, filling you up to the brim and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, all while his hands leave bruises on your thighs and waist as he tries his best to control himself.

"come on, baby. wreck me." you moan against his lips.

san deliciously grazes your sweet spot, and once he finds out just what you like, he slams his hips into yours. his teeth bite into your shoulder, drops of sweat cover his body and make his hair stick to his forehead. yet san doesn't care. he is lost in the feeling of you. in the sound of you. in the sight of you.

"sannie-" you breathe out. "fuck, baby, you're doing so good. you're such a good boy."

now you're a blubbering mess. orgasm inching closer, san abusing your sweet spot with his hot tip, hitting it over and over until a strangled moan meets his ears and your body starts twitching in his arms. the sight of you falling apart has san finally reach his own release. ropes of cum shoot inside you, giving you a warm sensation as you recover. san shudders under your touch as you rub his back, quiet whimpers leaving him as he sloppily rides out his orgasm.

"my pretty boy." you praise him. his hair is now slicked back due to sweat and your caressing. he finds comfort in hugging your body close to him and resting his head on your shoulder. "you did amazing, baby. you made me feel so good."

"i did?" san asks, then raises his head enough to take a look at you.

you press your lips to his forehead, and finally, remove the foggy and drenched glasses and put them up on your head as a hair band so that he comfortably lays back on your shoulder. "of course you did."

you don't know how long you stand like that. until the sweat on the two of you dries, and a chill enters your bodies. you drag san back to the couch, laying on it first and inviting him to lay down with you. he wastes no time in helping you wear your top, then wears his own boxers. finally, he lays down with you. head snuggled on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist, as if you'll fade if he lets go.

"good night, san."

"good night, princess."

you're both covered with a thin blanket. just when you start falling into slumber, san wakes you with a tiny voice.

"am i really yours?"

"you are."

"can you say it again?" he mumbles, half asleep.

"you're mine?"

"no, the other thing."

"my pretty boy?"

"yes. good night."

"good night, mr choi."

he pinches your thigh under the blanket, causing you to yelp. "sannie, not mr choi."

"i'm just messing with you, sannie. good night."

"good. good night." you don't miss the way his dimple appears, even though you can't see his smile from this position.

and you can't wait to poke it every chance you get.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

🔥𝐈'𝐦 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞 𝐀 𝐃𝐚𝐝 || 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 ||

A/n: got asked by a few people to write a Dad!Eddie about my little HC post so here it is 🫡

The floor creaked beneath your sneakers as you shifted nervously in the small, familiar trailer. The smell of cigarette smoke and motor oil hung in the air, grounding you in the reality of where you were—even if your heartbeat felt like it was floating somewhere near the ceiling.

Eddie was sitting cross-legged on the couch, still in his ripped jeans and band tee from earlier that day, lazily strumming an unplugged guitar. His curls were messily pulled back in a bun, and a half-empty bag of Doritos lay forgotten on the coffee table beside a scribbled Dungeon Master’s notebook.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, eyes flicking up to you with a tilt of curiosity. “You’ve been pacing like we’re waiting for Vecna to pop out of the damn toaster.”

You took a shaky breath and turned to face him fully, pressing your palms together in front of you. “I, uh… I need to tell you something. And I need you to just… let me finish before you freak out or jump or laugh or—I don’t know—explode.”

That got his attention. He slowly set the guitar down, eyebrows drawing in concern. “Okay… You’re kinda scaring me now.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Complete, pure, absolute silence for a few seconds. You couldn’t even hear the birds outside anymore. Then Eddie blinked once. Twice.

“…You’re… pregnant,” he repeated, as if tasting the word.

You nodded, heart hammering. “Yeah. I found out two days ago. I wasn’t sure how to tell you. I was scared you’d freak, or think I ruined everything or—”

Suddenly Eddie was off the couch and in front of you, grabbing your hands.

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious?” he asked, his voice breathless—like a kid finding out he gets to go to a metal concert for free.

You nodded again, eyes wide. “Yeah, I’m—Eddie, I’m serious.”

He let out a stunned laugh, almost like a gasp, and then suddenly picked you up off the floor, spinning you in a clumsy circle with a loud whoop. “Holy shit! I’m gonna be a dad?!”

You clung to him, half-laughing, half-crying. “Yes, you crazy metalhead—you’re gonna be a dad!”

He set you down but didn’t let go, his hands cradling your face, eyes shimmering with tears and wonder. “Oh my god, baby, this is—this is insane, but it’s the best thing anyone’s ever told me. Better than hearing Metallica live. Better than rolling a nat 20 when I’m down to one hit point.”

You snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Our kid is gonna be a nerd. A badass, little Hellfire baby.”

Your eyes welled up again, overwhelmed by his joy. “You’re not scared?”

“Are you kidding? I’m terrified,” he grinned. “But I’m excited. Like, can’t-stop-grinning, heart-is-about-to-explode excited. I get to do this with you. We’re gonna have a little gremlin with your eyes and maybe my hair—though I pray they don’t get all my hair.”

You let out a teary laugh as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Hey,” he whispered, more serious now, thumb brushing your cheek. “We’re gonna figure it out, alright? Me and you. We’re gonna rock this parenting thing. And I already love them so much it hurts.”

“I love you,” you whispered back, voice cracking.

“I love you more. And I love our little bean, too.” He dropped to his knees, hands on your hips, and kissed your stomach with reverence. “Hey, kiddo. It’s your old man. Can’t wait to meet you.”

You ran your fingers through his curls, feeling more grounded than you had in days.

💀.

It was week's after your revel to him, Eddie still buzzing with excitement as he knew the next person he had to tell his Uncle.

The man who was more of a father than his actual father was, the man who raised him when both of his parents left.

Wayne was in his usual spot—reclined in his old chair, cup of black coffee in hand, the local news murmuring in the background. The smell of fried onions still lingered from dinner, and the trailer was bathed in the soft orange of a Hawkins sunset pouring through the window.

Eddie had been pacing for ten straight minutes. Hands shoved in his pockets, then out. Running through his curls, then tugging at his bangs. He’d stopped at the fridge twice and hadn’t opened it either time. Finally, Wayne let out a long sigh and glanced over.

“Boy, if you wear a hole in that floor, you’re fixin’ it yourself.”

Eddie froze mid-step, then turned to face his uncle with wide eyes. “Okay. Okay. Um. So. I’ve got something to tell you. And you gotta promise me you’re not gonna, like, have a stroke or drop dead or something, alright?”

Wayne sat up slightly, brows knitting in that calm, quiet way he always had when Eddie got dramatic. “You get arrested?”

“No! No, Christ—no! Not that.”

Wayne gave him a long look. “Well, that’s a relief. Then what is it?”

Eddie rubbed his hands on his jeans, then pointed to his chest. “I’m gonna be a dad.”

Silence. God was this how you felt when he didn't answer?

A long pause. The kind that made Eddie’s stomach twist.

Wayne blinked. “You’re gonna be a what?”

“A dad,” Eddie repeated, his voice breaking into a half-nervous, half-joyful laugh. “Like. A baby. A tiny human. With ten fingers and ten toes and— Jesus, I think I’m having a panic attack—but a happy one!”

Wayne stared for another beat. Then slowly stood up, setting his mug down. “You’re serious.”

Eddie nodded quickly. “Yeah. She told me today. I thought I was gonna pass out. But then it hit me, y’know? This is real. And it’s scary, and I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but—Uncle Wayne, I’m so excited. Like I feel like my heart’s gonna explode in the best way.”

Wayne was quiet again, just looking at him. Then—finally—his stern expression cracked into something gentler, something proud.

“Damn,” he muttered, stepping forward and placing a strong, calloused hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “I always knew you had it in you. Didn’t expect this exactly, but… You’re gonna do just fine, kid.”

Eddie blinked. “Wait, you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Wayne huffed out a breath and shook his head. “Eddie, I raised you long enough to know your heart’s bigger than that loud mouth of yours. You love deep. And if you say you’re in this… I believe you.”

Eddie’s eyes welled up despite himself. “Shit, old man, don’t go getting all emotional on me.”

Wayne gave his shoulder a squeeze. “You better start savin’ for diapers, though. And no naming the poor child after a damn rock band.”

“No promises,” Eddie grinned, sniffling as he wiped his cheek. “But hey… Uncle Wayne?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gonna be a grandpa.”

Wayne’s mouth twitched into a rare smile as he muttered, “Guess I better find my damn overalls and start baby-proofing the damn trailer.”

💀.

Eddie fidgeted in the waiting room like he was about to be called into a courtroom instead of an ultrasound room. His leg bounced, rings clinking against one another as his fingers tapped out an anxious rhythm on the chair’s armrest.

You, on the other hand, were trying not to laugh at how nervous he looked—even more nervous than you, and you were the one growing an actual human being.

“You okay, Munson?” you teased softly, nudging his knee with yours.

He turned to you with wide eyes. “Okay? I’m not okay. I’m spiraling, babe. I mean, what if the baby already hates me? What if I pass out? What if I cry and Wayne finds out and never lets me live it down?”

You reached over and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “You’re gonna be amazing. And if you cry, I’ll kiss you and call you the bravest man I know.”

He softened instantly. “You can’t just say stuff like that when I’m already on the edge of an emotional meltdown.”

Before you could reply, a nurse appeared in the doorway, smiling warmly. “Munson?”

“That’s us,” you said, squeezing his hand.

Eddie stood like he’d just been called on stage—chest puffed out, nerves still visible, but walking tall. He followed you into the room, eyes scanning every medical tool like they might bite him.

You hopped up onto the table, your shirt pulled up to reveal your bump, the one Eddie would spend hours talking too, and Eddie sat beside you, still holding your hand like it grounded him. The ultrasound technician chatted kindly, explaining how everything would work, but Eddie barely heard her—he was watching you.

Then the wand was placed on your belly, the cold gel making you squeak and squirm a little.

And then—there it was.

That sound.

The thump-thump-thump of a tiny heartbeat filled the room like a thunderous drum solo in Eddie’s ears.

He froze.

Eyes wide.

Mouth slightly open.

And then he completely lost it—his other hand flying up to cover his face as tears filled his lashes.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, voice cracking as he leaned closer to the screen. “That’s them. That’s my kid.”

The grainy image flickered on the monitor, and the technician pointed. “Right there—that’s your baby. Measuring right on track.”

Eddie leaned in, like getting closer might help him memorize every pixel. “It looks like a little alien. A beautiful, metalhead alien.”

You laughed through your own tears. “Our little bat.”

“Little bat,” Eddie echoed, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “God, I love them already. I’d die for them. Like—right now. No questions asked.”

“You’re gonna be such a good dad,” you whispered.

He looked down at you, teary but beaming. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Eddie leaned down to kiss you gently, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m all in, sweetheart. Me, you, and our little bat. We’re gonna make the weirdest, loudest, most loved little family Hawkins has ever seen.”

The technician smiled and handed you both a printed image. Eddie took it carefully, like it was sacred, then looked at you with glistening eyes.

“I’m gonna frame this and hang it in the van. Right next to my Dio poster.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Classy.”

He kissed your hand. “Only the best for our kid.”

💀.

Thunder cracked outside the window, the rain battering the glass in rhythmic waves as nurses bustled in and out of the delivery room. Harsh fluorescent lights had been dimmed, but they couldn’t soften the intensity that had taken over your body.

You were drenched in sweat, hair clinging to your face, hands clenching the rails of the hospital bed with white-knuckled desperation. You’d been in labor for hours—hours of back-breaking pain, of yelling and pushing and cursing Eddie Munson’s name to hell and back.

And Eddie? He hadn’t left your side once.

“Okay, okay, you’re doing amazing, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice raspy from emotion, his hand tangled in yours. “You’re a fuckin’ rockstar. You hear me? A goddamn warrior queen.”

“Shut up—don’t you dare—call me—a queen—right now!” you panted, tears springing to your eyes from the sheer pressure.

Eddie nodded quickly, eyes wide. “Yup. Got it. No queens. Just—just my badass banshee of a girlfriend who’s about to bring our kid into the world, holy shit.”

You barely had time to snort before another contraction hit. Your entire body tensed, and Eddie instinctively moved closer, brushing back your damp hair, grounding you with the soft press of his lips to your forehead.

The nurse peeked at the monitor and smiled. “It’s time. One more push.”

Your eyes locked with Eddie’s.

“Ready?” he asked, voice shaking, eyes glassy.

You gave a fierce nod, then bore down with everything you had. The pain ripped through you like fire, your scream filling the room—until, finally, finally—

A cry pierced the air.

Tiny, loud, and absolutely perfect.

The doctor lifted your baby, declaring joyfully, “It’s a girl!"

You collapsed back against the bed, sobbing from exhaustion and relief as the wailing newborn was placed gently onto your chest. Your hands trembled as they cradled her, this tiny, warm, slippery bundle of life with scrunched eyes and a furious cry.

Eddie was completely still beside you—eyes wide, mouth open in awe, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.

“She’s…” His voice cracked, and he reached out with a shaking hand to brush his fingers along her soft, wrinkled cheek. “She’s so little. And loud. Holy shit.”

“She gets that from you,” you whispered hoarsely, cradling the baby against your chest.

Eddie laughed—a wet, broken sound—and bent over, kissing the top of your head before resting his forehead there, his hand now covering both of yours. “You did it, baby. You brought our little bat into the world.”

The nurse returned, smiling gently. “Want to hold her, Dad?”

Eddie blinked like he’d just been slapped. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” you whispered with a teary smile. “Come meet your daughter.”

With a reverence like he was holding a sacred relic, Eddie lifted her into his arms, cradling her so carefully it almost broke your heart. His rings looked enormous against her tiny, balled fists. She was swaddled now, her angry cries quieting the moment she was tucked into his chest.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice soft and raw. “I’m your dad. And I am so in love with you already. You and your mama—my whole damn world.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks as he rocked gently, humming a slow, off-key version of Master of Puppets, of all things. The nurse gave him a strange look, but you only laughed—exhausted, aching, and completely overwhelmed by how much love filled this small hospital room.

Eddie looked back at you, eyes shining. “We’re gonna be so good to her, baby. I swear it. She’s gonna grow up knowing she’s got the weirdest, most devoted, most ridiculously in-love parents in the world.”

And as thunder rumbled once more outside, your daughter let out a tiny sigh and fell asleep in her father’s arms.

Week's have passed until Eddie actually allowed the gang to come and see his little bean and to actually let you get comfortable.

Wayne Munson stood stiffly in the doorway of Eddie’s room—well, it wasn’t really just Eddie’s anymore. The walls were still covered in band posters and scribbled campaign maps, but now there was a bassinet tucked into the corner, soft blankets draped over the edge, and a stuffed bat with tiny black wings nestled next to it.

He held a blanket under one arm, his flannel shirt freshly pressed, his hair combed back for the first time in years. He respected Eddie's ask, stayed away for a week until you and the baby settled and now he was finally getting a better look since the hospital.

“She asleep?” he asked, peering in.

Eddie looked up from the rocking chair, a grin spreading across his face. He was wearing his usual ripped jeans and an old Dio shirt—but now he had a tiny pink pacifier hanging from the neckline like a badge of honor.

“Nah. Just pretending. She’s dramatic like her old man,” he said softly, cradling the baby against his chest. “Come meet your grandniece, old man.”

Wayne stepped in slowly, his boots thudding against the floorboards. He stared at the bundle in Eddie’s arms, his face unreadable. Then he lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the bed, looking down at her with a slow, astonished blink.

“She’s tiny,” he murmured, voice thick. “And she looks like you.”

Eddie chuckled. “Poor kid. Hopefully she grows outta that.”

Wayne leaned forward, one calloused finger gently brushing the baby’s soft cheek. “She’s got your eyes, though. Big and curious. Gonna be trouble, I can tell.”

“She already is,” Eddie whispered proudly. “And I love every second of it.”

Wayne didn’t say anything for a long moment, just stared at the baby with a quiet, stunned reverence. Then he nodded once, firmly. “You’re doing good, son. Real good.”

Before Eddie could respond, there was a bang bang bang at the trailer door, followed by a chaotic chorus of voices:

“EDDIE OPEN UP—WE BROUGHT GIFTS AND PROBABLY DISEASES!”

“Don’t say that, Dustin, Jesus—”

“Should we have washed our hands?”

“I’m gonna hold her first!”

“Not if I clothesline you, Henderson—”

Eddie grinned and stood, still cradling the baby as he moved toward the door. “Ready to meet your weird uncles , little bat?” he whispered. “Brace yourself.”

He swung the door open, and the Hellfire Club nearly fell inside.

Dustin was holding a balloon that said “Welcome, Tiny Demon Queen!” and Jeff was carrying what looked like an actual battle-axe wrapped in a pink ribbon. Gareth had a pack of baby onesies—each with chaotic slogans like Future DM and Critical Cry—and Mike looked like he was about to faint from nerves.

“You guys are insane,” Eddie muttered, laughing.

“And yet you invited us,” Dustin grinned. “Where is she?!”

Eddie stepped aside so they could see. The whole room went silent.

The tiny baby girl blinked up at them from the crook of Eddie’s arms, wrapped in a fuzzy black blanket with little bats on it, her face soft and peaceful.

“Holy crap,” Gareth whispered. “She’s real.”

“No shit she’s real!” Jeff elbowed him.

“She’s so small,” Mike muttered. “Like… how is she real?”

“She’s perfect,” Dustin said softly. “What’s her name?”

Eddie glanced at you, who had just appeared behind him with a warm smile and tired eyes.

“Her name’s Coralee,” you said. “Coralee Munson. But Eddie calls her Little Bat.”

“Coralee,” Jeff repeated, nodding. “That’s metal as hell.”

“Can we hold her?” Gareth asked, practically vibrating.

Eddie held up a finger. “Sanitize first. If you even think about sneezing, you’re out.”

Everyone eagerly doused their hands in sanitizer provided by Wayne, who somehow had it ready like a hawk watching the chaos unfold.

One by one, they got their turn—awkward arms, nervous stares, terrified awe. Dustin nearly cried. Jeff talked to her in a fake dragon voice. Gareth swore she smiled when he mentioned Metallica.

When she got passed back to Eddie, she gave a tiny, sleepy whimper, curling her hand around one of his fingers.

“She’s got you wrapped already,” Mike smirked.

“Damn right she does,” Eddie beamed, brushing her hair gently. “She’s the newest member of Hellfire, after all. You better make room on the roster.”

Wayne just shook his head from the kitchen, sipping his coffee, watching them all with the softest damn smile anyone had ever seen on his face.

And in the middle of it all—surrounded by chaos, laughter, and love—Coralee Munson slept peacefully in her father’s arms.

[rainrot4me]

i dunno if you listen to hozier, (that man is my pride and joy and im seeing him live for the second time this month iakwjekdks) but masky, and lowkey like, all of the creeps, remind me so, so, much of 'work song.' the fact that their ruthless murderers but y/n is able to see the human in them and understand their hurt, is SO hozier love coded. if youre not a big fan of his, i HIGHLY recommend getting into his music! its basically just poetry with a groovy beat!

I LOVEEE Hozier! I am so jealous that you get to see him live! His music is so gorgeous and beautiful and makes me want to crawl out of my skin with yearning. So, I took the initiative to headcannon the creep’s favorite/most relatable songs:

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

“Dinner & Diatribes”

Jeff thrives on chaos, violence, and the intoxicating high of adrenaline. But underneath the bloodlust, there’s a deep craving for someone who sees him and still wants to play with fire. D&D explains the desire for intimacy and closeness with a significant other, while also having to uphold expectations.

“Hell is the talking type / I’d suffer Hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight.”

Fast-paced, teasing, laced with lust and a little madness. The guitar feels like a heartbeat mid-chase, or the feet chasing behind you. Seems pretty familiar.

✦ . ticci toby

“To Be Alone”

Toby lives in noise: mental, physical, emotional, and he’s learned to become comfortable in it. But he’s also hiding in it. The line between comfort and pain is blurry. Hozier’s rugged vocals and the pounding rhythm mirror the overload Toby constantly lives with.

“But you don’t know the hell you put me through / To have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you.”

Electric, almost ritualistic. It feels like dancing on shattered glass just to feel alive, even when you know you won’t be able to feel the cuts on your feet no matter how hard you stomp.

✦ . eyeless jack

“In A Week” (feat. Karen Cowley)

This song’s haunting tenderness and obsession with mortality perfectly echo Jack’s strange, clinical intimacy. It’s about death, but also about staying with someone through the rot. Romantic in the most macabre way, just like him.

“I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me / I have never known hunger like these insects that feast on me.”

Slow, melancholic, and strangely serene. A love song for something dark and eternal. It’s more-so a want for mortality that he lost a long time ago, and imagining that sweetness of death with someone next to him.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“Work Song”

Masky is made of restraint, guilt, and devotion to a being that couldn’t care less about him buried beneath a cold mask. This song is his heartbeat. It’s about love so powerful, so sacred, it transcends damnation. You are the only thing grounding him, even in death. Is it a savior complex? An obsession? Or just the desire to be wanted for more than his abilities.

“No grave can hold my body down / I’ll crawl home to her.”

A dark gospel hymn. Heavy, aching, and loyal to the bone. He’s not dead, but he’s not alive either. He does things that make him sick, but if he can have a warm hand to hold, maybe it’ll be okay.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

“Like Real People Do”

Hoody is a ghost of who he once was. This song is about loving after ruin—awkward, gentle, and sacred. Someone having the ability to look past his faults, forced or not, he desires that wholly.

“I will not ask you where you came from / I will not ask, and neither should you.”

Tender, breathless intimacy. Like whispering in the dark and not expecting an answer, but being pleasantly surprised when someone whispers back.

✦ . ben drowned

“Movement”

Ben is obsession, rhythm, and screen-central horror. Anything he enjoys, he enjoys so potently you’d think he couldn’t live without it. This song is raw, hungry admiration—mesmerized by the things he admires and having unwavering affection for it.

“When you move / Honey, I’m put in awe of something so flawed and free.”

Sexy, powerful, like watching a storm from inside the eye.

✦ . clockwork

“Foreigner’s God”

Clockwork is torn between her rage and the humanity that lingers beneath it. This song reflects her inner war—the feeling of not belonging, of worshipping something that feels too good to exist in her world. It’s the idolization of a better life.

“She feels no control of her body / She feels no safety in my arms.”

Holy desperation. A tragic reverence for love she thinks she doesn’t deserve, but craves wholeheartedly. There’s something so tragic about a girl destined to be hated now craving love.

✦ . laughing jack

“Someone New”

Jack is manic love, fast and unpredictable. This song’s whimsical tone hides deep loneliness—he wants to love, to feel, but it never lasts. Whether as the toy or as himself, he’s always searching for that perfect someone who will cherish and adore him above all else.

“To somehow escapes the burning weight, the art of scraping through / The dark caress of someone else, I guess any thrill will do.”

Bouncy, charming, and tinged with bittersweet ache. The age-old tale of a clown meant to perform, but getting tired of the performances. He wants something real and tangible, something more than the constant.

✦ . slenderman

“No Plan”

Slenderman doesn’t do emotion in the human sense—but this song speaks to his ethereal detachment. He watches the world fall and feels something ancient and slow stir constantly, but it’s always the same question of why. His purpose, his craving, his desire to tear apart and ruin.

“The screaming, heaving fuckery of the world / Why would you offer a name to the same old tired pain.”

Apocalyptic and majestic like a god feeling love for the first time in millennia. There is no reason for him, he just is, purpose only to wreck and destroy.

꩜ .ᐟ

[odileeclipse]

I have found the doodles I made as promised (it took a while because I was wayy busy irl and I did not expect that for almost the whole two weeks I was trying to file in my Uni applications (just graduated last year high school) because it requires as much information on everything about me as possible and a bit of going there and that but hey it was worth it! U.U)

Just as MC said a hopeless romantic streak indeed XD

I was probably high while doodling this or something- /j

But hey it was funnier in my head 😔

You can interpenetrate this as however you want..maybe as MC composing another poem about pineapples again-

This was like SOOO long ago it was when I was experimenting with his hair hshsjakahsksks

ANYWAYS I HOPE EXAM IS TREATING YOU WELL!!! ima send more later after I find them again ehhehehehe. Twin you're fr locking in this time and I'm proud, even though I'm starting to miss your pineapple rants <3<3

TWINNNN oh my god you have no idea how much this means to me 😭💛

I know things have been super busy for you, so the fact that you still took the time to send these?? I’m genuinely so touched. Like?? I’m saving these forever. The doodles are SO cute and funny I was smiling the entire time scrolling through. The donut investigation panel?? You’ve got comedy, romance, mystery it’s all there. I love it so much.

And that last sketch?? He looks so gentle?? Like a little daydream version of himself. You really made him look soft in a way that made my chest hurt a little (in a good way). And the hair!!! You ate. You always eat.

Also congrats on finishing up all that highschool stuff seriously, that’s such a huge milestone, and I’m so proud of you. I hope you’re finally getting some rest and being kind to yourself. And thank you for saying that about exams (I passed) it really means a lot. I’ve missed you too, like more than I realized I’ll be back to yelling about pineapples soon enough, don’t worry 🫶🍍

Please take care of yourself and know I appreciate you so much, always.