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goldenhourology · 15 hours ago

Text

SLACKING OFF.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff, coworkers to lovers, friends to lovers

summary: being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.

warnings: handjobs, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, missionary position, belly bulge, grinding, praise, wonwoo is a service top!!, multiple sex scenes, jerking it in an corporate office bathroom lol, drunk horniness, miscommunication, reader is learning how to open up<3, mutual pining. nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 19.2k

note: hello new ppl, welcome to the first goldenhourology one shot ✨ I've written things in the past, but this is my first really long one shot. the longer it got, the more I stressed out lol. but I've seen a lot of people do this 20k word one shots, so I thought I'd try my hand at it! also idk much about tech, so if I got anything wrong in this, pls ignore it. thank you to anyone who gives this a read!!

in rotation: picture you, chappell roan / dress, taylor swift / valentine, laufey / diamond boy, sza

Some said your late 20s were the last few years of fun before you fully allowed yourself to be an adult, so why were you always drowning in work?

It didn’t help that you were an executive assistant in one of the biggest software companies in the U.S. When you took the job, surely, you should’ve known that you’d be signing up for an exorbitant amount of work, ranging from invoice management, planning travel for your boss, to even research for senior managers. Despite the constant stress you were under, you liked this job. You liked the trust that your boss had in you. You liked that they let you be independent and figure things out on your own.

And when you couldn’t … you simply contacted IT.

It helped that a senior IT specialist sat right across from your cubicle.

Jeon Wonwoo wasn’t the most talkative cubicle buddy, nor was he the most pleasant. He did his best to give you a smile every once in a while, but he had to fight the urge to throw his head in his hands whenever you send him a message on Slack. You didn’t typically need help with anything, except in the area of tech. You were so organized and incredibly smart – it didn’t take an idiot to see that – but god forbid, sometimes … you could be so technologically averse.

Maybe he just had too many years of schooling under his belt – he was 28 now with both a Bachelors and Masters in Software Engineering – but you surprised him with some of your requests. Sometimes, you’d delete files by accident, need to renew your subscription to important apps, even locked yourself out of your own computer once. He had interns underneath him that could be available to help you, but you had consistently messaged him. And he sat directly across from you. No matter what, it was always going to be Wonwoo that had to help you. Fate had made sure of that.

There were times that you realized you were bothering him. Either you heard him curse from behind his extremely large monitor or he adjusted his glasses so much that you thought he might break them in half. And to be honest, you liked being in control of your own work, so you’d try to find a solution. Typically, solving your own tech problems left your computer in more disarray.

And there was Wonwoo to save the day yet again.

You [10:58 AM]: Morning, Wonwoo!

You [10:58 AM]: I screwed up

You [10:59 AM]: Boss sent me some documents that were password protected, but he’s away for the next two days and not answering his phone

You [10:59 AM]: So I might’ve downloaded some software to help me unlock it and I think it’s attempting to hack my email as we speak

You [11:01 AM]: I’m so so sorry! I didn’t want to bother you

Jeon Wonwoo [11:01 AM]: I’ll be right over.

Luckily for you, Wonwoo was able to fix the problem and stop your email from getting hacked. Whoever was the owner of that virus-filled program you tried to download didn’t gain access to those password-protected documents before Wonwoo secured your computer. But it was close. Too close.

Not only that, but he had a multitude of other projects today. He had to train two new interns … have one of those annual performance reviews with the head of IT … change over a dozen new passwords for people … and then he found out that they’re changing servers. Which meant everything backed up on their former server had to be transferred over to the new one. Fucking great.

He wasn’t sure how many times he sighed today, but it had to be over a hundred. When he couldn’t stand to be sitting anymore, he stood up and paced around the third floor of the building. Today felt like the longest day of his life. And there was a mustard stain on his green sweater vest. And he got a shitty haircut a few days ago. And he probably needed new glasses because he was getting headaches.

It was time for a coffee. As well as a day off.

Coincidentally, you were also headed to the break room that afternoon in need of a green tea. You were about to walk in when you heard your cubicle mate letting out a frustrated breath while talking to another IT specialist. He was clearly fed up about something, or maybe just tired of this day. You hid next to the doorframe, and just when you thought it was safe to step out, you heard your name fall from his lips.

“I don’t understand how she does it,” Wonwoo complained, hands smacking against his sides. “Seriously, it’s mind boggling. I’m pretty sure she has her Masters in Business Administration, but she does this shit that just makes me … Oh my god, she literally tried to download some faulty software off the internet today, instead of just asking me or someone else for help.”

“Oh, yeah, everyone wants to turn to you when you got that attitude, man,” someone – Lee Seokmin, maybe? – joked.

“You get what a mean.” Wonwoo watched the first couple drips of shitty office coffee fill his cup. “I was able to save her computer, yeah, but it would be nice to avoid an emergency for a day.”

Seokmin slapped him on the back. “The joys of working in IT.”

You huffed, stalking away from the break room and back to your desk. There was only so much office gossip you could take, especially when it involved you. As soon as you sat down, you finished typing up an email at the loudest volume possible, your fingers basically punching themselves into the keys. You heard Wonwoo slide back into his desk chair, the fresh smell of burnt coffee wafting across to you, and he didn’t say a thing. Not that he would ever know you had eavesdropped. But not a “hello” or “how has computer been after this morning?” He went back to work, burning his tongue on the overly hot liquid.

Maybe Wonwoo was right; maybe you did need to just stop overthinking and ask for help instead of figuring stuff out on your own. Or maybe this asshole needed an attitude check.

You decided to not bother him for the rest of the week, complaining to your friends that Friday night about your shithead of a coworker. They said he might be looking out for you in his own fucked up way. You said he might just be an asshole.

Come Monday morning, you had realized your ignoring hadn’t effected him at all. He still sent you the same small smile as he walked in and sat down across from you. Could he really not see how pissed you are, or had the facade you’d crafted for so long as the perfect corporate employee work too well?

You should just be upfront with him, take control of the situation. Like always.

You [9:44 AM]: I heard you in the break room a few days ago.

You [9:44 AM]: I just didn’t want to bother you. That’s why I had tried to figure out the issue on my own. Didn’t realize that was a crime

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: Crap.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:46 AM]: You weren’t supposed to hear that.

You [9:47 AM]: Well, I did

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Listen.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: Not that it excuses anything, but there’s so much going on at work. It wasn’t all about you. I was complaining just to complain and I didn’t mean any of it.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:50 AM]: I’m sorry.

You [9:51 AM]: Wow

Jeon Wonwoo [9:51 AM]: What?

You [9:51 AM]: You’ve never come across as someone who can apologize well

Jeon Wonwoo [9:52 AM]: Are you sure you aren’t projecting right now? We sit across from each other. I’ve seen how stubborn you are.

You [9:53 AM]: I thought you were apologizing to me????

Jeon Wonwoo [9:56 AM]: I’m sorry. Again.

You [10:01 AM]: Okay, you’re forgiven

Jeon Wonwoo [10:09 AM]: Can I make it up to you with a coffee?

You didn’t go out on dates. The last one you went on was … years ago, probably in undergrad. Once you go for your Masters, all energy to date goes out the window.

Not that this was a date. This certainly was not a date.

This was an apology coffee after work, since the two of you seemed to have an affinity for caffeine at late hours.

Even if, per chance, he thought this was a date … you’d eventually have to let him down easy. It probably wasn’t in your best interest to date someone like Jeon Wonwoo, but you’d also closed yourself off from love for far too long. It wasn’t that you didn’t get lonely – you did, very much, especially on late nights where it was just you and your favorite vibrator – but it was just … scary. Opening yourself up. Losing just a small semblance of control. You weren’t even sure you could physically allow yourself to do that after being alone for so long.

Your heart had been tucked away so many years ago, locked inside a box, and then in another box, and so on. With the final lock being so complicated that only someone who knew the last four of your social security number could answer. No one was opening up that box. Your heart was safe from the outside world.

You were independent, reliant on only yourself, and you liked it that way.

Once he had gotten both your coffees, he sat down next to you at a hightop table, folding his winter coat over the back of his chair. He had managed to remember your latte order and it tasted perfect. Your eyes flitted up, ogling him for a moment. When you’re not under the fluorescent lights of the office, Wonwoo was … attractive. To say the least. Maybe he always had been and you were too blind to see it. Maybe his face was perpetually hidden by his monitor.

His hair was tousled in the way that it looked effortless, even if he hadn’t brushed it after rolling out of bed. He had a tendency to wear sweater vests with white t-shirts underneath, or button-downs with jeans. But it was only when he showed off his forearms that you realized he was surprisingly built underneath his oversized clothes. He was tall and his shoulders were broad. You liked his glasses too; they always sat on the edge of his nose. A thin line was etched into both lenses, suggesting age, but they framed his face well.

Yeah, you thought to yourself, he is handsome.

“Why are you staring at me?” He asked, knocking you out of your stupor.

You blinked and looked down at your coffee, removing the lid. “Oh, I … uh … good question.”

“Listen,” he started, eyes flickering to his hands, “I’m really sorry about what I said –”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“– And I understand if you want to go to HR about this –”

You shook your head. “Wait, what? Why would I do that?”

He glanced around, until finally, his eyes were on you again. And suddenly, you were wondering if his eyes were dark brown or the color of cinnamon. “Isn’t that what any rational person would do?”

He had you stumped there. If this were a different situation … you probably would do that. “I’m not going to tell HR about this, Wonwoo. You apologized and said you didn’t mean it. I have to trust that.” And you didn’t trust lightly – hardly at all – but something about Wonwoo made you feel like it could be easy with him.

“We all have shit days,” you added, taking a sip of the scalding hot latte. “You have a ton of stuff on your plate. Doesn’t give you an excuse for what you did, but we all say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t mean. I have so many things to organize throughout the day, and sometimes it gets the better of me. Remember when I had book that last minute trip for our CEO and I was on the phone for hours with Delta and Suzanne in finance had the nerve to start bothering me about some invoice? I lost it on her for a straight minute.”

“Oh, my god, yeah,” he chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the memory resurfaced. “Her eyes almost came out of her skull at your reaction. To be fair … Suzanne needs to be knocked down a peg sometimes. She always blames IT when she can’t get into her email, but it’s because she’s constantly typing her password with one letter off.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. Your hand hit the tabletop a few times as you let your workplace personality fade in front of your coworker. “Those new IT interns don’t know what’s coming once Suzanne comes for them,” you joked.

“The IT interns don’t know anything. Period.” He jabbed his finger onto the table. “I mean, they’re interns, but it takes so much time to train them. If I have to teach them JavaScript one more time …”

“Say it, Jeon Wonwoo,” you egged him on, a chuckle filtering at the end. “What will happen if you have to teach those good for nothing interns JavaScript?”

A slow smile made it’s way onto Wonwoo’s face, and … damn, you were actually a really cool person. “Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll tell you what will happen …”

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: Did you bring lunch today?

Jeon Wonwoo [12:13 PM]: I just found this new cafe down the street and was thinking about grabbing something there in a few. Did you wanna come?

You [12:14 PM]: Do you think they have a chicken salad sandwich on the menu

Jeon Wonwoo [12:15 PM]: I can only assume so?

You [12:15 PM]: SOLD

You both go out for more coffees, before and after work. You found yourself excited to wake up early, to meet up with Wonwoo at the coffee shop located in the lobby of your work building. Always getting there before him, you typically ordered two coffees – remembering his order to a T – and when he walked in five minutes late, he promised to buy the next round. You never let him.

You began planning lunches over Slack, discussing what was on special at that cafe he found last month. In fact, you two talked most of the day on Slack. A message from you had once gotten on his nerves, and now … he was eager for it. Eager to hear your thoughts throughout the day, excited to talk about what new dumb question an intern asked him today or to see more pictures of your grandma’s cats.

And Wonwoo … Wonwoo was easier to get along with than you thought. You just had to peel back the layers before he finally got comfortable, and honestly, you could relate. To be fair, you had a few more layers than he did, but he was slowly learning that you were more than what he perceived. After that first coffee, he realized how funny you were, and then a couple lunches later, he learned you were an avid romance and thriller reader – and nothing in between. It wasn’t until last week that he finally cracked you open enough to learn about your love for Elder Scrolls Online. He was sure you were joking at first, but when you clarified how serious you were, he almost fell off his chair.

“I’m not shocked that you play it,” he said over coffee one morning. “What I’m shocked at is that you’d rather play Elder Scrolls Online and not Skyrim.”

“Of course, you would say that,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I don’t really have an interest in the game universe. I started playing Elder Scrolls Online to relieve stress while applying to colleges, and then I just … didn’t stop.” You shrugged.

Much to his own surprise – even with your take on Skyrim – Wonwoo thoroughly enjoyed your company. It was insane that you both had spent almost two years sitting across from each other before realizing how much you liked each other. Words always left unsaid. Eyes staying glued to computers. It had been a routine for you both that you had never strayed from – until now. So many tech requests over Slack … and now he was actively looking forward to work everyday. To seeing you. To talking with you.

You.

Jeon Wonwoo realized how much he liked stockings. Specifically, he liked the way you looked in them.

And that’s when things got dangerous.

He started to notice the days you would wear them, and then concluded which day you did laundry. You liked wearing blouses with a pencil skirt and stockings on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Those were now his favorite days.

Wednesdays you’d wear dress pants and maybe a sweater, whereas on “Casual Fridays,” you were clad in a t-shirt with a cardigan layered and jeans. You always looked nice at the office, but those stocking days … they were getting to him.

Sometimes, he’d watch the way you walked away from your desk – either to the Boss’ office or to the finance department – and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trail down your legs. You had these stockings that had a slight tear in the back, and he wondered if you realized, or was he just too much of a perverted loser to be the first person to notice? He wanted to purchase a new pair for you. He wanted to replace all your stockings and buy you enough that you could wear them with a skirt everyday, just so he could see you in them.

Maybe he was a loser.

You looked up at him, even in heels, and you had this way of smiling at him that left him questioning why you liked hanging out with him in the first place. His personality couldn’t be that charming to warrant your attention. But you were warm – even when your hands were perpetually cold – and kind, never straying once he was in front of you. And you had this lip gloss that stained your lips magenta and made them shine. Even in the dim fluorescent lights. When his chair turned just slightly and he let his eyes glaze over you, one finger rubbing at his top lip, he couldn’t help but be curious if the gloss had a flavor to it … and then, he’d get distracted by your legs again. And your blouse, and your hair.

Don’t even get him started on the way you smelled.

Maybe he was a loser. No, he was most definitely a loser.

It was a Thursday night. Almost 7 PM and you were still at the office. You had plans to go out tonight to celebrate your friend’s new job, but you ended up having to cancel when the Boss placed a stack of paperwork on your desk before leaving the building at promptly 6 o’clock. Why he couldn’t have given you all these invoices and memos hours ago was beyond you, but you weren’t even halfway through this stack and the janitor was now mopping beside you.

When a Slack notification appeared on the side of your monitor, you didn’t even read it before spinning around in your chair. There Wonwoo was, leaning back in his own chair while a progress window ticked on one of his dual monitors. You raised a brow. “I didn’t even hear you over there,” you commented. “Why are you still here?”

“A month or so ago, the IT head told me that we’d soon be transitioning servers, so all of our backups and data need to be transferred over to this new server.” He explained, adjusting his glasses and glancing over at the progress window. It changed from 23% to 24% finished. “Someone had to be the lucky person to stay after hours and make sure it all went smoothly.”

You twirled a pen in your two fingers and crossed your legs. “Oh, that sucks.” Your skirt hiked up a little, and just that small flash of exposed skin had Wonwoo averting his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m assuming you’re still here because of that.” He nodded towards the pile of paper.

“No, no, obviously I love being here after hours with you,” you replied, sarcasm dripping from your tone, but it still ignited a short spark of hope within him. (Wonwoo, can you chill the fuck out? He chastised.) “You know the Boss has a penchant for letting invoices pile up. He just so happened to let that pile end up on my desk before he left today. And some of these needed to be filled out …” Your eyes skimmed the first paper on your desk. “Oh, yesterday!”

Wonwoo offered to help you while also keeping watch of his computer – 28% finished – but you insisted you could handle it. “I already bother you enough during work hours,” you said before turning back to your desk. He knew by now that you were simply too stubborn to give up control of the project. Once you had started it yourself, you needed to see it through. He wasn’t sure if you two were close enough that he could be completely honest, that he could tell you that it was fine to let go this independence that you kept on a tight leash. He was willing to help. (God, was he willing.)

But he chocked it up to telling you once that you were “so fucking stubborn.”

Your reply had come in the form of a swift kick to his knee.

Wonwoo glanced at his monitor. 67% finished.

It was 10 PM and you were just about finished with the paperwork, but you were running on fumes. Just a few memos left and you’d be done. To get you through the next hour, you needed something. So you headed to the break room, suddenly craving some burnt workplace coffee. (What was it about this coffee maker that gave it such a distinct burnt flavor? You’d never know.) After placing the pod of coffee grounds in the slot and filling the water, you pressed the start button, turning around with a huff to see Wonwoo striding into the break room. A crushed, styrofoam coffee cup was clutched in his large hand before he tossed it in the barrel beside you.

“How’s your transfer going?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. Coffee had started to pour from the machine and into your cup.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s at 88% now. Hopefully should be done in the next hour.”

“Me too, if all goes well.” A sigh escaped your lips. “I still have a few more papers to fill out. Shouldn’t take me more than an hour, but I haven’t looked through them all yet.”

Wonwoo stepped forward, reaching in the direction of the styrofoam cups. “If you had let me help you –”

You tried sidestepping out of the way to give him some room, but his hand brushed against your arm anyway. Your chin tilted up as your eyes met his, back pressing against the counter. “It wouldn’t have helped,” you finished for him.

His arm paused mid-air, and he looked down at you. Eyes narrowing, he replied, “You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. You have this desperate need to be in control of everything.”

“And why is that a bad thing?” Your tone took a hard edge. The last thing you wanted right now was to put effort into arguing, but you were tired and already on the edge of a breakdown. “I’ve relied on myself for as long as I can remember. I like being in control. I like being stubborn. If I didn’t do most things myself –”

“You ask me to fix something on your computer at least once a day.”

“That’s different.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, and you noticed then just how close he was. Your chests were practically touching. “Sometimes you do try to figure things out yourself and almost break your hard drive.”

His progress window was probably at 93% finished now. He should head back to his desk, but his feet stayed planted right where they were.

“Why does it matter?” You exhaled loud, your hands slapping against your hips. “Do you want an award or something? You have your way of doing things, and I have mine. I’m not perfect, but I … I like things the way they are.” Change is scary, you thought to yourself, but didn’t dare voice it out loud.

He was so close that he could smell your perfume. The scent of lavender mixed with orange blossoms and vanilla filled his nostrils, swirling around his brain. He could get addicted to this smell, to you. Maybe he already was. When his eyes roamed down to your legs and he saw his favorite pair of stockings on you, he damn near collapsed. In fact, he hadn’t even realized the soft groan had left his lips until your gaze found his, your pretty irises growing wide.

You were just so … captivating.

His hands were on both sides of you, pressing your back further into the counter. Your black coffee steaming and fully abandoned in the coffee machine. He was holding himself back, his knuckles going white with restraint. But he wasn’t like you. He could only keep himself in control for so long. And with you here right now, your perfume surrounding him, your stockings-clad thigh brushing against his leg, your a hand placed on his chest … he was a goner.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, palm still resting on his shirt, “we …”

When your voice trailed off, Wonwoo’s instincts got the better of him. “Please, just …” One hand came up to smooth against your cheek, and he was almost out of breath as he pulled your face to his. “Let me do this.”

He gave you enough time to shove him back, to yell at him, to tell him you didn’t like him in that way. But your neck was craning towards his, and he took that as a sign to crash his lips onto yours. They were softer than he expected, and the taste … your gloss tasted like – well, like nothing. But if he pretended, he could’ve sworn there was a slight cherry aftertaste. His glasses bumped into your nose, but he’d been too overwhelmed to remember to take them off. Mouth moving against yours, his hips crammed you more against the counter, hard enough to leave a bruise on your spine. You didn’t care though. His shoulders were so wide that they shielded you, inviting your body into his, and your fingers fisted into his button-up. Tongues tangled, eager to taste more and more of each other.

Wonwoo could kiss you forever. You didn’t want him to stop.

But all good things must end. Because when he instinctively placed his leg between yours, he knew this was going too far. Especially because you two were still at work. In the break room.

He instantly removed his leg, his lips breaking from yours. Your eyes connected, the room filled with only the sounds of heavy breathing, before you wiped a trail of spit from your chin.

Wonwoo’s head spun behind him. Thank god, there was no CCTV camera by the coffee maker.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: Good morning.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:09 AM]: I shouldn’t have done that last night.

Jeon Wonwoo [9:10 AM]: Still friends?

You [9:14 AM]: We probably shouldn’t be talking about this on Slack

You [9:15 AM]: Here’s my number: 855-777-0821

You [9:18 AM]: But yes friends :D

Wonwoo did not want to be just friends. But he was utterly terrified of what you would say if he voiced that. You had kissed him back, yes, but … hadn’t you agreed to be friends far too quickly? You had both hung out post-kiss – he liked to call this period of time A.T.K. (after the kiss) – and you didn’t seem to be ruminating on it like he was. Of course, he didn’t know what you were thinking, and you could be so hard to read sometimes when your layers weren’t stripped back enough. But …

Could it really have meant nothing to you?

If that were the case, he didn’t know how it was possible for you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss even if he tried. When he saw you the next day – Friday, January 9, A.T.K. – the first thing he noticed was your lip gloss and all he wanted was to have it smeared over his mouth again. He noticed the way your hair fell over your shoulder, remembering how soft the strands felt when his fingers had slipped between them. He noticed that you were wearing those jeans that hugged your ass just right, and – god, now he was wishing that he had touched more than just your cheek. Wonwoo wanted to touch you everywhere. And vice versa. He didn’t care if your hands were constantly freezing or if they were dry during the winter. He wanted you to touch him however you pleased. He wanted to grab you and kiss you and hold those cold hands in his warm ones –

Oh, my god. He had a boner. At work. Just the mere memory of a kiss had him shifting himself in his pants underneath his desk, hoping no one noticed.

Eventually, he stood up, trying to keep a casual hand over the bulge in his pants as he fast walked to the bathroom. Nobody batted an eye, but you did steal a glance over at him once his back was turned. Your brow raised at the way he was practically sprinting for the elevator, not realizing that he was heading for the second floor restrooms. He must be excited for something. Probably a package, you thought before turning back to your computer.

Wonwoo felt like he could finally breathe once he was inside a stall. He rested his head against the cool tile wall, feeling the ache start to settle in his groin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this way. What 28-year-old gets a boner from a kiss? You had him acting like a goddamn teenager.

What had you done to him? Just one kiss and he was completely under your spell.

(Or maybe he’d been this way all along.)

His fingers fumbled with the zipper on his jeans as he finally pulled himself out of his jeans, stroking from base to tip. Thankfully, no one was in the bathroom. He couldn’t believe his life had come to this. The last thing he ever wanted was to be that guy who jacked off in the bathroom. But you had to wear those goddamn jeans –

Wonwoo wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, but he was doing a pretty good job even as this was killing him inside. He wasn’t like you; he found it hard to restrain himself, to ignore everything that was bubbling up inside him. He could feel himself cracking. What would be the thing that finally broke him?

The answer was simple: alcohol.

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: Dude lol. Why’d you run away from your desk like that

Lee Seokmin [11:26 AM]: I think you could win the Olympics with that kind of sprint!

Jeon Wonwoo [11:39 AM]: Don’t ask.

Lee Seokmin [11:40 AM]: Alrighty then ;)

Lee Seokmin [11:41 AM]: On another note … you free next Thursday? My buddy in the marketing department, Josh, finally has a night off from his kid so we were thinking of getting a group together for drinks after work. Interested?

The last thing you ever expected was to be invited to drinks with Seokmin and some of the managers in marketing, but Wonwoo said you should come. “In fact,” he had clarified, “you should come so I don’t have to deal with DK’s drunk antics all night.” Who were you to deprive him of your presence when he was that desperate? Plus, there was a nice girl in marketing that was also invited; maybe tonight was the night to befriend her.

But the marketing people knew how to party. You were only halfway through your second beer whereas the rest of your group was on their fourth. And three tequila shots deep. Wonwoo, seemingly, had an affinity for tequila, unlike yourself. He was able to throw them back like it was nothing; he didn’t even need a chaser. When Seokmin had requested they all get a fourth, he was met with a round of cheers, and even Wonwoo – quiet, introverted Wonwoo – threw his hands up with excitement. You placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, “Are you sure about that?”

Wonwoo felt his whole body freeze when your hot breath reached his ear. A pale, pink flush appeared on his cheeks, but you chocked it up to how drunk he was. Eventually, he waved away your worry with his hand. “I’m fiiiiiiiiine. Hey, how about I get you another beer?”

“Are you even coherent enough to get me another –”

“HEY! Bartender! Can I get one more of these?!” He shouted, waving your empty glass in the air. “Oh, and more tequila!”

Seokmin slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder, laughing along with him. As you made friends with the rest of the marketing department, you found yourself glancing at Wonwoo every so often. His cheeks were so rosy now, and his glasses kept slipping down his nose. To be fair though, everyone in this dive bar seemed to be in the same state of mind. Seokmin was singing along to the Sabrina Carpenter song blasting through the speakers. Josh was so drunk that he was crying about how much he loved his friends. They had even gotten Suzanne in finance to come out, and she was making friends with everyone for once. And Wonwoo … oh, god, Wonwoo’s head was now on the bar top and he was closing his eyes –

You abandoned your beer and walked over to your friend, shaking his shoulders. His eyes instantly opened, expecting to see Seokmin, but when his gaze met yours, he instantly felt all warm and fuzzy. “Okay,” you said, trying your best to hoist this 6 foot man off the barstool, “you’ve had enough. I’m taking you home.”

It was like pulling teeth to get him to tell you his address, but you guessed you shouldn’t be surprised when the man on your arm was blackout drunk. After flagging a taxi, you shoved him in the seat next to you and rubbed your hands together to get them warm. Wonwoo’s head was on your shoulder the second you sat down, his eyes fluttering closed as the taxi sped off into the night. You watched his fingers twitch on his thigh as he whispered sleepily, “I think my family would really like you.”

“Is that so?” You chuckled, squeezing his arm for reassurance, but little did you know just how much your touch effected him. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re you,” he replied, and then yawned. “Only you and Mingyu would do this for me.”

Your brow furrowed. “Who’s Mingyu?”

The taxi pulled up to a brick apartment building then, and your cold fingers struggled to get cash out from your pocket while Wonwoo was practically laying on top of you. Finally, you did your best to haul him out of the seat, thanking the taxi driver before gathering an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulders. The building was definitely old with vines of ivy crawling up one side. There was a dead tree with snow covering it’s branches directly by the door, spilling snowflakes on your head as you struggled to input the code Wonwoo managed to remember. And then, you were pulling him up two flights of stairs, which took far longer than you estimated. You had basically ripped his keys from his hand once you reached his apartment and continued to drag him inside, laying him on the old couch that was conveniently right near the door.

Wonwoo grumbled as soon as his head hit the armrest, and he almost fell off the couch if it weren’t for you catching him and rolling him back onto the cushion. “I’m going to go get you a glass of water,” you said, quickly rushing off to his kitchen. “Please, for the love of god, don’t fall off the couch again.”

He whined for you to come back, but you pretended you didn’t hear it, because if you did, you’d have to reckon with the tingle that bloomed between your legs at the sound of his desperation.

The entrance of his kitchen was right in front of a small hallway that sectioned off two ways. There was a bedroom door on each side of the hall, and once you walked inside the kitchen, you found a tiny table from the 80s and the dishwasher currently running. You didn’t have time to contemplate that now, and instead pilfered through his cabinets until you found a glass and filled it with tap water. Rushing back to his side, Wonwoo was already laying halfway off the couch and you sighed.

You set the glass of water on his coffee table and lifted him back up. With a little bit of help from you, you both managed to shrug off his winter jacket and you tucked a throw blanket over him to prevent him from falling off again. A heavy exhale slipped past your lips as you knelt by his side, and you couldn’t help but reach out to pushed back his hair from his forehead. His eyes were closed, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. You smiled to yourself.

Were coworkers supposed to show this much affection for each other?

“Wonwoo,” you said softly, and he cracked one eye open. “Do you want some water?”

He shut that eye again, grimacing at the thought of anything entering his body right now. “Ab…absolutely not.”

“It’ll make you feel better,” you persuaded, but he still shook his head. “Okay, so what do you want right now?”

His breath stilled for a moment. “Can I be honest?”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“I …” No, he couldn’t be that honest. “I want you to … keep p–pushing back my hair. It’s … relaxing.”

You chuckled, “Okay, you got it.” Your fingers were at the crown of his head again, smoothing back the strands. You hadn’t noticed until now that he had a freckle on the left side of his forehead; maybe you’d just never been this close to notice. Well, actually, you had. There was this thing you two did called a kiss –

“If you’re going to fall asleep, I’m going to take off your glasses,” you informed him, slipping his glasses off and setting them by his glass of water. It was late, much later than you anticipated on staying out, and you both still had to go to work tomorrow.

But then his hand was grabbing your wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for how intoxicated he was. “Can I b–be honest again?” He slurred, his eyes half open to meet yours.

You sighed, placing your hand on top of his, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Just know whatever you say will be used to make fun of you tomorrow –”

“I can’t … I haven’t …” He took a breath to formulate the words in his head. “… Stopped thinking about our kiss.”

You blinked down at him, watching the way his eyes began to close again as he relaxed into the old couch cushions. “You can’t just say shit like –”

He scoffed dramatically. “I’m noooot,” he defended, his hand slipping off your wrist to curl underneath the blanket.

“Wonwoo …” Your voice trailed off, the words dying on your tongue.

“Who the hell are you?”

You immediately got to your feet at the sound of another person’s voice behind you. Eyes growing wide, you took in the sight of the man in front of you wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his chiseled abdomen as he shook a smaller towel through his hair. He might’ve been taller than Wonwoo, only by a little bit, and his skin was a golden tan that reminded you of summertime even in this harsh winter. Why was Wonwoo hiding handsome men in his apartment? The man looked at you, waiting for an answer, his brows raised.

“Oh,” you cleared your throat. “Um …”

“Leave her alone, Mingyu,” Wonwoo groaned from the couch, turning away from them to lay on his side.

So this was Mingyu, you concluded. This slightly god-like dude that looked like he walked straight out of a porno was the only other person who’d help Wonwoo when he was blackout drunk. Interesting.

Mingyu raised his hand awkwardly for you to shake. “His roommate,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you replied, grasping his hand for a moment and telling him your name.

Mingyu instantly grinned, laying the small towel over his neck, holding both ends. “So you’re her.”

You blinked, not knowing how to respond to that. Perhaps there was no way to respond; the silence was comfortable enough. You decided to keep that in mind for later though.

“He’s … well, he got very drunk,” you informed Mingyu, gesturing to a now-sleeping Wonwoo with both thumbs. “I wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

Mingyu nodded, and then sighed. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry,” he promised, opening up the door for you. “Get home safe, okay?”

Wonwoo: Sorry about that the other night. I won’t get drunk like that again. It doesn’t happen very often

You: it’s okay! I’m used to handling drunk people

You: don’t get me wrong, I like to have my fun but it’s easier for me to take care of other people than like … be incoherent and anxious lol

Wonwoo: By the end of the night I was starting to feel that way. Not fun

You: DRINK WATER

You: your roommate is hot btw. does he always walk around without a shirt?

Wonwoo: Of course, he didn’t have a shirt on when you met him

Wonwoo: Everyone likes Mingyu

You: well, I like you [UNSENT]

The bi-annual sales meeting was started to boost morale and talk with other departments that you didn’t see as often. It was typically held at a hotel in the downtown city, with the company flying in all the sales reps from across the country. There were even a few from overseas. In reality though, this was usually the week where coworkers made mistakes. At least one person was let go after these sales meetings, and HR had their eyes peeled for an entire week.

You never made a mistake at one of these. And you didn’t expect to any time soon.

This was a week of rubbing elbows with slimy sales reps and making sure some old man hadn’t spiked your drink. For most, this was a week to slack off, but a woman working in corporate couldn’t relax in these settings. You’d been making corrections to your boss’ presentation for the entire company for what felt like forever. (Realistically, it’d been almost two weeks.) You probably went through the 50 slides at least twice as much, checking for spelling mistakes and making sure it was in the right place on your desktop. Not on some random external hard drive. Not in the trash.

But it was finally the day you’d been dreading. Presentation day, and everyone at the company was eager to hear the Boss reveal if they hit their goal for the year, amongst other things. You checked the slides another time, and then made sure no one would trip over the HDMI cord connected to the projector. The Boss gave you a reassuring smile, and then it was go time.

Your boss could be a shit bag – what CEO wasn’t? – but he had a way of speaking that made everyone so excited for the future. He was probably the reason why morale was always so high, and everyone looked forward to his presentation at these meetings. Your finger hovered over the right arrow button as he went through his speech, pointing out company statistics and what he wanted them all to accomplish this year, before finally getting to the goal reach. And his answer was nothing short of what the audience wanted to hear. He congratulated all of them, and everyone clapped together at the good news.

When you looked out at the crowd that had gathered, you realized almost every seat in the ballroom was filled. Some were even standing near the door and – wait, there was Wonwoo, leaning against the wall in the back. IT didn’t need to be here for this presentation. In fact, they were encouraged to be doing other things, like manning a table near HR and offering on-the-spot tech help. A smile made it’s way to your lips, watching the way Wonwoo was listening intently.

Once the presentation was over and the room erupted in small talk, your boss came over and thanked you for helping out yet again. “Of course,” you replied, as if there was anything else to say. He gave you a comforting squeeze of the hand before walking off to talk to some of his favorite sales reps.

As you shut your laptop and began to place your things in your backpack, Wonwoo slipped into the chair beside yours. Just the sight of his grin set you at ease, but also made you nervous at the same time. Why were you suddenly so nervous? This was just Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo. Just … your Wonwoo.

“Congratulations,” he beamed, giving you a high five. “I know you’ve been working on this all week, but you did it!”

You always stressed so much about this presentation, but at the end of the day … “All I did was press a button,” you shrugged.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, but you didn’t accidentally delete your file like every other time you’ve messaged me on Slack.” He chuckled, and you scoffed at his teasing. “I’d call that a win.”

The second to last night of sales meeting week was the longest night of the year. It was a tradition for everyone to go out to a bar the company rented out, drinking whatever alcohol they could get their hands on while celebrating a job well done. You only saw half these people twice a year, and half of the time they’d have a beer in their hands.

You did your best to ignore every sales rep that tried to speak with you without slurring their words, but that was damn near impossible when some were already on their second cocktail. However, no matter how embarrassing it was, you did allow them to compliment you and your hard work. Who were you to turn down the validation? And when the time came, even your boss came over to compliment you again, and you realized there was truly nothing like being good at your job.

Just for a moment, everything felt okay. It was like the loneliness dissipated, the sting of years without pleasure or having someone by your side … it all faded when you were rewarded for your hard work.

Maybe tonight was the night you had fun for once.

When you finally found Wonwoo later that night, he was surrounded by a few younger members of the IT team, debating what computer language everyone should be obligated to learn. You waved to him from where you stood by the bar top, and that was all it took to have him walking away from his team and towards you. He wrapped one arm around your shoulders, insisting to buy you drinks for the rest of the night, and you didn’t hesitate to agree. If there was anyone here you trusted enough to hand you a drink, it was Wonwoo.

Just Wonwoo.

The hour was reaching midnight now, and you weren’t sure how many martinis you had, but you were hiccuping a storm. That was a telltale sign that you were totally, thoroughly drunk. Wonwoo was only drinking beer and pacing himself, unlike that night at the dive bar, but he was enjoying the sight of you finally letting loose. You hung on his arm, staring up at him with your big eyes, glazing over from all the alcohol coursing through your system. He didn’t like how this effected him; he shouldn’t be attracted to the way your gaze looked while you were intoxicated. But he couldn’t help but wonder if your eyes held the same shine while your lips were wrapped around his –

No, this was too much. He should take you back to the hotel.

The two of you glanced around the bar, realizing it was mostly cleared out. You definitely needed to leave now.

He tugged on your arm, wrapping one of his around your waist to support you. “C’mon now,” he grunted, helping you walk out. “Let’s get you back.”

“I didn’t f–finish my drink thoooooough,” you argued, despite letting him lead you out of the bar. “And I can walk … on my own. Swear!”

“Listen, you took care of me once,” he said as you two walked into the brisk cold air. The hotel was, thankfully, only a block away. “Let me take care of you.”

Even with the alcohol pumping in your veins, just the sound of those words falling from his mouth made you grip him tighter. You felt like your bones were made of jelly, and it wasn’t just from the vodka. It was him, and the way he made you feel, and how secretly warm he was, and the way he took care of you as you took care of him, and – oh, god, you wanted to cry because you liked Jeon Wonwoo so much.

So, so much.

It was much easier to get you back to your hotel room than his apartment, seeing as this hotel had a working elevator. You slumped beside him, tripping over your feet every so often, as he hauled you down the hallway to your room. You gave him your keycard easily, and once the door was open, he squeezed your hand to silently let you know it was time to move again. He helped you into the room, shutting the door behind him, before laying you down on your bed with the clumsiness only he could have.

You were laughing now, hiccuping from the alcohol, but laughing nonetheless. And he was laughing at your hiccups. Or maybe he just liked the way you grinned at him.

He assisted with taking off your boots and jacket, too embarrassed to remove anything else. And it definitely wasn’t appropriate to either. Tearing back the covers, he nestled you underneath them, and said, “You got everything, right? I’m a call away if you need me.” He grabbed one of the small trash cans in the room and placed it at your bedside. “If you need to vomit and can’t make it to the bathroom, just use the trash can here –”

You hand came out to wrap around his forearm. “Stay, Wonwoo.”

Your sleepy eyes were killing him, making his inhibitions melt and his cock throb at the same time. He sighed, sitting on the side of the mattress, and before he could stop himself, he was tucking hair behind your ear. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You know how it would look if someone saw me leave this room tomorrow morning. HR is on all our asses this week.”

“I know,” you slurred, and then pressed your flushed cheek into his palm. “I j–just thought you … were taking care of me thoooooooough …”

His resolve crumbled into a million pieces. This was complete, utter torture. You had to know how you effected him, but of course you didn’t, because you were stretching under the covers and yawning like you didn’t just make his heart stop.

That’s how he ended up in your bed, shutting off the lights and settling underneath the comforter. Until you came closer and rested your head on his chest. Despite how fast his heart was beating, he felt so at peace, and you both fell asleep in the clothes you wore out tonight.

Only a few hours later, you woke with a clear head and the beginning of a hangover. Your head was pounding like crazy, and it took everything in you to slip out from the comfort of your bed and pad your feet over to the bathroom. The bright light was burning your eyes, but you needed it to find the Tylenol you left by the sink. Filling a cup with water, you took the medication and prayed it worked sooner rather than later.

You squinted at yourself in the mirror, realizing you were still in the outfit you wore yesterday. With a sigh, you picked up the big t-shirt you left on the floor yesterday morning and stripped yourself until you were in nothing but your underwear. You pulled the t-shirt on and slumped against the wall, pressing your forehead against the cold tile. Now this felt like heaven for your headache.

It took a couple of minutes to get yourself to move again, feet slapping against the floor as you walked out of the bathroom. You noticed Wonwoo was awake too, in the midst of slinking back under the covers, and you saw his jeans abandoned by his bedside.You crawled back to your cocoon of blankets, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And you … you didn’t move away. In fact, you pressed yourself closer, finally hearing how his heart raced. Wonwoo didn’t care if it was probably 4 AM and he probably had to leave in a few hours – before anyone else woke – because he was holding you and smelling you hair. You smelled … god, you smelled so good that it made him hard almost instantly.

You felt his hand splay against your spine, as if trying to hold himself back, and it was then that your eyes opened. The room was dark, but you knew when his gaze was burning into yours only seconds later. You slipped one hand out from the covers, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed over his lower lip. Under his breath, he muttered a soft, “Shit,” because you both knew where this was going.

You agreed you wouldn’t do this again. You agreed to be friends.

But now you’re kissing again.

Your hand moved from his face to his neck, and his hands are gripping your cheeks to make sure your mouth stayed on his. His fingers were shaking. He kissed you desperately, as if he needed this just to be able to breathe again, and maybe he did. You were like putty in his hands, molding yourself to his body as your tongue tangled with his. Whatever ache you felt in your temples drifted between your legs, causing you to moan into his mouth. And fuck, just the sound of you made his cock swell, precum soaking through his boxers.

The room felt so hot all of a sudden, but your cold hands came in handy as they rested on his neck. His left hand slid down to your ass, finally giving it a firm squeeze after kicking himself for not doing it when he first kissed you. That made you moan again, and he decided he’d never stop touching you like this, just so he could hear these sounds fall from your lips.

He slid his knee between your legs on instinct, and you didn’t hesitate to start grinding against his thigh. The friction felt delicious and soothing. You both kissed each other slower, a little messier, focusing on touching each other everywhere you dreamed about all these months. Your fingers traced down the column of his neck, down the thin cotton of the shirt he was still wearing from yesterday, while bucking against his thigh. His lips left yours, dragging across your cheek so he could nibble on your earlobe, feeling it grow warm and red from all the attention. “You have no idea how long I’ve needed you,” he whispered, and you damn near almost came from that confession.

You weren’t used to this; you couldn’t remember the last time you experienced pleasure like this with someone, but you couldn’t imagine stopping. Not when he angled his thigh just right, the muscle in his leg rubbing against your clit, your panties completely soaked. You cupped him over his boxers, feeling his bulge throb in your palm, and you cooed, “Can I …”

He groaned. You didn’t need to say more; Wonwoo was smart enough to know what you were insinuating. He felt disoriented, drunk off of you and your touch, smell, everything. “Are you … are you sure you don’t want to …” His voice was giving out, but from the way your fingers were slipping under the waistband of his boxers, you knew you wanted just this, and he’d give you whatever you wanted. “Yes. Yes, of course. That’s fine,” he finished.

You chuckled softly. He smiled against your neck. Pulling his cock out and wrapping your palm around it, you began to stroke him slowly. “Oh, god,” he was sighing into the crook of your neck, his brain in such a state of disarray when you resumed grinding against his leg while also pumping him from base to tip. This couldn’t be real; he had to be dreaming, but he could feel your wet panties sticking to his thigh. He could feel himself shake as he clung to you and pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your throat. It was all too much, but not enough at the same time.

“Wonwoo,” you whimpered, and he dragged his lips back to yours just to feel how your mouth moved when you said his name. You bucked your hips faster, your arousal coating his thigh, and warmth bloomed between your legs. When your hand on his cock reached his head again, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over his slit, making more precum bead onto your knuckles. “Wanna cum with you,” you begged, stroking him faster and in time with your hips.

“I know you do, I know,” he breathed against your lips. “Just a little faster … yes, just like that. Fuck.”

Only a moment later were you trembling, hips stuttering as pleasure took over your body. You came hard, squeezing his thigh between your legs, and your cry was swallowed by Wonwoo’s lips. If he didn’t kiss you, he knew he’d moan so loud it would wake the entire hotel. Because – oh, god, he was cumming now, and he was sighing against your mouth as he erupted in your hand, ropes of cum staining your t-shirt. He could’ve swore he saw white. He’d never felt a release like this before; not with anyone else. Not even when he jerked off. But maybe it was because this was your hand and you were cumming on his leg, and fuck –

You were still shaking in each other’s arms, minds blank and reeling, bodies coming down from the high. It took the kind of strength that moved mountains to slip from his arms and clean yourself up. But by the time you came back from the bathroom and cuddled up next to him, Wonwoo was already fast asleep.

Jeon Wonwoo [6:08 AM]: I had to leave early this morning before anyone woke. But if you want, I’d like to see you at breakfast this morning :)

You [7:31 AM]: Jeon Wonwoo, I’m begging you to just text this to me

You [7:31 AM]: Also, was your phone hacked? Since when do you use emojis?

There wasn’t much to do on the last day of sales meeting week. The only things on your plate were to make niceties with some of the new reps, and probably attend a few presentations by HR. When you had finally woken up this morning to just you in the bed, you almost considered skipping the HR presentations, feeling too guilty and like they might see right through you. It was irrational, but you were sure that this was the only way to feel after realizing that you hooked up with your coworker and friend.

Not that you hadn’t wanted to. Not that you hadn’t been thinking about it since your kiss. No, it wasn’t like that at all.

So why were suddenly terrified to see him at breakfast?

You got ready as quick as you could – but of course, making sure you wore that V-neck sweater that showed off your cleavage just right – and threw your hair up before leaving your hotel room. The line for the breakfast buffet was packed, but you waited patiently and decided to sit near the bar once you plate was full. The rest of the dining room was filled with people and you weren’t awake enough to make shitty small talk. Sitting here at the bar top was peaceful and quiet –

“Is this … seat taken?”

Your eyes met his instantly, and you noticed the way Wonwoo was cringing at the line he threw at you. You decided to forget it, for his sake, and gestured for him to sit down. Fuck, you were so goddamn nervous, even though you had agreed to meet him in the first place. You wore this low-cut sweater for him. You both sat in silence for a bit, crunching awkwardly on the burnt bacon, and shifting in your seats.

“Did you …” You were surprised that your mouth was moving on it’s own volition, spilling any words that came to your head. “… Do anything this morning since you were up early?”

Wonwoo choked a bit on a strawberry, but recovered quickly. “Uh … yeah, yeah, sure. Once I came down here, one of the IT interns found me in a panic because he couldn’t set up one of the rep’s new work phones. Created a whole scene over nothing.”

You snorted and sipped your coffee. “Is that intern still breathing?”

His eyes flickered to yours, a slow smile growing on his face. “Yes, actually.”

You fell into sync then, letting the awkward silence melt away as you joked about Wonwoo’s interns. He wasn’t meant to teach college students, god help them. But as your plates became empty and a server came around to take them, you two were left with only the mugs in your hands, strangely reminiscent of that apology coffee he bought for you so long ago.

Wonwoo sighed. “Hey, so about last night – or I guess, this morning …”

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you interjected, setting your coffee down. “I have a hangover, but I am thriving.”

He blinked. “Well, that’s good. But I was referring to –”

You almost couldn’t look at him when you said, “The fact that we’re definitely not just friends anymore?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that part.”

“I …” You licked your lips as you gathered yourself. There was this … terrifying flutter in your chest. You’d never felt something like this before, but you weren’t keen on letting it go. Not yet. “I would like to see you again. Like that. Definitely not during work hours. If you catch my drift. This is awkward.”

Wonwoo had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see him trying to hold in his laughter, but it was clear as day. You sighed loud and hit his arm, making him look at you once again as he snickered to himself. “You know, you could just ask me if I want to hang out.”

You leveled a look at him and huffed. “Okay, Wonwoo, do you –”

“Yes,” he beamed. “Always, yes.”

You found yourself at Wonwoo’s side more often than not. What used to be work get togethers transitioned to meeting up at a bar, or checking a new restaurant on the weekends. Sometimes he’d ask you to come over so you could taste test a new recipe he found. (Unfortunately for both of you, Wonwoo wasn’t very good at cooking, but he was getting better. Somewhat.) Those recipe nights, however, always led to him lifting you up on his creaky kitchen counter and kissing you so hard that you almost forgot to breathe. Until Mingyu came into the kitchen, making a gagging sound, and you two instantly detached from each other.

Friday nights were known as Mingyu’s Movie Nights, and Wonwoo began inviting you to those. He had said that this would help knock a few movies off your Letterboxd Watchlist, but you knew that was just an excuse for wanting to see you. You probably saw him more than anyone now, but you couldn’t deny that you … wanted to see him too. Having him in your life made everything suddenly better. He was kind and smart and thoughtful. He made you laugh in ways you couldn’t explain, and obviously … he didn’t have to do much to make you want him. He’d simply have to look at you and you’d get on his lap. If Mingyu wasn’t there, of course.

Wonwoo seemed to blossomed with you. He was more excited to leave his apartment, more eager to become a better cook. He spoke up often, whether it be at work or out with you, rather than letting someone talk. He wanted to learn all the things that you liked, wanted to touch you exactly where you needed it, wanted to find new ways to leave you breathless. Because it was for you.

Even Mingyu noticed a difference in his friend. He’d known Wonwoo for so many years now, but he’d never made this much of a change for anyone. One night, when you and Mingyu were alone in the kitchen, he mentioned, “He’s different around you.” And then kept pouring wine in three glasses while Wonwoo picked a movie from the living room.

There were also times where Wonwoo was a booty call, of course, and neither of you had any problems with that. Some nights, Wonwoo would call you after Mingyu went to bed, begging you to come over, but ended up settling for phone sex. His attraction to you in stockings only went up, and it was difficult for him to contain his arousal at work when you strutted around just knowing how it affected him. There was days where all he wanted to do was pull you into a janitor closet and fuck the living daylights out of you. But it wasn’t like you’d let him anyway.

You had your fair share of desperate moments too. Especially tonight, as you were out drinking with your friends at a local spot you’d been coming to for years. The live band was loud and you’d had your fair share of shitty margaritas already. One of your friends was tugging on the arm of some rando she met on the dance floor, yelling over the music that she was leaving and she’d text you when she was home safe. That left you shit out of luck for a ride home, and suddenly very lonely. The last thing you wanted was to drink alone at a shitty bar on a Saturday night.

Wandering outside, your heeled boots crunched in the snow as you looked for the nearest Uber. The fastest one around would take over 20 minutes to get to you, and as you looked around the empty city streets … wait, didn’t Wonwoo live around here? Maybe all the tequila was just getting to you. But you called him anyway, and despite the time reaching 1 AM, he answered instantly. He heard the slight lisp in your voice, and once he got out of you exactly where you were, he realized you were right. It only took him about 10 minutes to get to where you were, parking on the side of the road.

He sighed at the sight of you sitting on the curb, shivering and hugging your jacket around you. Various drunk people filtered in and out of the bar, but none of them checked on you – a freezing girl just sitting on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you wait inside for me?” He asked, his breath hot against your cheek when he pulled you up in his arms. Your dress rode up a little, and his hands were quick to yank it back down. “It’s the middle of winter.”

“I jusssst thought … the cold air would sssssober me up,” you slurred, letting him place you in his passenger seat before running back over to the driver’s side. His car was warm, making you bury yourself in your jacket, but his hand on your thigh was even warmer somehow. If your fingers weren’t so cold, you’d wrap your hand around his wrist, inching his palm up higher as he drove.

Once he was parked, he wasted no time getting you out and helping you up the stairs to his apartment. Mingyu was passed out on the couch, an old movie from the 80s playing on the TV, but you could hardly register it because your brain was spinning and Wonwoo was practically dragging you to his bedroom. He was grateful that all the lights were off so you couldn’t see how messy it was, but honestly, it was a miracle if you could see anything clearly right now.

He sat you down on the bed and you looked up at him with bleary eyes, which made you so fucking hard to resist. All the tequila you drank was pumping through your bloodstream, and you couldn’t help but fist your hands in his t-shirt and try to kiss him. He evaded your lips though – no matter how much he wanted to – and you whined, “Whyyyyyy won’t you kiss me?”

“Shhh …” He whispered, yanking off your boots. “Inside voice. Mingyu’s sleeping.”

You smacked your hands against his mattress. “He’s sleeping in the living room!”

Wonwoo got back to his feet, gesturing as he instructed, “Arms up.” You were too intoxicated to do anything but oblige, lifting your arms as he struggled to pull your dress over your head. Once it was off and thrown to the side with your boots, your hazy vision caught him looking through his drawers for clothes for you to wear. But didn’t he just take your clothes off? You could’ve sworn he did that because he wanted you too right now.

You protested when he tried putting you in one of his simple white tees, but your body felt too limp to fight. He slipped the shirt over your head before pulling back his comforter and wrapping you in it. With your eyes half open, you watched him come to the other side of the bed, yanking his pants down and crawling in bed beside you. He reached over you and set his glasses on the side table. You sighed dramatically. Now he was just torturing you. Wonwoo simply chuckled to himself, realizing what you were angry about.

His arms instantly wound around you, his lips pulled into a smile at your hairline. You looked up at him with a scowl and your voice slurred, “Whysss your eyes closed?”

Wonwoo snickered under his breath. “Because it’s late and I’m tired.” His hand on your lower back traced circles, attempting to coax you to sleep.

“I thought you wanted meeeee,” you complained. Your hand reached in between you two, smoothing your palm against his groin as he slowly started to harden under your touch. You heard his breath hitch slightly, so you kept going, a soft ache beginning between your own legs at just the thought of putting him in your mouth.

“Sweetheart, I always want you.” He then grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from him, and then lacing your fingers together. Pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, he sighed sleepily, “But you’re much sexier when you’re sober.”

You started to realize why you didn’t usually do this, why it had been so long since you let someone see every part of you. What you looked like completely stripped down – both inside and out – completely vulnerable for your person. How your face contorted during pleasure, and how it relaxed when you were taken care of.

Catching feelings like this meant giving up control.

You didn’t work on the weekends unless you had to, and when the Boss sent you a high priority email on Saturday morning, you didn’t hesitate. He had transferred over a bunch of sensitive files that were needed for a board presentation first thing Monday morning. But of course, something just had to go wrong: the files were corrupted and you had no way of figuring out what to do. And it wasn’t like your boss was on call like you were on a Saturday.

This was how you ended up at Wonwoo’s apartment.

You had called him in a panic, explaining what had went wrong, but he didn’t seem too fazed. He was used to your tech emergencies by now. But by the time you got to his apartment, out of breath after running from the train station, he had realized just how serious you were taking this. You both sat down on his couch and you let him work his magic. His fingers moved across the keys as if he were a musician, and you couldn’t stop biting your nail nervously.

Mingyu came back to the apartment after grocery shopping, waving at you before putting all the food away. Seeing as you were here, maybe they could all go out and have fun tonight. He went into the living room, ready to mention a band that was playing at a local venue later, but upon seeing the stressed look on both your faces, he exhaled. “It’s a Saturday,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Why do you two look like that?”

“Corrupted documents,” Wonwoo answered quickly, not even looking up from the monitor.

“I don’t even want to know more,” he said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack and tugging his arms through the sleeves. “Just your faces are making me anxious. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”

You gave Mingyu a wave as he left, but Wonwoo was too focused to even say goodbye. It took about another hour and one cup of coffee, but Wonwoo eventually figured out how to uncorrupt the files. You let out a sigh of relief as he handed the laptop back to you and you were able to open each of them without issue. Thank god, you had managed to figure this out before Monday morning. And … having Wonwoo wasn’t too bad either.

“Thank you,” you beamed, not being able to resist pinching his cheek. “My hero.”

Silence engulfed the room as you both noticed how the sky was already getting dark. You cleared your throat, slipping your laptop back into your bag and muttering, “Thanks again. I know I kind of barged in and wasted your Saturday afternoon –”

Like the saint he was, Wonwoo simply smiled at you. “No time with you is a waste.”

Whatever words you were about to say clogged in your throat. You swallowed hard, attempting to hide your fluster, but you ended up choking out, “I … should go.”

“You don’t have to.” He stood from the couch, walking over to you and running his hands down your arms. His brow lifted. “Do you want to?”

You let the strap of your bag fall to the floor as your hands cupped his neck. “No, not particularly.”

Wonwoo chuckled, leaning in and letting his lips just lightly graze yours. “We have the place to ourselves,” he hummed, slowly dragging you backwards with him. “Mingyu’s gone … probably won’t be back until midnight.”

You bit your lip to suppress a giggle, letting him lead you to his room, as limp as a rag doll. Once he shut his bedroom door behind you, he flicked the light on. You pressed your back against the door and your eyes roamed around the space. This was the first time you saw his bedroom with the light on; every other time had been pitch black. You liked that his walls weren’t bare – they were filled with posters of his favorite musicians or photographs. On his desk was a large monitor and a gaming set up, but also a camera with stacks of film next to it. His furniture was old – probably from the 90s, probably passed down from his family – but the scratches within the wood told a story. And unlike most men, his sheets were gray.

Wonwoo realized you were scanning his room, and he became acutely aware of the clothes scattered amongst his floor. He muttered something to himself, beginning to pick up the clothes piles and chuck them into his hamper. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wish I inherited the organized gene like Mingyu.”

You tilted your head, striding over and pulling him up, making him halt his actions. Your hands went to his face as you brought him closer. With a smile, you whispered, “I don’t want to talk about Mingyu,” before pressing your lips to his.

The kiss became deep far too quickly, or maybe time was passing faster than usual. Your lips crashed so hard against his that they’d bruise. He took off his glasses, setting them on his drawer, before his fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans. You stepped forward, making him step back, then another, and another – until you had him falling back on his bed. You straddled him, arching your back so you could lick into his mouth just how he liked. Hands sliding up his shirt, you felt his abdomen flex underneath you. His fingers in your belt loops jerked you closer, pressing your hips to his, and it wasn’t long before he was moaning into the kiss.

You smiled against his mouth, dragging your lips down his neck, and then even further, as you slinked down his body. Your eyes were trained on his, and he was trying his best not to look like a complete idiot in front of you. But it was difficult when you were looking at him with those eyes and – oh, now you were pulling down the waistband of his sweatpants, practically salivating when you noticed how hard he was already.

But … this was what you guys always did. Not that he had an issue with you giving him blow jobs, but none of this felt particularly intimate. You never really let him worship you; you took control of the entire situation. As if you were bringing your professional stubbornness to the bedroom.

“Wait,” he choked out as you palmed his growing bulge. “Can we … can we try something different?”

Your brows furrowed and you continued pressing sloppy kisses above his groin. “Why would we do that?”

Wonwoo let out a frustrated sound, and before you could prepare yourself, he was yanking his pants back up and pinning you underneath him. You blinked up at him in surprise, and he was gripping your wrists above your head now, his bodyweight pressing you into the mattress. He almost looked shocked that he had the strength to push you back, but his blown-out pupils gave away his true desire.

“What was that for?” You asked incredulously. Nerves clouded your thoughts, making you stutter. “I thought … I thought you liked …”

“No, trust me, I do,” he assured you, and then tipped his head as he gazed down at you. “I just … why won’t you let me take care of you?”

You scoffed then, trying to cover up how petrifying this conversation was becoming. Were you that transparent now, or did he simply know you far too well for your own good?

“I have no idea what you’re –”

Wonwoo gave you one of his infamous leveled looks, and you sighed. “You’re in constant need of seeking control when it’s always at your fingertips. It’s okay to let it go; it won’t slip away.” He let go of your wrists then, but kept his body hovering over yours, holding himself up by his elbows resting near your head. “Please, just … surrender it for once. Let me take the lead.”

You glanced down at your hands on your chest, twiddling your thumbs. Eventually, you murmured, “It’s hard. I’ve never done that before.”

“Can we try? I like …” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then let his head fall as he chuckled to himself. “This is so awkward. I just – I like prioritizing your pleasure. It feels much better for me and I think it will for you too. And if you don’t like it –”

“I’m not good with change,” you blurted.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice taking on that husky tone that made warmth pool in your stomach. His eyes flickered to your lips now, noticing how swollen they still were. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. It was just a suggestion, and I probably ruined the mood.”

You shook your head immediately, allowing your fingers to tenderly sweep over his shirt. “No, I …” A voice in the back of your head told you this was a good thing, and you did want this, but the fear of change was overwhelming. You wanted to step out of your comfort zone, desperately, for once. You were allowed to do this; you were allowed to be happy.

Your gaze met his again. “I want to try.”

His eyes softened with affection, but then he asked, “You’re not just agreeing for my sake, right?”

“Now when have I ever done that?” You laughed, making him smile along with you.

But as soon as his mouth met yours, that awkward, giggling persona seemed to melt away. Jeon Wonwoo morphed into an entirely different person, someone that possessed your jaw in his large hand, pulling at your bottom lip before kissing you harder. It was enough to leave you gasping for air once he pulled away, spit connecting you two, and he continued to suck and nip his way down your throat. He made sure to leave marks in places that could be covered up for work, but he’d know exactly where they were. God, would he even be able to control himself at his desk, knowing where his bites were hiding under your clothes?

Tugging your sweater over your head, he practically whined at the sight of your breasts, constricted in the bra that you told him was too old once, but you kept wearing it anyway because he said it was cute. He lifted you for a moment, expertly removing it with one hand, before licking the valley between your breasts. You arched into him, sighing into your arm when he swirled his tongue around your taut nipple. He glanced up and realized you were hiding your face, so he pushed your hand off. “I want you to look at me while I do this,” he cooed, but it sounded more like a demand.

Despite the embarrassment, you did as he asked, feeling completely bewitched as you watched him cup the swell of your breast, tugging on your nipple. This felt like a goddamn Pornhub video. You two have had sex before, yes, but not like this. Never like this. Wonwoo had always let you do what you were comfortable with, keeping his other side at bay while you rode him hard on the couch. But this … this felt like something else entirely. The way he was lavishing both your nipples, coating them with his spit, demanding you to watch … Expletives filtered softly from your mouth, wetness gathering between your thighs. It suddenly felt too hot and your jeans were still on.

Wonwoo was taking his time with you though, and it was very clear to you that this wouldn’t just be one of those nights where you had sex for 10 minutes before ordering pizza. When he lifted his mouth from your left nipple, he asked calmly, “Do you like this or do you want more?”

You sneered, “Well, of course, I like –”

His hand came up instantly to pinch your other nipple, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that came out of your mouth. “No teasing,” he said, lowering his head to flick that nipple with his tongue. “Just answer me.”

“More,” you choked out, your hips arching off the bed, seeking friction. “Please, more.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss between your breasts once again, before lowering himself down your body. His eyes never left yours as he dragged his lips down your stomach. Eventually, he had to stand from the bed so he could finally unzip your pants, tugging when they got stuck around your ankles. When the cold air hit between your legs, you realized how soaked you were already. Wonwoo smirked to himself, slowly rolling your panties down your legs.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you joked, kicking your panties off into a pile by his bed.

He lifted your ankle, nipping playfully, and replied, “Told you that you’d like me taking the lead.”

You rolled your eyes as he settled between your thighs, bending your knees back so your feet rested beside his head. You bit your lip as he placed sloppy kisses on your inner thigh, biting hard enough to make a bruise. Wonwoo fought hard to maintain a sense of composure, but god, the sight of your pretty pussy oozing slick made him wonder if he could cum untouched. You had let him finger you before, but had never been in the mood for this. And this was something Wonwoo had been fantasizing about since the day he noticed that tear in your stockings. He could jump for joy if that didn’t make him look like an absolute fucking loser.

He pushed your folds apart with two fingers, running a hand down his face as he attempted to school his expression. It was just so fucking hard to act cool when you were this aroused. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead, deciding to quip, “Wonwoo, can you even find the clit without your glasses on –”

Without warning, he spit on your pussy and buried his face between your thighs. The words died on your tongue immediately, and you let out the loudest whine he’d ever heard in his life. He smiled, but that didn’t deter him from circling his tongue around your clit. He wound one of his arms around your thigh, holding you in place as he pressed his face further.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked and drew out the prettiest sounds from you, using his free hand to slip two fingers inside you. You tasted exactly like he dreamed about, sweet and tangy and so unmistakably you. He looked up at you from between your legs, curling his fingers in the spot that made tears prick at your eyes, and when your gaze found his, it was like something in him snapped. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice muffled, feasting at you like he’d been starved for days.

Your fingers were in his hair now, pressing his head more into you, which only made this more enjoyable for him. He nearly came in his pants when your hips began to buck against his face, but this was about you. And him experiencing you cumming on his face. But mostly you. His fingers pumped faster inside you and his tongue was now flicking your clit, allowing more of your arousal to invade his mouth. He’d never get tired of this taste; he was obsessed. Now that he finally got a taste of you … he never wanted to not be doing this. Never wanted his face too far from the apex of your legs. Not when you had the sweetest taste that could move heaven and earth between these thighs.

And when you finally came on his tongue, he noticed that your legs shook like an earthquake. Your essence flooded his mouth, and he moaned – god, did he moan – lapping at you, never missing a drop of what you gave him. His fingers kept curling inside of you, making your orgasm feel like forever. When he finally removed them with a wet pop, he didn’t miss the opportunity to have more of you, wrapping his mouth around those two fingers and licking off the last of your release. You watched him, completely mesmerized by the way he savored you, even darting his tongue out to capture the whatever seeped out of you. Your hips jolted, suddenly so sensitive, and he grinned up at you.

You hardly caught your breath before he crawling up your body, kissing you hard and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Your hands fisted in his t-shirt, and when you ripped your lips away from his, you arched a brow. “You are still fully clothed,” you reminded, and then swiped at the spit lining his bottom lip.

Wonwoo simply smiled, ghosting his lips over yours before trailing them to your ear. “I’m getting to that part. Patience,” he whispered, nibbling on your earlobe. “You must really want me inside you.”

“I want to not be the only one naked.”

“Say it,” he prodded in a weirdly casual tone.

“What?”

“Say you want me inside you.”

“This is ridiculous –”

He lifted his head from your jawline. “I can easily leave this room and order a pizza,” he teased, and you blinked at him. He was actually being serious. He would completely ignore what looked like a throbbing erection in his pants, just to make a point. You knew he wasn’t trying to be mean; he wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. This was so stupid, because you did want him inside you. Embarrassingly so. He had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life, but you still had this … aching need to be filled. Your cheeks heated just at the thought of it.

“I …” Your eyes closed for a moment, trying not to make your whole face turn bright red. With a sigh, your eyes connected again, and you answered, “I want you inside me, Wonwoo.”

He rewarded you with a kiss, pulling away before it could get too heated again, and stood from the bed. “Well, when you ask nicely …” He smiled, that dominating demeanor slipping for a moment as he pulled his shirt off. You’d never get tired of the way Wonwoo looked without a shirt. He didn’t let anyone see it very often – he wasn’t like his roommate – but the moments he did, you felt eternally grateful. His torso was toned, with defined abs and pecks that made your mind boggle. You liked that his arms were long and muscled; his hands large and slightly calloused.

You liked everything about him.

When he finally went to kick off his sweatpants, he noticed a large precum stain on the gray fabric from just eating you out. Which was probably the biggest jab to his calm and collected attitude right now, but he didn’t let it slip. He simply threw the sweatpants to the side, coming up close to the bed again, where your legs were now hanging off the edge. You gazed up at him as if he held the world in his palms, watching the way he reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, never used to the size. He was slightly thicker than average, but long. Longer than you ever expected. With a pretty pink head leaking sticky precum.

It was killing you how long he was taking. Your legs shifted, ready to make a move to yank him underneath you, but he was faster than you. He pinned your wrists about your head with one hand this time, using his other to keep a firm grip on his cock. “You want to be in control that badly, huh?” He asked, tilting his head.

His hand was moving up and down his shaft now, letting precum dribble on your stomach. Your eyes flickered from his cock back to his eyes. “I just … I need you, Wonwoo,” you begged, your voice taking on a new tone. And somehow … wanting him so bad like this was ten times more arousing than riding him on the couch. “Please, please, Wonwoo. Please, fuck me.”

Your pleas had him falling apart, and he sighed, letting go of your wrists to discard his boxers too. His cock flopped against his stomach, hard and aching and – fuck, had he always been veiny? He got on top of you again, cooing against your lips, “I know, baby, I know.” His rubbed the underside of his length against your wet folds, moaning at the slightest bit of friction. “I’ll fuck you real good. I promise.”

Pressing the head of his cock at your entrance, his breath hitched at just the feeling of your arousal coating his shaft. You both had never taken your time with sex. But he was doing that tonight now that he was in control, letting himself slowly push inside you, feel you completely stretch open for him. You mewled, slinking your arms around his neck and carding your fingers at the nape. And when he finally buried himself to the hilt, his lips fell open and he groaned. You felt so good he could cum right now, but he needed to get a grip. The last thing he needed was to cum too fast.

Not that you would like him any less if he did.

“Wonwoo,” you cried, your hips arching up to meet his. “Please.”

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance-like state he was in. He settled more on top of you, resting his elbows on both sides of your head, and pulled all the way out so only the tip remained. You whined at the emptiness, which soon changed to a gasp when he bullied his cock back in. Your fingers tugged at his hair; your legs crossed around his waist, drawing him deeper inside. “Fuck,” he muttered, still feeling how tight you were, how you molded yourself for him. “So fucking … god, so wet.”

His restraint could only last so long. He’d gotten his fill of feeling you adjust around him. He couldn’t take this anymore, or he was going to cum before you both had even started. With a deep breath, he set a brutal pace inside of you, his hips snapping forward. Tears rolled down your cheeks; how could something feel so good that you cried? Wonwoo seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he was burying his face in the crook of your neck and groaning, “God, so good … you feel so good … how can anyone feel this good?”

The only word you could choke out was, “Ditto,” which you’d regret for hours after this. But now was not the time.

He was fucking into you so hard that you were already sore, but you were holding onto him for dear life, clinging to him as that warmth burned in your gut. The way his cock curved and grazed your g-spot perfectly, making you tremble and whimper his name like a prayer. He placed a hand on your stomach, feeling how deep his cock nestled inside you, and you noticed him shiver in your arms. He was trying desperately to fight off his release. That coil in your gut began to tighten, and from the way Wonwoo was breathing, you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wanted you to cum first though – like always – wanted to feel you clamp around him, squeeze him so tight that he saw white.

So he did what he did best: reached in between your bodies, finding your swollen, sensitive clit so easily, and rubbed slow circles. He lifted his head from your neck, wanting to see that familiar look in your eyes when you saw stars. “Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice was so deep that it reverberated against your chest.

And finally, as he pressed his thumb down hard and pushed into you just right, you felt your orgasm crest. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you sobbed, body shaking as you came undone.

But Wonwoo wasn’t stopping. He kept fucking into you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. And when your walls squeezed him so tight, he buried himself completely and came hard, a generous amount of fucks leaving his lips. His cheek pressed against yours; his groans muffled by the comforter. You held him close as he filled you to the brink with his release, and it almost felt like hours before he realized he finished.

You exhaled together, allowing your heart rates to settle. He turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then to your nose, and now he was kissing all over your face. Your cheeks instantly tinged pink, but you let him do as he pleased. He didn’t even make a move off you, letting his cock soften inside your warmth. When your eyes opened, he was staring down at you like you were the sun. You searched his eyes, “What?”

His dark gaze flickered to your lips for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you really say, ‘Ditto,’ during sex?”

You and Wonwoo had gotten into a routine. Of course, you saw him 5 days out of the week at work, but you wanted more of him. You figured out Mingyu’s schedule, coming over most nights when he wasn’t home – besides Mingyu’s Movie Nights. You would let Wonwoo cook for you, and he promised he was getting better, before he led you to his room with kisses to your neck and a firm grip on your hand.

He always went with whatever you were comfortable with, but you found yourself letting him take the lead more often than not. You liked letting him prioritize you; you liked being selfish with him. Giving up control felt … much better than anticipated. Everything about this felt too good to be true. But you couldn’t help yourself, and you didn’t want to spoil it by asking him the dreaded, “What are we?” For now, you’d exist in your safe little bubble, where he would smile at you at work and then fuck your brains out after hours. It felt perfect, simple.

You approached sex through a different lens now. Instead of simply riding him on that godforsaken old couch, you let him go at his own pace: placing you on his lap, having his way with you and making you cum at least 3 times before he sunk you down on his cock, bouncing you up and down as you clung to him, practically letting him use you as a flesh light. Even when he let you sit on his face, it was on his terms: his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave a mark, trying to suffocate himself with your pussy, not allowing you to cum until he said so, no matter how much you needed to. But it felt too good to stop. You didn’t want this to stop. You liked the lack of control, liked the way he took care of you. The way he bent your knees back as he slid into you, keeping eye contact, so you’d feel him that much deeper … the way he could feast on you for hours, never getting enough of your taste … there was something about it that made you feel more than beautiful.

Especially when he looked at you as if you were his world.

Especially when he fucked into you and you realized you might be in love with him.

You tended to get lost in thought while laying in bed on an early morning. The birds chirped outside, your phone chimed along with each new notification. Curling underneath your comforter, you held your pounding head, reminiscing on last Sunday. You had gone over Wonwoo’s apartment and he had surprised you with a spaghetti dinner. Mingyu promised that it was “more edible than usual” before he left you two alone in the apartment.

You had noticed the shine in Wonwoo’s eyes, how excited he was to do this for you. He had never bothered to learn anything for anyone, but all he wanted to do was please you. To make you happy. And you could see that in the way he gazed at you, making your stomach do flip flops. Letting him have all this control over you, letting him see past the fortress you’d kept up for who knows how long … it was scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

He taught you how to play his favorite video game after dinner, placing you in between his legs on the couch and letting you lean back against his broad chest. His arms cocooned around you, nestling your body in his embrace. Sometimes he would nibble on your ear as you fought to maintain hand-eye coordination with the controller. Eventually, you had given up and asked to watch him, but that led to his hand dropping the controller as the enemy killed him off. And then his fingers were slowly slipping down the waistband of your leggings, rubbing your slit over your panties. You had arched into him, your ass pressing against his hardening erection as he pulled your panties to the side, already finding you wet and ready for his touch. He chuckled in your ear, “How long have you been thinking about this?” His index finger rubbed tight circles on your clit, and all that you could formulate for a response was a moan as he –

You cut yourself off from the memory before it could end you.

Your stomach churned. Despite your better judgement, you had completely fallen head-over-heels for senior IT specialist, Jeon Wonwoo, and that was terrifying. He had seen your personality unfold, seen the most vulnerable parts of you. But nothing was more scary than admitting to yourself how much you liked him, maybe even loved. You were frantic to the point of exhaustion, so stressed that you felt sick. Soon you were shivering, your head pounding as a fever came on, and you stayed home from work for a few days. Your phone notifications be damned – you stayed in your bedroom with the blinds closed, sleeping the days away.

Every so often, you would hear your phone chime. Your phone screen would light up with another text message. But … you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. This behavior was illogical and stupid; you just simply couldn’t help yourself. You were an avoidant. The only thing you knew how to do was slowly push him away before he saw all the layers underneath your carefully crafted facade.

What if he finally saw how anxious you were all the time?

What if he knew how you secretly craved to be loved your entire life, but you looked for it elsewhere, in places like workplace praise or crowded bars where you couldn’t see another person’s face?

What if he knew you weren’t as organized up in your head as you were at your desk?

Or worse … what if he didn’t like you back?

TUESDAY, APRIL 22

Wonwoo: What’s going on?

Wonwoo: I managed to find out that you’re sick. I can make you soup, if you want? I know my cooking is terrible. But what if this time it’s good and it cures you?

Wonwoo: If I threaten to message you on Slack, will that make you reply?

Wonwoo: I promise I won’t. Unless … lol

Wonwoo: You’re not dead, right?

Wonwoo: Please, answer me.

FRIDAY, APRIL 25

UNKNOWN: hey, it’s Mingyu. I found your number in Wonwoo’s phone. he’s really messed up right now and worrying about you.

UNKNOWN: idk what’s going on between you two, but I don’t like seeing him like this.

UNKNOWN: just … call him. or text him. or something.

Jeon Wonwoo [10:13 AM]: Did your computer die and you need a new charger?

Jeon Wonwoo [3:21 PM]: I miss you.

When you finally returned to work, it’s on a day that your cubicle mate had decided to work from home. You couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or curse until the next day, when you wished that he decided to work from home forever. It was on a Tuesday morning that you finally faced him again, locking eyes with him from across the boardroom table in an all-hands meeting. You weren’t sure what to say, weren’t sure what you could say, but … he didn’t speak to you any way. In fact, even when you both got back to your desks, he kept quiet, throwing on his headphones and focusing on whatever task was at hand. His attitude change wasn’t exactly surprising, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak to him either.

All your other coworkers looked bewildered. The silence between you two made just about everyone feel awkward. They all saw how close you and Wonwoo had become, and now everything just felt … flat. Silent. Empty. It was like you two were strangers. Maybe you had never really known each other in the first place, if you could both discard each other so easily.

But that just seemed too good to be true. You thought about him everyday, despite yourself, and he had to think of you too. You caught his eyes on you every once in a while, and you couldn’t help but yearn for him in silence. It was probably time for you to take charge again and make the first move, but you found yourself hesitating. Again. You were overwhelmed with thoughts of rejection.

This was why you never gave up control with someone before. It left you suddenly so, so doubtful.

You [1:34 PM]: I can’t get into my Outlook. I think I’ve locked myself out

Jeon Wonwoo is now offline.

You [1:36 PM]: I miss you too

It was a busy Sunday, the first notes of Spring evident in the air. You needed to go to the post office today, the supermarket, probably check in on your parents … but that was all discarded when you made the sudden decision to take a taxi to Wonwoo’s apartment. Your hands were shaking more than his when he first touched you. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety, and when the taxi finally pulled up to his building, you considered never getting out.

But you couldn’t continue being a coward. Besides, this driver had places to be, with the way he was arguing for you to pay in cash.

You were lucky enough to slide in through the building’s entrance while someone was walking out. The less you had to embarrass yourself by calling Mingyu to let you in, the better. The walk up those two flights of stairs was long and tiring, and it wasn’t because you always hated them. You physically couldn’t make yourself go faster, too frightened of what he was going to say when he saw you. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything; maybe he’d slam the door in your face. And you couldn’t blame him, because now you were at his door and – oh, god, you wanted to hurl.

The door was opening before you could even catch your breath. When you caught that first glimpse of Mingyu, you realized how much of a mistake this was. You could always turn back, run down the stairs before anyone could say a word.

But as soon as you both locked eyes, Mingyu raised his brow, but not in a mocking sense. It was as if … he expected you to be here. He sighed, leaning against the door, and without looking back, he called out, “Wonwoo! You got a visitor.”

Your eyes went wide, and then Mingyu was pushing past you, leaving the door open and muttering, “Good luck.” He was rushing down the stairs two at a time before you could even say a word back. But then you were seeing him, and you wondered if it had always been this hard to breathe around him.

Your fingers played absentmindedly as you both stared at each other. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he made no move to fix them. His own hand was too busy dropping the controller that had been in his grip, now clattering to the floor. His hair was messed up and he was wearing his favorite comfy sweatsuit, and you … you were put together, as always. Your hair unwashed, but pulled up in a ponytail, and wearing that cardigan he liked so much on you. If he wasn’t so hurt, just the sight of you would have him on his knees right now, begging to have you.

He had to turn around and walk away. If he didn’t right now, he’d just –

“Wait,” you said, walking in and closing the door when he spun away. “Please, don’t. I –”

“What could you possibly say?” He snapped, facing you once again. You had never heard his voice at this octave before, never seen so much distress on his face. “I thought we knew each other well enough that you wouldn’t cut me off out of nowhere. As if I’m just some guy you met at a bar last weekend.”

Your mouth opened, and then closed.

“Do you … do you even understand how worried I was about you?” He ran a hand through his hair, voice cracking for the first time in forever. You took a step closer to him. “You weren’t answering me and I just … my head went to the worst. I thought Mingyu was gonna kill me the next time I mentioned your name. And then, to see you at work and realizing that you were actually just ghosting me was a fucking punch to the gut. I didn’t get it. I still don’t get it. But I’m so pissed at you for hurting my feelings that I’m not even sure if I wanna know.”

“Wonwoo –” You started.

“Please, don’t say my name like that,” he sighed and pinched his nose. “I realize that you came all this way to finally break the news to me, but I’m good. It’s very obvious to me now that you don’t like me as much as I like you, and to save us the pity party, let me get you home –” He reached for his wallet to grab some cash for your next taxi.

But you interrupted before he could finish.

“I love you.”

He paused, looking up and making sure he heard you right. “What?”

“I’m in love with you,” you said it again, and it felt so freeing to have this weight lifted off your shoulders. You moved closer, now standing a foot away, but refusing to touch him for your own good. “And I’m not just telling you that as an excuse. Ignoring you was cruel and I can never forgive myself for hurting you. I just … when I realized how deep my feelings for you were …” Your throat closed up, as if your body was acting on instinct, preventing you from being vulnerable with him.

Wonwoo closed the distance. “Hey,” he whispered, tucking a hair behind your ear. “I’m right here with you.”

His voice was so reassuring – as always – opening you up like a blooming flower. And suddenly, your mouth didn’t feel so dry anymore and your nails stopped making crescent-shaped indents in your palm.

“I got scared,” you confessed, your gaze locked on his. “And I ran away, because that was the easiest thing to do. I thought ignoring you would be best for both of us, and I stubbornly didn’t want to hear your opinion on any of this. What I did was wrong and I … I hate myself when I do stuff like this to people I care about.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, but he wiped them with his thumb before they could fall. You sniffled, noticing the hurt in his eyes had faded, replaced only by adoration. Your lips pursed as you searched his gaze.

“I’ve just … never allowed anyone to open me up like this. I’ve never given my feelings to someone and let them care for me.” You blinked, your eyes rimmed red. “I’ve hardly been able to comprehend my own feelings because I’ve been scared shitless of them in the first place. But I can’t … I can’t justify pushing you away anymore. Because I love you. I don’t like being alone anymore and all I ever want to do is see you. Sometimes I’m afraid if I stop holding you, you’ll disappear. You do so much for me; you literally fix something on my computer everyday. I think if I let you go right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, and I –”

Wonwoo cut you off by pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you like this: so gently with his palm cupping your jaw. You felt yourself relax when he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His tongue licked into your mouth, sighing with relief when the familiar taste of you entered his orbit again. The taste of coffee and peppermint gum and the peanut butter and jelly you definitely had for lunch today. It was everything he loved about you, and he smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, he said, “Sorry, I interrupted your monologue.”

“It’s okay. Someone needed to before I got into the Hamlet soliloquy I prepared.”

He chuckled, grinning from ear to ear, and just that had a blush creeping to your cheeks. “I forgive you,” he whispered, leaning back in to ghost his lips all over your face. Your warm breath fanned his mouth. “Just don’t do that again. I know I don’t show it very often, but I’m secretly very …” He smiled softer this time, pecking just slightly on the corner of your mouth. “Sensitive.”

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants, wanting him all the more closer. “I know. I promise.” You brushed your nose over his. “If I ever ignore you for even a couple hours, you have full permission to annoy me on Slack.”

Wonwoo had to cover his mouth from letting out the loudest laugh possible, but it made you feel all the better to see him happy. You could spend forever seeing him this happy. You got up on your tiptoes just to stare at him more, to press yourself closer and feel his grin against your cheek.

But he was holding your face now, sighing down at you with a smile that almost made you swoon. “For the record,” he replied, “I love you too.”

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kissylec · 2 days ago

Text

TO THE PLACES WE'VE BEEN AND THE NIGHTS WE'VE HAD.

directed by love you goodbye...

pairing . . . rafe cameon x pogue!reader in which . . . the bonfire always has surprises, but you never thought that one of those surprises would be ending up in tannyhill with the kook prince warning .ᐟ . . . (18+) smut, alcohol consumption, curse words, enemies to lovers, tension, dirty talk, praise kink, making out, oral (f), unprotected sex (wrap it up), p in v, first time writing smut and english is not my first language, so please, bear with me w count . . . 1.5k (NO PROOFREAD) kissylec says . . . write this in 3 days and i dont really know if i like it or not. my frist time writing smut! im tweaking! thanks to @rafesheaven for the tips you gave me, i hope this is okay i love u. and thanks to @rafeysbabydoll for the idea of this first extra! i also love u. hope you guys like this 😭

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

YOU WERE DOING THIS FOR JJ, and you repeated that to yourself over and over again. the bonfire was the last thing on your mind after the day you'd had, having to put on makeup and get dressed made your head hurt and your feet felt tired just walking to the vanity. but everything went to shit in a short time, which you expected, but at least you had that slight glimmer of hope that it won't happen.

it all started when topper – because of course it was topper – started bothering sarah. your and your friends' irritation was instantly aired, creating a tense atmosphere that was not lost on anyone. and between john b complaining, jj trying to fight, and kiara trying to calm down everyone who came near, you couldn't take it anymore.

the overstimulation ate away at you to the point that you left without warning, a habit that was ingrained in you. the sound of voices grew farther away with each step you took, and the cold and salty breeze became more and more present. that's when you thought about the beach, and that maybe it would be a good idea to stop by there.

the sand on your feet felt colder than usual and the wind was a caress on your exposed skin. you took long, deep breaths, making circles in the palm of your left hand as you tried to maintain a calm that you were afraid would slip away. the sound of the sea was in the background, and a relaxation alien to you had found you. until.

you okay?

the thick, familiar voice startles you, causing you to bring a hand to your chest and open your eyes, your gaze traveling to the direction the voice came from.

rafe cameron.

"you scared the shit outta me," you say, your gaze traveling all over rafe's body. a bottle of alcohol in his hand, his brow furrowed. His curtain bangs were gone, replaced by a neat buzz cut, which made him look more... mature, older.

rafe continues to scowl, looking away from you. "yeah well, it's creepier when a girl stands next to you and closes her eyes and all that shit you were doing just now." his lips take a sip from what appears to be a bottle of whiskey, his eyes fixed on the water.

you just rolled your eyes, mimicking his action of looking away. you never gave rafe much importance, but your annoyance for him was no small thing. he was nothing sacred among pogues, as if his name were a curse. "i may be creepy but you're sad" you started saying. "drinking by yourself on the beach? not really a very fun activity."

rafe takes another long sip from the bottle, his muscles flexing as he raises his arm. “shouldn’t you be there?” he asks, still not looking at you.

rafe knew about you, not much, but he knew enough. he always insisted that you stood out from any friend sarah might have had, you were not overlooked, you always left a mark. you had that something that takes a person a while to figure out. you were different, and it sounds corny and repetitive, but you were, and rafe liked that.

for a split second you considered telling him why you left the bonfire, but you didn't. "i got bored," you said simply, feeling rafe turn his head and his eyes burn into your cheek. "what's your excuse?"

rafe swore his heart stopped for a second when you turned your head to make your first eye contact of the night, his lips felt dry but he didn't have the balls to lick them in front of you.

he just shrugged. "i don't want to be there" he says.

you slowly nod your head, your eyes locked on rafe's blue ones, who didn't seem to want to take his eyes off you. the sound of clothes rustling and him handing you the bottle of whiskey caught your attention, raising your eyebrows.

parting your lips you take the bottle, the contact with rafe’s fingers leaving a rough feeling on your skin. still looking into his eyes, you took an unexpectedly long sip, your throat burning instantly, making you grimace in disgust and drop the bottle. he couldn’t help but laugh.

“what was that?” he asks, following with his gaze as you spit the amber liquid into the sand.

“that shit is disgusting” you say, wiping your chin, which had dropped drops of the drink.

you shake your head, your eyes falling on his face. you allow yourself to analyze the small details, how his eyes close when he smiles, the occasional mark on his skin, his hand wrapped around most of the bottle as soon as you handed it back to him.

rafe parts his lips, you could see his eyes drop to his lap, as if he was hesitant. “i have more bottles in tannyhill, of… other things,” he says, hesitantly. "if you want."

your eyes widened, letting out a laugh you couldn’t control. “are you serious?” you said, your smile taken as mockery by rafe.

rafe frowns, his gaze going to you, making you erase your smile. a tension began to be felt between you two, that tension which anyone who was there could feel, that tension that makes your stomach hurt and your heart race.

"did you really just ask me what you just ask me?" you asked, your eyebrows raising as you looked at him.

“what’s wrong with what i said?” rafe asks, his tone of voice harsher than he intended.

you frown, careful not to fumble with your words. “no, absolutely not.”

“why not?"

“because it’s you,” you simply reply, looking at him. “and i would never do anything with you.”

your words seemed to trigger something in rafe, who raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, as if he were studying you. you felt your pulse quicken, his jaw suddenly looked attractive, and his challenging eyes made your lower stomach feel warm.

"never, huh?"

those were the last words you could remember coming out of his mouth, because all you were focused right now, was him. on his tongue expertly moving between your wet folds, on how he flicked it against your clit. his fingers gripped your thighs to keep you from moving, the pressure was so strong that you knew there would be marks, but you didn't care.

you had tears starting to form at the corners of your eyes, your o-shaped lips letting out moan after moan, babbling every now and then as you felt his tongue fucking you as if it were the only thing he was useful for.

"prettiest cunt" he grunts against your center, placing open-mouthed kisses over your clit.

"fuck–rafe" was the only thing that could come out of your mouth.

you start to rub your pussy against him when you feel close, that delicious pressure in your pelvis growing as does the burning in your clit, your moans turning into soft cries, desperate to cum, and rafe notices it, but that wasn't going to happen.

his mouth leaving you, automatically going to the level of your face. his lips, chin and nose glistening with your arousal, his pupils dilated with pleasure, his breathing accelerated, all so sexy that you could have cum just from him.

before you could even protest he crashed your lips against his, moaning as you tasted yourself. your tongues danced deliciously, making everything more disgusting.

"wan' you to cum on my cock" rafe manages to say between kisses, and you never wondered when he took off his pants, but he did. "you're capable of doing that? huh?"

he wrapped his hand around his heavy cock, pumping it slowly, guiding his tip to your puffy and achy clit, teasing it, coating his length with your slick. "fuck–could you be any more fucking wet?"

the tip traveled to your center, gasping as it entered inch by inch to the brim, forcing you to take him all. your eyes rolled back in your head, feeling his cock caress your insides. you could swear you felt him kiss your cervix.

"so tight, all f'me, isn't that right?" rafe purrs against your ear, his hips moving almost instantly after filling you.

your brain blanked out, letting him handle you as he pleased, your legs on his shoulders as his pace quickened. “rafe,” you stammered, your eyes squeezing shut.

"grippin' me so tight, you gonna cum?" rafe murmurs condescendingly. "this sweet pussy gonna cum? huh?"

it was ridiculous, almost pathetic, but his words and the way your sweet spot was hit over and over again had you cumming on his cock, your back arching and a small cry came out. rafe groans, his face hiding in your neck, his cock twitching and painting your insides with his cum.

you felt kisses on your neck, the thrusts fading in rhythm, his hands caressing your sides. your eyes slowly opened, your lips dry as the light from the nightstand made its presence felt beside you.

then, and just then, it clicked.

"we can't do this again" was the first thing that left your lips.

but rafe had already taken you over. and there was no escape from that.

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bumblesimagines · 2 days ago

Text

Common Interests

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Colonel Miles Quaritch never expected to be revived into the body of the very thing he went to war against but he adapted. Now, he can't fully understand if his new brain is making him imagine things.. like an attraction to one of the locals.

Pronouns: He/Him/His

CW/TW: Typical Avatar warnings, age gap (Quaritch's conscience is much older than (Y/N) but his body is much younger so), they match each other's freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public, Quaritch is probably a lil ooc, sexual content toward the end

~~~

A heavy sense of deja vu washed over Miles as he took in the module, now worn down from time and taken over by the forest's flora. He died, and while he had no memory of the day, the reminder settled over his shoulders like a weight.

It was hard to look away from the battle sight, too overgrown with lush plant life to hold any signs of a fight apart from the module and the AMP suit containing his bones. It chilled him when he first laid eyes on the remains of his human body, on the arrows piercing through where his chest had been.

Looking at it now filled him with anger and the delicious heat of revenge. Killing Jake Sully would be an eye for an eye, in his opinion. It wasn't his problem Jake had disposed of his human body.

"This.. 'friend' of yours," Miles cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the AMP suit to eye the feral child, his feral child by all means. Spider glanced at him. "Any idea when, or if, he'll show up?" There's a bite to his words. Patience wasn't one of his virtues.

Spider only swallowed and turned his back to him, the blue stripes painted along his arms humorous if not pitying. He was beginning to believe this 'friend' was a ruse, some lie conjured up in hopes that the Sullys would take notice and fly to his rescue. The tension in the air amongst his squad members told him they thought similarly, and the last thing Miles wanted was getting further on General Ardmore's bad side. His stunt with the scientists had left a notable bad taste in her mouth.

His head tilted curiously when Spider took a deep inhale, half-expecting a scream for help to leave his short body, but instead, Spider made a call of sorts. It sounded odd, likely due to his vocal cords being unlike a Na'vi's but it echoed through the forest nonetheless. Everyone held their breaths, ears twitching and flicking wildly as they examined the gigantic branches stretched out all around them. Miles waited, his muscles tense. A distant call echoed back and the clanking of soldiers grabbing their guns followed.

Spider's hands shot up, his eyes flying wide open in panic. It almost tugged on Miles's heartstrings. "Don't shoot him! I told you- he isn't with the Omatikaya!"

"You never told us why," Wainfleet mentioned stiffly, his hold on his assault rifle unrelenting. "He could be a cannibal for all we know."

"He's not- What?" Spider made a face, his blonde eyebrows knitting together in disbelief. Wainfleet shrugged. "He's not a cannibal. He was exiled for- for-" Spider swallowed again, nervous this time and even a little sheepish. "For making an attempt on Jake's life."

Now that had Miles's attention, and his body reacted accordingly. His ears perked and twitched forward with interest and a throaty chuckle vibrated in his throat. "Is that so?" One of his canines dug lightly into his lip, half-eager and half-amused. Of course, his kid would befriend someone banished for attempted murder.

A feeling of being watched suddenly bore into his back and he whipped around, one hand grabbing his rifle but the sharp inhale from Spider made him hesitant to raise it. His eyes studied the surrounding treeline, more adept and better than his human eyes but the Na'vi of the forest were raised to stalk their prey without being seen. An excited chill jittered up his spine.

A little too late for his liking, Miles caught sight of the figure before a blur of blue jumped down into the small clearing, landing on the ground with a soft thump no human ears would've picked up. The soldiers whirled around and bristled at the sight of the unfamiliar Na'vi as he slowly rose from his hunches, those almost cat-like eyes studying them intently.

"(Y/N)!" Spider shouted, the relief in his voice immense.

(Y/N)'s ear twitched at the sound of his voice and before anyone could blink, Spider ducked past Miles and straight for him. There were shouts, ones that Miles silenced with a raised hand, and the soldiers reluctantly grew still. Spider essentially threw himself at the Na'vi, though his small human weight barely even swayed him. (Y/N)'s tail coiled.

"Vrrtep 'eveng." He murmured, his hand comically large when he placed it over Spider's shoulder. Miles felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest watching Spider press his mask as close as possible into (Y/N)'s abdomen, seeking comfort and reminding him of just how young he still was. (Y/N)'s fingers pressed into his shoulder blades and then promptly tugged Spider away, his face neutral.

It only then registered what he'd called Spider. Demon child.

Miles found himself unable to tear his eyes away from his kid. "He speak English?"

Spider's mouth opened to respond but Miles caught the irritated tail swish and found his question answered. "He can." (Y/N)'s voice was accented, similar to the accent of Sully's wife, but it somehow sounded more pleasing coming from him. Perhaps the history between Miles and the Sullys ran too bitter for him to see any beauty in the family. (Y/N)'s eyes dropped back to Spider. "You are with dreamwalkers. Why?"

Before Spider could answer, or potentially plead to be saved and ruin everything, Miles took a step forward and lifted his hands away from his weapons. "I have an understandin' you and Jake Sully, the man your people call 'Toruk Makto', are at odds." (Y/N) stared at him. Right, right, human phrases and sayings weren't at the top of the school's list of things to teach the Na'vi. "You don't like him."

(Y/N)'s lip curled upward into a smirk, and the fact he looked unbothered by all the weapons pointed at him made Miles like him already.

"JakeSully is a vrrtep, a demon amongst the People. A false idol." (Y/N)'s features hardened then, ears pinned back and everything. Spider suddenly looked uncomfortable. "He stole everything from my brother. Tsu'tey should have been Olo'eyktan. Neytiri was meant to be his mate. JakeSully took it all from him, and then killed him. Him being Toruk Makto means little to me. He is.. vermin."

"You're preachin' to the goddamn choir, kid." That little furrowed brow look appeared on his face again but Miles continued. He could feel his canines pressing into his lip from how wide he grinned. "Jake Sully is a vermin, but he's a vermin I mean to kill."

(Y/N)'s tail raised and coiled slightly so Miles interpreted it as a sign of interest. He took a moment to study the Na'vi standing before him, the Na'vi his son seemed to prefer over him. Miles couldn't blame him; he'd be apprehensive after all the shit the scientists put him through too.

Like all other Na'vi, (Y/N) was tall and lithe and sported as little clothing as possible which Miles tried not to focus on too hard. There was a scar along his forearm a paler blue than his skin but it appeared to be in the process of fading. A wound from the war, Miles assumed. His eyes captivated him the most though.

His eyes were pretty, but his stare was intense—not intense in the angry or aggravated way of the Sullys or even Spiders, but in a predatory way. He watched them like a lion would a herd of gazelles when contemplating whether to leave them alone or go on the prowl. His stare was confident and calm while simultaneously intimidating, filling Miles with a thrill.

"We need to become more like the Na'vi, like you, in order to locate and terminate Jake Sully."

Spider glanced up at (Y/N), his hands twitching as if he wanted to toss his arms around him again. "He means becoming an ikran rider."

(Y/N) blinked at that and for the first time, he looked utterly bewildered. "You are not ready."

"Kid," Miles lightly scoffed and exchanged glances with the rest of his squad. "We're soldiers- warriors, if you will. We're more than ready for anythin'."

"We were born ready." Wainfleet asserted cockily, a light pleased chuckle rumbling in his throat, but (Y/N) remained unconvinced.

He stepped forward toward Miles in a long stride, and the air, which had been lightening up, tensed again. Z-Dog shuffled forward, nearly pushing her rifle close to his face, but he merely hissed at her, all canines and briefly flattened ears. It was a simple warning, based on how swiftly his features relaxed afterward.

"Leave him." Miles barked and she begrudgingly backed off.

Being in an avatar body gave him the advantage of equal footing with the Na'vi, and his self-assurance showed when he allowed (Y/N) to draw closer. (Y/N) eyed him from head to toe, his stare scrutinizing. To Miles's surprise, (Y/N) took his hand in his and studied it, lightly pinching the finger his own hand lacked. His touch was equally surprising: gentle, mindful, almost cautious. He hummed softly and trailed his attention upward until it stopped on the ink covering his bicep, tracing the outline of the bird with his eyes.

"It's an eagle-"

(Y/N) dropped his hand, uninterested. "It is ugly."

Miles stared at him in surprise and felt some heat lick up his neck when his ears caught the stifled snickers behind him from his squad. He shot them a withering glare and they quickly silenced themselves, even straightening up and adjusting their hold on their weapons. Fuckin' Morons.

(Y/N) circled him, his eyes raking all over his body and lingering on his rifle when he appeared at Miles's other side. His curiosity was understandable; Miles often wondered what other differences there were between the natives and avatars besides the obvious. His hand reached behind Miles and carefully took his braid into his hand, the feeling alone sending a jolt up his spine.

He'd received an obligatory lesson on his avatar body, its limits and functions, all that jazz. He was beginning to think that maybe he should've paid closer attention to the parts he deemed useless for the mission. He'd probably know why his body was reacting so strongly to a mere touch.

"You have kurus, you may perform tsaheylu." (Y/N) dragged his palm along the braid, the sensation making the air catch in Miles's throat though it seemingly went unnoticed. It was an odd sensation, one he couldn't describe. It sent shivers dancing along his spine and made his lungs struggle to breathe. (Y/N) stopped at the bottom and raised it so the others could see the wriggling tendrils. "You will need tsaheylu to bond with an ikran."

"What's it like? This, uh, tsahehu shit."

(Y/N) glared at Wainfleet and Miles tugged his braid free, air finally flowing into his lungs with ease. "Tsaheylu is a bond. You will feel the ikran.. you will feel each beat from its heart, every breath it takes, every emotion it feels, any pain it endures.. and it will feel you, too. Once tsaheylu is established, the ikran will be bonded with you until death."

The information settled over the squad and Miles gave a thoughtful hum, his fingertips lightly scratching his chin and eyes dragging down to (Y/N)'s 'kuru'. His hand raised to grasp it, curious to see how it'd affect the Na'vi, but (Y/N) snatched his wrist and held it hard in his hand before it could inch any closer to his braid. Miles's jaw clenched with a flare of irritation.

"Tsaheylu is only performed in adulthood when you choose the person you wish to be mated for life with. It is serious. It is the strongest bond you will ever have with another." (Y/N) squeezed his wrist and narrowed his eyes. "Kurus are not toys."

"You mind lettin' me go, kid?" His teeth bared until his wrist was released from his tight grip and his nostrils flared with a sharp inhale. "Let me make myself very clear here, (Y/N). You and I, we fought on opposite sides of the same damn war. We may have a common enemy but you and I sure as shit ain't friends. We need a Na'vi, a real Na'vi, and you are as real as it gets. I respect your loyalty to your brother and what you tried doin' in his honor but I am Colonel Quaritch. You will treat me with some goddamn respect, understood?"

(Y/N) leaned in despite the already close distance between their faces, their noses just a hair away from brushing. The intensity in his eyes heightened, not a speck of fear in them or a tremble in his body. Most would have had wobbly knees from his tone alone. Miles's eyes unwillingly lowered to the constellation of lightly glowing white freckles scattered across his face and found himself startled when he considered the beauty of his features.

That wasn't right.

Na'vi were strange, alien creatures who he typically found unattractive in every aspect but their admirable courage. He supposed becoming an avatar and living in a body that largely resembled them flipped a switch in his head, made him unconsciously reconsider how he saw them.

(Y/N)'s flat nose, round eyes, pierced ears, striped markings, and sharp canines no longer looked unnatural. It made him uncomfortable to realize but he was too stubborn to lean back or look away from him. He was a Colonel, goddamnit.

"You are vrrtep, too, like JakeSully. Your existence-" (Y/N) cocked his head to the side, his breath hot on Miles's face. "-disgusts me."

(Y/N) leaned back, his chin slightly tucked and his unblinking stare challenging, silently encouraging Miles to test him. Miles felt tempted to; he wanted to strangle him or slam his knuckles into his nose, something, anything, just to put the fear of god in him and finally feel an ounce of respect from him.. another part wanted to squeeze his flesh and learn how he tasted. Miles hadn't expected the latter, and it made him worry for his sanity. Had it really been that long since he last gotten laid?

"You've got some balls on you, kid." He finally managed.

(Y/N)'s hairless brows twitched downward, confused again. It was startling how easily he switched from murderous and eager to fight to then having innocent puzzlement over common human phrases. His mouth formed a frown and his eyes flickered to Spider questioningly, his tail flickering from side to side like a whip.

Spider sighed heavily, obviously discontent with the newfound alliance, however unstable it was. "It means he thinks you're brave."

(Y/N) hummed and looked the slightest bit satisfied, the corners of his mouth twitching up before it smoothed back out into a neutral expression. His shoulders straightened and he roamed his eyes over the rest of the squad, his eyes flickering around to study each of them and their bodies.

"Come then, we will see what Ewya thinks of your desire to ride her ikrans."

When the opinionated and often grating Dr. Augustine was still around running her little avatar program, Miles paid little mind to her discoveries on Na'vi culture. His job was training each soldier that came to Pandora and ensuring they had a fighting chance when they ventured past the walls of Hell's Gate, not keeping up with sleep-deprived, yapping little scientists who more often got in the way. Now.. well, as much as he hated admitting it, maybe he should've done some more research on what going full Na'vi would entail.

"You're fucking with us." Z-Dog breathed, uttering the words on everyone's minds as they stared up at the floating islands that made up part of the Hallelujah Mountains. The small clusters of rock and foliage floated above them, connected by roots and vines that extended up and through the clouds. "We're going up there.. on foot?"

(Y/N) grinned, his canines gleaming in the sunlight as Spider snickered under his breath. "You are climbing. Spider will lead the way."

Z-Dog scoffed. "And what the hell are you going to do?"

"Fly."

Tilting his head toward the skies, (Y/N) made two distinctive calls, stronger and smoother than the call Spider had made but with a harder click of his tongue. The familiar shriek of an ikran responded and the squad took tentative steps back when the winged beast appeared through the clouds. It landed before them and gave its long body a hard shake, little chirps coming from her parted jaws.

"Do not look her in the eye. She will take it as a challenge." (Y/N) instructed with amusement, his palm gently running along her long neck. A soft noise rumbled in her chest and her four golden eyes fluttered shut. "Her name is Tìlor. We flew into battle together against the sawtute years ago."

Tìlor was a pretty girl. A mix of lavender and aqua-blue collided along her leathery body with navy blue markings covering her from snout to tail. The talons at the end of each dragonfly-like wing tapped gently against the ground, helping her move as she shifted around to peer up into the skies.

(Y/N)'s hand moved to carefully grasp one of the kurus protruding from her temples, moving it so he could connect his own with hers. Her body shivered and her pupils dilated briefly before her head affectionately bumped into his abdomen.

"I will meet you on Mons Veritatis." He told them as he climbed onto the saddle fastened to her back. His grin sharpened into something cruel when he looked at them. "A fall from this height will kill you. Mind your step."

Tìlor swiftly took off into the sky with a shriek, her movements swift and graceful as they circled the main roots attached to the ground that led to the first floating rock before they disappeared beyond the clouds. Spider moved quickly, effortlessly climbing onto the roots and walking up without hesitance.

"C'mon." Miles huffed, adjusting his rifle so it rested along his back and setting his boot over the root to test its sturdiness. It was long and thicker than his body but the bottom of his shoe slipped on the moss. He sighed and reached down to undo the laces of his boots. "We can't let some Na'vi outshine us, can we?"

The climb to Mons Veritatis was treacherous. Each time he looked up, more floating islands appeared above them, more spread out and dangerous than the last. Spider climbed as if he'd done the journey a million times before, even leaping from island to island and swinging from vines as if he were only a few feet from the ground and not climbing through clouds. His arms burned and ached like hell by the time they reached the mountain the ikrans called home, his blue skin shining with sweat and air leaving him in small huffs.

Spider barely looked out of breath.

He led them to the rookery, a cliff along the side of the mountain covered in thick vegetation with untamed ikrans scattered across the surface in an ocean of vibrant colors. Ikrans shrieked and growled at the sight of them, and those closest to where they walked shuffled away or flew off to settle somewhere else. Tìlor landed beside them and snapped at a nearby ikran, a youngling that darted into the sky in fright.

(Y/N) hopped off her back and reached out to grab the muzzle of the tranquilizer gun Wainfleet tried setting up. "You wish to be like Na'vi, you will do this like Na'vi. JakeSully's children have completed iknimaya with no weapons. You are adults." He effortlessly tugged the gun from Wainfleet's hands, his tail flicking with a hint of annoyance. His gaze turned toward Miles and the corner of his mouth raised mockingly. "Unless you are afraid, vrrtep."

Miles's jaw twitched and he inhaled slowly through his nose. He was playing right into (Y/N)'s game and he knew it but his pride refused to let him be so openly mocked. "Alright," He rose from his hunches to be at eye level with him and he slipped his rifle free from his back to hand it over to Mansk. "How is this done, tough guy?"

"You do not choose an ikran, an ikran chooses you." His eyes suddenly brightened and his tail wiggled with a barely contained thrill, his sharp little canines digging into his bottom lip. He looked positively excited, in an almost deranged way. "It will try to kill you."

Miles smirked, a laugh rumbling in the back of his throat. "Now, ain't that somethin'."

Bridgehead City's nothing compared to the forest encircling it that the machines slowly chip away at. All metal and concrete instead of soft dirt and towering trees, clanging and whirring of machines instead of soft calls and branches rustling, cold AC air blasting inside the buildings instead of the warm air outside.

(Y/N) obtained a permanent nose crinkle the moment the chopper landed, and he hardly seemed impressed at the fact he had to breathe from a mask every few minutes when they finally escaped the machines working outside. His ears twitched in every direction and his eyes narrowed at every stare he received from stunned or petrified workers.

If he sported the outfit the Recoms wore instead of the beaded jewelry and little loincloth of the clans, he may have passed for one of them, but Miles figured he'd refuse to even put socks on; it took ages to convince him to visit Bridgehead, to begin with. His tail whipped irritability and Miles hoped Spider's quiet explanations of everything kept his temper in check.

"Pull up the footage we've got on Jake Sully's attacks," Miles ordered, his hands coming to rest on his hips. He waited a moment for the footage to be projected but everyone in the room was frozen still. Nobody moved, nobody even breathed. What a bunch of pansies. "Am I talkin' to my-damn-self?"

The nearest person to the control panel quickly reached over and tapped on the smooth panel that lit up briefly at her touch before she shrunk back into her chair as projections of the footage appeared. (Y/N) stepped forward, eyeing the technology curiously as he took a sip of air from his mask.

"Jake Sully's attacks are well-coordinated," Miles admitted somewhat reluctantly, watching choppers explode from missiles shot by stolen weapons and the muted cries of soldiers struck by arrows longer than their bodies.

(Y/N) propped his leg up on an empty chair, the action so casual he could've been mistaken for a cocky Recom. Miles's eyes naturally drifted back to him and he felt his lip quirk. The Na'vi seemed to have an instinct to perch on things, something Spider picked up like a habit. The teen mimicked (Y/N) and crossed his arms over his chest, though he looked like he hardly cared for the footage.

"He was sawtute before he was uniltìrantokx. He claimed to be a warrior and he wielded your weapons effortlessly during the Battle of Ayram Alusìng." (Y/N) craned his head over his shoulder to look at him. "This does not surprise me."

"The Na'vi fight-"

"What the hell is this, Colonel?"

General Ardmore's voice vibrated through the room, sharp and tense and dripping with controlled fury. Those in the room familiar with her stiffened immediately, more tense than they were when (Y/N) entered the room. Her bright blue eyes flickered wildly between the Na'vi and Miles, disbelief on her face first before the irritation returned in the form of a scowl.

"This is (Y/N)." Miles drawled casually, knowing it'd grate on her nerves. He still had to wrap his head around no longer being the top dog around the base. "He's an Omatikaya exile; he nearly killed Jake Sully."

"So, you thought you'd just bring your new pet here to Bridgehead?" General Ardmore laughed humorlessly, her jaw visibly clenching. (Y/N) stared at her blankly, his tail twitching once with disinterest before he returned his attention to the projections. "Colonel-"

"We fought the Na'vi blindly once and lost because Jake Sully knew our ways. We need someone who knows how Sully and his wife work, how they think and act as Na'vi." Miles explained, his boots thumping against the floor until his body was between (Y/N) and the other humans with holstered weapons. "He's already proven useful, General."

"We aren't here to make friends, Colonel." General Ardmore spoke through near-gritted teeth, her eyes briefly fluttering shut in exasperation. "You know our new objective."

"He's useful to our current objective, General. He's been trained to fight by the Na'vi since he was a kid and he despises Jake Sully. Trust me on this one, I know what I'm doin'."

General Ardmore remained silent for a long while, her nostrils flaring and eyes narrowed into slits. Her chest rose with a deep inhale and she gave a firm nod, her eyes alone threatening him before she turned her back to him. "If he becomes a problem, you will neutralize him."

"Understood."

(Y/N)'s curiosity of Bridgehead was limited. He seemed more disturbed than intrigued as they ventured down brightly lit halls and bustling rooms, disgusted grunts leaving him when the smell of perfume or cologne wafted through the air. His face alternated between scrunched up and blank but his tail moved by its own accord. More than once, Miles felt it tap along his leg or begin to curl around it before it jerked away. Eventually, it curled around Spider's arm and Miles realized he'd been seeking something to comfort him.

It was sobering. All his memories of the Na'vi were violent: the consistent attacks on their machinery and soldiers throughout his years on the planet, Jake and Dr. Augustine's betrayal, the war against them where human numbers dropped considerably, his gruesome death at the hands of Neytiri. (Y/N) was feral, untamed and unpredictable, but the flickers of a caring side and the confusion over phrases reminded him he wasn't a mindless creature set on making his life more taxing.

Miles was beginning to loathe him. There was nothing more he despised than being conflicted over someone. He always knew what he wanted.

"You and I need to have a chat, kid," Miles said, his fist tapping against one of the panels by one of the wide doors leading into the sector specifically designed for the Recoms and their towering bodies. The doors slid open with a low hiss and he glanced over his shoulder at Spider. "Alone."

"But-"

"Fike and Z-Dog here will keep you company."

With one last grin, he stepped through the doors and nodded for (Y/N) to follow. He did, albeit begrudgingly, and raised his ears when the doors slid shut and a soft whir turned on to replace the air with one they could breathe without help from the masks.

The second set of doors opened once done and Miles led him through the recreation room. From the chairs to the tables to the gym equipment on the far side of the room, everything had been specifically designed for them and easily dwarfed anything human-sized.

(Y/N) still looked unimpressed. He was likely used to the vibrancy of the forest, the bright colors and open space that felt neverending. Bridgehead was dull in comparison, lifeless it if weren't for the residents adding splashing of color to it with their appearances. Miles wondered how long it'd take for him to adapt, if he could at all.

He stopped briefly in front of another set of automatic doors that slid open to reveal his room and entered, waiting for (Y/N) to step inside before tapping on the pad to lock the doors. His room was nothing to ogle at. Plain white walls, plain gray floors, a neatly made bed avatar-sized pressed against the wall, a metal nightstand with a forgotten cup of coffee, a desk with a tablet and lamp, a closet built into the wall. It wasn't much but it was home, and he had it all to himself unlike some of his soldiers who had to share bunks.

"You.. live here?" (Y/N)'s lips curled when he nodded. "My cave is more welcoming than this. This is... sad."

Miles chuckled under his breath, lightly scratching his temple before he approached his desk to pick up the tablet. "We will begin our search for Jake Sully and his family in soon. He's gone beyond the forest, possibly to the islands across the eastern sea. What clans live out there?" His fingers tapped on the screen, searching the data of the closest whaling vessels that could help them narrow down their search.

"The Tayrangi, Ta'unui, and Metkayina clans live throughout the eastern sea." There was the sound of springs softly creaking and he raised his head to find (Y/N) lying on his bed, chin propped over his arms and tail raised high in the air. He blinked at him, his eyes trailing over the stripes along his back until they stopped over the curve of his ass. "The Tayrangi live on the mainland but fish in the seas. They are too close. JakeSully would have gone further."

"Right." His voice sounded strained. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him?

"The Ta'unui and Metkayina clans live on the reefs." (Y/N)'s eyes gravitated toward him, his ears raising and twitching. Miles swore his lips twisted into a knowing smirk. "Far, far from here. You will have to learn how to ride better if you wish to fly across the sea. You risk much without experience."

"Well, ain't it good you're here, then?" Miles set the tablet aside, his original task forgotten in favor of approaching the bed with slow steps. (Y/N) watched him and lowered his tail until it thumped softly over the mattress. "I'm afraid we can't keep headin' out to the forest whenever we need 'cha, kid. You're hard to find, hard to track. Until we head out to find Jake Sully, you'll have to stay here in Bridgehead."

(Y/N) moved onto his knees, his eyes narrowing and ears pressing back tight against his skull. "No."

"I wasn't askin'."

(Y/N)'s tail moved like a whip, quick and hard. It slammed into the ceramic coffee cup and sent it flying into the wall where it shattered into pieces, the leftover coffee adding a brown stain to the wall as it dripped down onto the floor. His tail grew still afterward and his head cocked to the side challengingly again. Miles's mouth drew into a line. The silence was loud. He needed to get the buzzing out of his system.

His hand darted out and grabbed the back of (Y/N)'s head before he tugged him close enough to slam their mouths together. (Y/N) stiffened briefly before his tense muscles relaxed, the sharp whoosh of his tail swaying hard from side to side filling Miles's ears. His fingers dug into Miles's shoulders tightly, purposefully, and he allowed Miles to invade his mouth with a muffled hum. (Y/N) tasted tart and tangy, like one of the fruits he favored.

Miles dropped his free hand to his belt and fiddled with it until he could pop the button of his pants and feel them droop around his hips. He shoved them further down his thighs and left them to pool around his ankles, a grunt vibrating in his throat when (Y/N) bit his bottom lip and drew blood.

His hand reared back, a sting erupting along his palm when it made contact with (Y/N)'s behind. He swallowed the startled noise (Y/N) made and dragged him close enough for their chests to press firmly together. (Y/N)'s tail smacked against his thigh like a whip, hard and fast enough to have the effect of one.

"You're a real piece of work, ain'tcha?" Miles chuckled huskily, the pain only adding to the heat flowing through his veins and making his briefs unbearably tight.

His tongue pressed against the small cut on his lip, the rusty metallic of blood dancing on his tongue before he dropped his hands down to the back of (Y/N)'s thighs and tugged on them to topple the Na'vi onto the mattress. A huff of surprise left (Y/N) but before he could prop himself up onto his elbows, Miles dragged him until his hips were almost off the bed. He tugged on the loincloth impatiently and tossed it aside blindly, his knees thumping loudly against the metal once he dropped to his knees.

The way (Y/N) blinked down at him in bewilderment made him grin wolfishly. "Just wanna get a taste, is all."

This body was new, young, and had the sensitivity of a virgin (which it technically was) but his mind had fifty-one years of experience sleeping with men and women on Earth and Pandora. He often preferred women, preferred the plushness of breasts over pecs, but he'd never been one to let an opportunity pass him by, especially not with his body reacting so strongly to the puzzled Na'vi.

The last person he recalled being with had been Paz, Spider's mother. The surprise that came with her pregnancy left him taking a silent vow of celibacy while he wrapped his head around being a father, along with avoiding her as if she had the plague. He regretted it now but it was something of the past, unchangeable.

(Y/N) let out a noise of confusion when Miles spread him and then a startled, strangled gasp when his tongue prodded at him. One had to wonder how many times he'd been with someone else intimately. Miles laughed under his breath and began lapping like a starved animal, licking and prodding. He shoved his briefs down his thighs to free himself and felt himself twitch when he delicately pushed one finger past the rim. (Y/N)'s legs caged around his head immediately and he hummed, pressing his cheek into his thigh.

"Breathe, sweetheart." He called, grin lazy and voice teasing. "You ain't ever done this before, huh?"

"Tanfwìngtu." (Y/N)'s tail smacked his thigh again, this time gentler. His face had flushed a deeper shade of blue and his chest moved with heavy pants. Reducing a would-be killer to a flustered mess made Miles's head spin and ego inflate. "You-"

Miles drew back and then pushed a second digit, mouth curling into a pleased grin when (Y/N)'s back arched off the bed. "Don't bite the hand that feeds now. I'm being nice, aren't I?" He moved his fingers at an even pace, ears absorbing each soft squelch and every noise flowing from (Y/N)'s mouth. "Is this how Jake tamed his wild woman?"

(Y/N) grunted and reached down, his fingers curling along the short hairs and firmly tugging. Miles nipped at his thigh in warning but (Y/N) simply tugged again, a breathy chuckle huffing into the air that made Miles's ears flick forward. He moved upward, flattening his tongue at the base of (Y/N)'s twitching length and dragging it along until he reached the spurting tip.

"Ain't this a pretty thing?" He laughed and (Y/N) scoffed.

Miles had never paid much attention to his cock, other than when he was taking a piss or relieving himself of some stress with his hand, but if he had, he would've realized the difference in appearance. He'd expected something similar to human anatomy, and it mostly was, but (Y/N)'s twitching cock was in an ombre color: a light blue at the tip that slowly faded into the deep blue that covered the rest of his body. Little white freckles were scattered across it, glowing faintly with each shiver that went up his spine.

Miles grinned wildly as he slipped his fingers out and listened to the strangled whine that followed, his tail flicking and coiling blissfully. "I gotcha, I gotcha, don't worry." He adjusted himself, pushing at his rim until the tip popped inside and he released a low hiss at the overwhelming warmth. He leaned over (Y/N) and pressed a biting kiss to his collarbone. "See what happens when you comply?"

"Skxawng," (Y/N) reached around and firmly wrapped his fingers around Miles's braid, grinning wickedly when Miles's body shivered. He tugged on it and Miles's hips jerked forward, a low groan and curse tumbling past his lips. A soft, near-purr-like noise rumbled in (Y/N)'s chest. "I will never follow orders from a vrrtep."

"Yeah?" Miles steadied himself, sinking his knees into the mattress and finding himself pleasantly surprised when (Y/N)'s legs curled around his waist. He could feel the coolness of the beaded jewelry rub against him through his shirt, pressing and leaving circular imprints. "We'll see about that."

If he'd come to learn anything since meeting the Na'vi beneath him, it was that he could handle just about anything. He pressed an uncharacteristically delicate kiss to his jawline and planted one hand by his head, fisting the sheets into his hand and offering one last crooked grin. His hips snapped forward, bottoming out and relishing both the warm squeeze and the feeling of (Y/N) biting roughly into his shoulder.

He groaned into his twitching ear and tried to focus all his attention on the knot in his lower belly. He'd done far too much teasing to end up squirting early like a teen boy during his first time. The concept of virginity and early release was likely nonexistent to the locals who barely batted an eye at nudity, but it'd be mortifying if any of the blabbermouths he worked with found out.

Miles evened out his breathing and grunted softly when (Y/N) released his shoulder, his unfocused vision turning to peer down at him. His hand had curled around Miles's wrist, tight as if he were holding on for dear life, but what Miles found most endearing (aside from the hint of blood smeared on the corner of his mouth) was the feeling of their tails curled together. "I gotcha." He repeated softly and, with slightly pursed lips, (Y/N) gave a small nod.

When he took a second too long to act, (Y/N)'s ears flicked back. "Move."

Miles huffed out a short laugh. "So bossy."

But Miles did as asked and began snapping his hips, rough and hard just as he always liked it. His mind blanked and an almost guttural groan rushed out, mixing with the whines and moans of (Y/N) writhing beneath him.

His arm gave out so he braced himself on his forearm instead, his other hand dipping down to grip (Y/N)'s hip and keep him firmly in place. Miles buried his face into his neck, inhaling the scent of the forest still clinging to his skin and dragging his tongue over one of the stripes there.

(Y/N)'s cheek pressed against his head, his hot panting making Miles's ear twitch annoyingly but when he nuzzled into him, obviously delirious, Miles felt his heart stutter in his chest. The knot in his lower belly tightened and only prompted him to drill into him faster, his fingers digging into his skin harder and canines grazing over his skin. (Y/N)'s noises were reduced to babbling Miles couldn't understand, though he assumed it was cursing, and breathless gasps forced out of him with each thrust.

"C'mon, baby," Miles roughly kissed his throat, nipping it lightly after, and pulled back to eye the watery glaze over (Y/N)'s half-lidded eyes. He released his hip and wrapped his hand around his speckled length, giving it a few pumps until (Y/N) was squeezing the life right out of him. "Jesus."

With a cry, (Y/N) arched up into him and spurted all over his hand, staining Miles's olive green shirt in the process. Miles's rutting grew messy, his thighs quivering and threatening to give out on him. He pressed his mouth against (Y/N)'s again in a sloppy kiss and he let out a long, muffled groan when he finally felt the knot snap. His body slumped over (Y/N) and his arms wrapped around him firmly, keeping him from slipping out of reach.

"How's that for a vrrtep?"

"Could have been better." (Y/N) muttered tiredly, his fingers lightly dancing along Miles's braid.

Miles snorted. "Fuckin' brat."

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inbabylontheywept · 8 hours ago

Note

I went to summer camp as a kid. Six times, actually. I have many fond memories, and even more terrible ones. Here's one that's a mixture of both.

To set the stage, I had just spent the night in the infirmary due to a big fight I had with almost my entire tent. They never wanted to sleep, and were always obnoxiously loud with a lantern dubbed "the sun" that let me see movement around me with my eyes closed from the shadows passing over it. I was sleep-deprived, overstimulated, autistic-but-unaware-of-that, and twelve years old, and I already disliked these girls because they talked shit about me behind my back and took advantage of naivety. This unfortunate combination lead to a blowout meltdown in which I said some things I regret, so the counselors decided it'd be best if I spent some time away.

Now, this had the unforeseen consequence of putting me in a place with less supervision. This place also had some strange bugs. They were small, about the size of my pinky fingernail. Most of their bodies were in their tails, which curved downwards like a reverse scorpion. They were black and white, sort of striped, with six legs and no wings. Their fangs were very thin, but long, extending out from their faces like brownish parentheses. They had a propensity to bite.

Perhaps you can see where this is going.

While messing around with these bugs, I noticed that when they bit, they didn't just chomp and leave. They sunk their fangs in and they kept them there for a long time. Naturally, I decided to see what would happen if I let them, nay, encouraged them to bite me, as an experiment. When would they extricate their incisors from my flesh? Would my reaction to the bites vary depending on the amount of time each bite lasted?

I let these bugs bite me four times, once for about 13 minutes, once for about 5 minutes, once for about 1 minute, and once for 45 seconds (I didn't have a watch, so these are estimates). Then, I forged a peaceful resolution with my tentmates and we went to watch the beginning of Color War.

Except, turns out it's stupid to let unidentified insects taste your blood. The bites swelled up huge. I got chills. My stomach hurt intensely. My counselor took me back to the infirmary to get them checked out.

Needless to say, this was not easy to explain to the nurse on duty ("WHY" "For science!"). His first thought was we needed to figure out what bit me. If only it were that simple.

We combed through the databases for insects in the state. We expanded our search to arachnids, even, although it certainly wasn't one. I drew a little mock-up on a Post-It to show him. There was not a single match. To this day, I have no idea what it was that I let bite me. I was given orders to come back tomorrow to get them checked by a doctor, and also return every morning and night for a week to put warm compresses and medicinal ointments on the bites, and a strong directive to never do anything like that again, with a side of "What the hell were you thinking????"

A couple of months later, after camp, I went to my friend's bar mitzvah. The woman in the row behind me tapped my shoulder. She asked me how the bug bites were. It was the doctor from the infirmary.

-- @dr-robert-chase-apologist

That was a beautiful ending. I have a similar story, but less gruesome than letting bugs bite me. My family used to go up to trips to the Mogollon Mountains two or three times a year. The woods were where my dad always felt the most at peace.

My dad used that time to hike through the trees. And I grew into that eventually, but when I was very little, I felt a particular kinship to the small things of this world. Worms and beetles and woodlice and those peculiar Arizona grasshopers with wings the size of jellybeans and tummies the size of my thumb.

And on one trip, there was an incredible number of these beautiful, fuzzy caterpillars. Picture below.

I went a little crazy about them. They were fluffy, and they were had pretty colors, and they had the cutest, softest, stubbiest little suction cup feets that I'd ever seen. Watching them climb up stalks of grass or over fallen branches was enchanting.

So I caught, like, twenty of them, and most got put in a little terrarium where I could watch them do cute caterpillar things. Mostly eat fresh pine needles and wriggle gregariously. But some I kept out just to play with. I'd put them on my palm, and I'd watch them crawl all the way up to my neck, then I'd move them somewhere else. They tickled, and I was charmed to be their jungle gym.

But apparently, those little hairs break off like fiberglass, and they have some kind of venom on them, so I had these strange, wriggling, almost tattoo like rashes all over my arms up to my neck. Very embarrassing to explain to my parents.

There was an entomologist on the street that I grew up on named Freddie. And he wasn't just a bug expert, he was specifically a caterpillar expert. He had a garden in his backyard that was specifically tailored for butterflies, he'd always draw in clouds of Monarchs during their migration. My parents asked him about the mysterious itchy caterpillars, and he said they were lophocampa ingens, and that I was lucky that I didn't inhale those hairs. They can stick inside your throat and make it swell closed. Scary little bastards.

I'd still see them after that, but never in such numbers. And while I appreciated them, I always tried to keep a few feet of distance. Just to be safe.

(Also, just wanted to clarify that I didn't remember the name for 20 years, I googled "irticating caterpillar Mogollon", and saw the picture. It wasn't until I read the caption that I was like oh yeaaaaah, that's what he called them. But it was one of those memories I could never have pulled at will.)

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 1 day ago

Text

Like Us

Where Y/N and Harry thought they had lost each other, fate gives them a second chance.

Word Count: 7,222

Content Warning: Cursing, alcohol, mentions of Zayn leaving.

Y/N had been with Harry through it all. Through the late-night calls filled with exhaustion, the frantic texts that barely scratched the surface of what he was feeling, the moments of silence where he didn’t have the words to explain what was breaking inside him. She had been there before Zayn left, and she was still there now, following him on tour like a quiet anchor in the chaos.

The energy backstage wasn’t the same anymore. Ever since Zayn had left, there was a palpable shift—like a table missing a leg, still standing but wobbling with every move. The crowds were still loud, the shows still electric, but behind the scenes, it was different. Unease lingered in the air like a storm waiting to break.

On his days off, they escaped together. Away from the arenas, the cameras, the questions. They did the kind of touristy things that made Harry feel like himself again—exploring tiny coffee shops tucked into side streets, wandering through museums with their hands intertwined, laughing at the ridiculous souvenirs in gift shops. She took pictures of him when he wasn’t looking, the city lights reflecting in his green eyes, the weight on his shoulders momentarily lighter.

But even in those moments, she could see it. The exhaustion. The restlessness. The way his mind was always somewhere else, thinking about something he wasn’t saying.

It was late, the city glowing beneath them as they sat on the small balcony of their hotel room. Paris had been a dream—long walks along the Seine, stolen kisses in quiet cafés, pretending for just a little while that the world outside didn’t exist. But now, reality was creeping back in, threading itself between them like an unwelcome guest.

Y/N glanced at Harry beside her, his gaze distant as he traced patterns on the rim of his wine glass. He had been quiet all day, his usual spark dulled by something he wasn’t saying. She knew him well enough to wait, to let him come to her when he was ready.

Eventually, he sighed, leaning back against his chair. “The band’s ending soon.”

The words weren’t surprising, but hearing them aloud still made her chest tighten. “You don’t know that.”

Harry let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I do. Even if we don’t say it outright, even if we call it a hiatus, we all know what it really means.” He looked over at her, his green eyes filled with something heavy. “It’s not gonna be the same after this.”

Y/N studied him, searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or hope—but all she found was exhaustion. “Is that what you want?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his curls. “I don’t know. I just know I need… something to change. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He turned his gaze to the city below, watching the headlights blur together in streaks of gold and red. “And if it ends… I don’t know who I am outside of it.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his, grounding him the way she always had. “You’re still you, Harry. Band or no band.”

He squeezed her hand, but the look in his eyes told her something she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I think,” he said slowly, carefully, like he was testing the words as he spoke them, “there’s gonna be a break.”

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken things. Y/N felt the weight of it settling in her bones, but she didn’t let go. Not yet.

And Harry was right.

A few months later, the band officially announced their hiatus. At first, it was meant to be temporary. Just a few months to rest, to breathe, to figure things out. But as time passed, the months stretched longer than expected.

One night the rain tapped lightly against the windows of Y/N’s apartment, the soft hum of an old record playing in the background. Harry sat on the couch, one leg bent beneath him, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the ring on his index finger. He had been quiet all night, lost in thought, his gaze distant even when she spoke.

Y/N curled up beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re thinking,” she murmured, her voice soft.

He let out a small breath of laughter, tilting his head toward hers. “Always am.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, her fingers brushing over his arm. “What is it?”

Harry hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip like he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he exhaled. “I think I wanna do something on my own for a bit.”

Y/N’s brows lifted, but she didn’t look surprised—just curious. “Music?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, I love the band, always will, but… I wanna see what I can do by myself, y’know? Find out what my sound is. And—” He hesitated again, his fingers still fidgeting with his ring. “I think I wanna try acting, too. I’ve always wanted to, and now feels like the right time.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, taking in the way he spoke—cautious, hopeful, nervous. She reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I think that’s amazing, Harry.”

He glanced at her, his lips parting slightly. “You do?”

She smiled. “Of course I do. You’ve always talked about wanting to try acting, and your own music? That’s exciting.”

He nodded, exhaling like he’d been holding it in. The rain kept falling, the record kept spinning, and for now, they sat there together, wrapped in the quiet of what came next.

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his fingers lightly tracing circles on the back of Y/N’s hand. The rain outside filled the silence between them, steady and rhythmic, but inside, everything felt still—like the moment before something irreversible happened.

He finally looked up at her, his green eyes filled with something heavy. “I’m gonna be busy a lot,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “With the music, with acting… with figuring out who I am outside of all this.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, a sinking feeling creeping in. “I know,” she said softly, watching him carefully.

Harry swallowed, his grip on her hand tightening for just a second before loosening. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And because I love you… because I respect you… I don’t think I can be in a relationship right now. Not while I’m trying to figure myself out.”

The words felt like a slow, unraveling thread, pulling apart everything they had built. Y/N held onto his gaze, searching for something—maybe a way to change his mind, maybe a way to understand. But deep down, she already knew.

She nodded once, her throat tight.

Everything shifted.

Y/N felt her breath hitch, her fingers trembling slightly in his grasp. “Harry…” she started, but she didn’t know how to finish.

His face twisted in pain, like he hated every word coming out of his own mouth. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to do this, love. God, I don’t. But I need to.”

Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. “Why?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Why do you think we can’t figure it out together?”

Harry inhaled sharply, his hand cupping hers, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her skin. “Because I don’t know who I am right now. And I can’t drag you into that mess. I can’t ask you to sit around waiting while I run off chasing things I don’t even fully understand yet.” He let out a shaky breath. “You deserve someone who is sure, someone who can be there for you in every way. And I—I don’t know if I can be that person right now.”

Tears slipped down Y/N’s cheeks, and she quickly wiped them away, hating how fragile she felt. “But you love me.” It wasn’t a question; it was a desperate grasp for something solid, something real.

Harry’s eyes softened, filling with sorrow and something deeper—something that hurt just as much as it loved. “With everything in me,” he said. “I love you so much that it physically hurts to say this.” He let out a broken laugh, running a hand through his curls before gripping the back of his neck. “I hate this, Y/N. I hate myself for saying it. But if we’re meant to be, we’ll find our way back.”

Her chin trembled as she tried to process it all. “And what if we don’t?”

Harry’s breath hitched. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to keep his own tears from falling. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay strong, but her heart was shattering. “I don’t know how to be without you.”

He let out a soft, broken sound, his forehead falling to rest against hers. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he whispered. “Just promise me something.”

She swallowed hard. “What?”

“When the time comes—if we ever get another chance—promise me you’ll let me fight for you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes, feeling his warmth, memorizing the way he smelled, the way he held her like she was something precious. She didn’t know how to promise him that. She didn’t know if she could.

But in that moment, with her heart breaking in his hands, she whispered the only word she could.

“Okay.”

And just like that, it was over.

They laid together for a long time, neither speaking, neither moving—just breathing in the same space, clinging to the last moments before everything changed. Y/N listened to the steady rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat beneath her cheek, memorizing the way it sounded, the way it felt against her skin.

His hand ran absentmindedly up and down her arm, slow and soothing, like he was trying to calm them both, like he wanted to keep this moment suspended in time. But time didn’t stop. It never did.

Eventually, he stirred, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head before shifting beneath her. She knew what was coming before he even said it, but hearing the words still made her stomach twist.

“I should go home,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t lift her head from his chest. If she did, it would make this real. And she wasn’t ready.

Harry exhaled shakily and brought his fingers beneath her chin, gently tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. His green eyes were glossy, his expression torn, his lips parted like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he leaned in, pressing the softest, most devastating kiss to her lips—slow, full of love, full of sorrow, full of everything they still were but couldn’t be anymore.

When he pulled away, he lingered for just a second, his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her skin. Then, without another word, he stood.

She didn’t watch him leave. She couldn’t.

That night, she laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin. She waited for sleep, but it never came—not that night, not the next, not for a long, long time.

And even when exhaustion finally won, she woke up empty. Every single time.

Five Years Later

The late afternoon sun streamed through Y/N’s apartment windows as she flipped through the stack of mail she had just pulled from the box. Bills, a few random flyers, and then—her fingers paused as she caught sight of an envelope with elegant gold script.

Her heart lifted immediately.

Tearing it open, she pulled out a beautifully embossed wedding invitation, the words practically sparkling off the page: Mallory & Ethan—Join us as we celebrate our love!

A grin spread across Y/N’s face. She barely took a moment to admire the details before grabbing her phone and dialing.

It rang twice before a familiar voice answered. “If this isn’t Y/N calling to say she got my invitation, I will be thoroughly disappointed.”

Y/N laughed. “Guess you won’t be disappointed, then.”

Mal squealed on the other end. “You got it!”

“Of course I did. And obviously, I’ll be there. Like I’d miss my best friend’s wedding.”

“Ugh, I’m so excited! It’s getting so real now. I was just finalizing the seating chart and—wait.” Mal gasped dramatically. “Are you bringing a date? Tell me you’re finally letting some poor soul take you out.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling as she walked into her kitchen and leaned against the counter. “No, Mal. I’m not into dating right now.”

Mal groaned. “It has been years, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“And you’re telling me no one has caught your interest? Not a single, ridiculously attractive, emotionally stable man?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Nope. No one’s been worth the effort.”

Mal sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. You can be my honorary date instead.”

Y/N grinned. “Gladly.”

The girls dissolved into laughter, the excitement buzzing between them. It was going to be a beautiful day, a celebration of love.

The following months passed in a blur of wedding excitement—not hers, but Mal’s. Still, as Y/N shopped for a dress, something about it felt personal in a way she hadn’t expected.

She stood in front of the fitting room mirror, smoothing her hands over the fabric of yet another gown. It wasn’t even white, just a simple, elegant dress for a bridesmaid. But every time she looked at herself, every time she turned to see how it moved, her mind wandered to a place she tried so hard to ignore.

What would Harry think if he saw me in this?

And then the thoughts spiraled.

What would I look like standing next to him at a wedding? What if it were our wedding?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to shake the thoughts away, but they always came back.

Harry had always been the one. Even when he wasn’t.

They used to talk about it—getting married. Not in a serious, let’s-plan-this-right-now way, but in the way that two people who love each other deeply do when they think forever is inevitable.

She could still picture it—late nights in bed, her head resting on his bare chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his tattooed skin.

“What would your dream wedding be like?” he had asked once, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/N had smiled, shifting so she could look up at him. “Small,” she had said. “Somewhere beautiful. Maybe Italy or the English countryside. I want twinkly lights everywhere, candles, good food, and dancing until our feet hurt.”

Harry had hummed, running a hand through her hair. “Sounds perfect.”

She had smirked. “What about you? Or do you just plan on showing up in a suit and letting me do all the work?”

He chuckled, his dimples deepening as he turned onto his side, facing her. “I wanna write my vows the night before. Just me, a glass of whiskey, and all my thoughts about you spilling out onto paper.”

Y/N had rolled her eyes. “You’d procrastinate on our wedding vows?”

Harry grinned, brushing his lips over hers. “You’d love ‘em anyway.”

And he was right. She would have.

She would have loved anything, as long as it was with him.

But now, standing in a dressing room, staring at herself in a dress that wasn’t even a wedding gown, it hit her.

Still, every dress she tried on, she imagined what it would look like if Harry was standing beside her. If she was choosing a dress for him, for them.

And God, she hated that even after all these years, part of her still wanted that life with him.

The airport was bustling with the usual chaos—rolling suitcases, hurried announcements over the intercom, the hum of travelers moving toward their destinations. Y/N clutched her boarding pass, shifting her carry-on higher on her shoulder as she navigated through the crowd.

She had traveled alone before, but this time felt different. There was an unshakable feeling in her chest, something stirring beneath the surface. Maybe it was just wedding nerves, maybe it was seeing Mal walk down the aisle, maybe it was the inevitable string of questions about when she would settle down.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

The flight was smooth, and she spent most of it staring out the window, watching the clouds shift below her. Her mind wandered, drifting through old memories, old conversations, old pieces of herself that she thought she had let go of. But that was the thing about love—about Harry. It never really left.

After landing, she gathered her luggage and stepped out into the crisp air. The venue for Mal’s wedding was a dreamy countryside estate, nestled just far enough away from the city to feel like a secluded fairytale.

The car ride from the airport was quiet, scenic views rolling past the window as she watched the world blur by. When the car finally pulled up to the venue, her breath caught.

The estate was stunning—classic architecture with ivy climbing up the stone, fairy lights already twinkling along the pathways. It was exactly the kind of place she and Harry used to talk about for their own wedding.

She sighed, pushing the thought away as she stepped out of the car.

Before she could grab her bags, an excited squeal filled the air.

“You’re here!”

Y/N turned just in time to see Mal rushing toward her in a sundress and bare feet, arms outstretched.

She barely had time to drop her bag before Mal threw herself into her arms, squeezing her tight. Y/N laughed, hugging her back. “I told you I was coming.”

“I know, but now you’re actually here!” Mal pulled back, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, I need to show you everything! The venue, the flowers, my dress—I have so much to tell you.”

Y/N grinned, letting Mal drag her toward the estate, momentarily allowing herself to get lost in the excitement.

For now, she focused on the wedding, on Mal’s happiness.

What she didn’t know was that somewhere inside this very venue, Harry Styles had also just arrived.

Y/N followed Mal through the estate, taking in the stunning surroundings—the sprawling gardens, the delicate string lights woven through the trees, the elegant reception area where tables were already being set up with crisp linens and gold accents. It was breathtaking, the kind of wedding Mal had always dreamed of.

“I know it’s a little over the top,” Mal said, grinning as she led Y/N toward the main hall. “But Ethan wanted something classic and romantic, and honestly, who was I to argue? I’m marrying the love of my life—I’d say I’m winning here.”

Y/N laughed. “It’s perfect, Mal. Seriously. It’s like something out of a movie.”

Mal gave her an approving nod before looping her arm through Y/N’s. “Speaking of perfect—are you sure you don’t want me to set you up with someone at the wedding? Ethan has some very attractive friends.”

Y/N groaned. “Mal—”

“Okay, okay! Just saying. No pressure.” Mal smirked. “But I do expect you to have at least one fun, flirty dance with someone. It’s a wedding, Y/N. You deserve a little romance.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll think about it.”

They stepped inside the main hall, where final touches were still being put together—florists arranging centerpieces, staff preparing tables. It was a flurry of beautiful chaos.

And then, just as Y/N turned to say something to Mal, she heard his voice.

“Mal?”

The world around her froze.

That voice. That voice.

Slowly, she turned her head, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes landed on him.

Harry.

He stood just a few feet away, looking exactly like she remembered and somehow entirely different all at once. His hair was shorter than it had been back then, but still slightly tousled, his sharp jawline even more defined. He was dressed casually in a white button-down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking through. But it was his eyes—those familiar, heartbreakingly green eyes—that sent a shock through her system.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.

Mal, oblivious to the sudden tension, grinned and rushed toward him. “There you are! I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Harry tore his gaze away from Y/N, hugging Mal briefly. “Yeah, just got in. Thought I’d check in before the rehearsal.”

Mal beamed, then gestured between them. “You remember Y/N, right?”

Harry’s gaze flickered back to her, something unreadable flashing across his face. His lips parted, and for the first time in five years, he spoke her name.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t casual. It was heavy with everything unsaid.

Y/N forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat, to keep herself steady.

“Harry.”

The air between them was thick, the past pressing in on them like a ghost.

Mal, still completely unaware, clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is perfect! You two already know each other! Harry is one of Ethan’s best mates, and I was just about to tell Y/N she should have a dance with someone at the wedding.”

Y/N nearly choked.

Harry’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk playing there, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

Mal grinned between them. “Okay, I have a million things to do, but you two should catch up! I’ll find you later, Y/N.”

Before Y/N could protest, Mal was gone, leaving her standing there with him.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Y/N let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah. Same.”

And just like that, the past wasn’t so far away anymore.

The silence between them stretched for a moment, thick with years of unsaid words and lingering memories. Y/N could feel her pulse in her ears, her heart slamming against her ribcage as she tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to say to the man who had once been her whole world.

Then, Harry’s lips parted, and his voice was softer than she expected. “You look beautiful.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just polite small talk, it was genuine. His gaze lingered on her like he was memorizing every detail, like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

Y/N swallowed, shifting her weight slightly. “Thanks,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended. She forced herself to shake off the nerves, tilting her head as she took him in. “You cut your hair.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, running a hand through the shorter strands. “Yeah. Needed a change, I guess.”

She nodded, her eyes flickering over him, the tattoos on his arms more defined, his shoulders broader, his presence somehow even more commanding than it had been back then. But beyond all that, there was something else—something settled in his expression, in the way he carried himself. He had changed.

“Looks good,” she admitted.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah? Thought you liked it long.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a familiar warmth creeping up her spine. “I did. But you pull this off, too.”

Harry laughed, a sound that sent a flicker of something dangerous through her chest. “High praise, then.”

She exhaled, crossing her arms over her chest as she studied him. “You’ve been busy,” she said, her voice even. “The albums, the movies… you’ve done everything you said you would.”

Harry’s expression softened, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess I have.”

Y/N nodded, a small, bittersweet smile pulling at her lips. “I’m happy for you, Harry. Really.”

He held her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Thanks, love.” The old term of endearment slipped out effortlessly, like it had never left his vocabulary, like five years hadn’t passed.

Y/N’s breath caught for just a second, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she offered a small smile and looked away, focusing on the wedding preparations happening around them.

“So,” Harry said after a moment, rocking back on his heels. “What about you?”

Y/N turned back to him, raising a brow. “What about me?”

His gaze was steady. “How’ve you been?”

There was something in the way he asked—something deeper, something careful.

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Good. Life’s been… steady. Work, friends, the usual.”

Harry’s lips pressed together like he wanted to ask more, but before he could, a voice called his name from across the room.

Ethan, the groom.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, giving a small nod in acknowledgment before turning back to her. “I should probably—”

Y/N nodded quickly, stepping back. “Yeah, of course.”

He hesitated, then gave her a small, lingering smile. “It’s really good to see you, Y/N.”

She swallowed, her heart doing something stupid in her chest. “You too, Harry.”

And just like that, he was gone, walking toward Ethan, blending into the crowd like he hadn’t just turned her world upside down all over again.

Y/N wanted to scream.

Scream in anger for the way he had just waltzed back into her life like five years hadn’t passed, like he hadn’t left her lying awake at night, wondering if she would ever stop missing him.

Scream in joy because—God help her—she had missed him. Seeing him again had ignited something in her chest.

But instead, she took a shaky breath, pulled out her phone, and opened her messages.

Y/N: Naomi. Emergency.

A few seconds later, the typing bubbles appeared.

Naomi: Omg what happened?? Did someone spill wine on Mal’s dress? Did you trip in heels?

Y/N: Harry. Is. Here.

A long pause. Then:

Naomi: I’m sorry. WHAT.

Y/N: HE IS HERE. AS IN, PHYSICALLY PRESENT. IN THE SAME ROOM AS ME.

Naomi: WHAT THE HELL. HOW. WHY. ARE YOU BREATHING.

Y/N: BARELY.

She could practically hear Naomi screaming through the phone screen.

Naomi: Start from the beginning. How did it happen??

Y/N exhaled sharply, moving to a quieter corner of the venue as she leaned against a column, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N: I was with Mal, she was showing me around, and then I heard his voice. I turned around and there he was. Just standing there like he wasn’t about to send me into cardiac arrest.

Naomi: Holy. Shit.

Y/N: He told me I looked beautiful.

Naomi: YOU’RE KIDDING ME.

Y/N: I WISH I WAS.

Naomi: What else did he say??

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip before typing:

Y/N: We talked a little. He asked about me. I told him I was happy for him. It was… weird. Like no time had passed, but also like a lifetime had.

Naomi: Oh my god. Are you okay? Like, genuinely?

Y/N let out a breath, staring at the screen for a long moment before responding.

Y/N: I don’t know.

Naomi didn’t respond right away, and for once, Y/N was grateful. Because she really didn’t know.

Naomi finally responded after a long pause.

Naomi: Do you need me to fly out there? Because I will.

Y/N smiled slightly, shaking her head even though Naomi couldn’t see her.

Y/N: No, you’re off the hook. I’ll survive.

Naomi: Will you?

That was the real question, wasn’t it? Would she survive this? Would she survive seeing Harry, being near him, pretending that it didn’t shake her to her core?

Before she could respond, Mal’s voice rang through the hall.

“There you are!” Mal rushed up to Y/N, her eyes bright. “I need you to come to the rehearsal dinner in like, twenty minutes. Bridesmaid duties. You’re sitting at the head table, by the way.”

Y/N blinked, still slightly disoriented from everything that had just happened. “Wait—what?”

Mal rolled her eyes. “You’re basically my sister, of course you’re sitting with me. Ethan’s groomsmen will be there too, obviously.” She paused, her expression turning smug. “Including Harry.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “Mal.”

Mal grinned innocently. “What? You two used to know each other. Might as well catch up.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. She quickly looked at her phone.

Naomi: Why do I feel like something is about to go down?

Y/N sighed, typing back.

Y/N: Because it probably is.

She locked her phone and exhaled deeply.her.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, gripping Mal’s arm before she could walk off. “Mal.”

Mal turned, eyebrows raised. “What?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart pounding. “Harry… he’s the ex.”

Mal blinked, not catching on immediately. “What do you mean ‘the ex’?”

Y/N stared at her, her throat tightening. “The ex, Mal. The one I never got over.”

Mal’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait. Harry is that Harry?”

Y/N just nodded, feeling her stomach twist.

Mal’s eyes widened in horror. “Y/N! Why didn’t you tell me?! I just—oh my God—I just forced you into sitting at a table with him! I basically told you to flirt with your ex-boyfriend!”

Y/N let out a weak laugh, rubbing her temples. “Yeah. You did.”

Mal looked genuinely panicked, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “Okay, do you want me to change the seating? I can put you somewhere else. I can banish him to the other side of the room if you want.”

Y/N hesitated, her heart a mess of emotions. Every logical part of her was screaming yes, but deep down, there was something else. A tiny part of her—one she wanted to ignore—knew she wasn’t ready to run from this.

She swallowed hard. “No… don’t change anything.”

Mal searched her face. “Are you sure?”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “No. If I’ve spent the last five years surviving without him, I can survive one dinner.”

Mal groaned, shaking her head. “I cannot believe I was the one to unknowingly throw you into this situation.”

Y/N gave her a small smile. “It’s not your fault. I never really talk about him.”

Mal frowned. “That should’ve been my first clue.”

They stood there for a moment before Mal squeezed her hands. “Okay. If at any point you need an out, just say the word, and I’ll stage an emergency.”

Y/N smiled despite the nerves in her chest. “Thanks, Mal.”

Mal smirked. “And for what it’s worth… the way he looked at you earlier? Yeah. That man is not over you either.”

Y/N’s breath caught, but before she could respond, Mal looped her arm through hers and started leading her toward the dining hall.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Y/N walked into the rehearsal dinner with Mal, her stomach twisting into knots. The dining hall was breathtaking—soft candlelight flickered across the elegantly decorated tables, and laughter filled the room as guests mingled. It should have felt warm, exciting, celebratory. Instead, it felt like she was walking straight into the eye of a storm.

Her eyes scanned the head table, and sure enough, there he was.

Harry sat near Ethan, laughing at something one of the other groomsmen said. He looked relaxed, at ease, but the second his gaze flickered up and landed on her, something shifted. His smile faltered—just for a second—before he quickly masked it. But Y/N caught it.

And it made her chest tighten.

“Breathe,” Mal whispered in her ear.

Y/N inhaled deeply, forcing a polite smile as Mal pulled her toward her seat.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats!” Ethan’s voice rang out, and people began settling in.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she approached her spot at the table. As fate would have it, she was seated directly across from Harry.

Of course she was.

Mal slid into her chair beside her, oblivious to the internal battle raging inside Y/N’s head. Or maybe she wasn’t—because when Y/N hesitated for half a second too long, Mal gave her a subtle nudge.

Y/N had no choice but to sit.

As soon as she did, the table conversation picked up, and for a few moments, she thought maybe she could get through this dinner unscathed. But then—

“You look nice.”

The deep, familiar voice sent a shiver down her spine.

She looked up, and there he was. Harry. Looking right at her.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks,” she murmured. “You do too.”

He gave a small smile, but there was something behind his eyes—something hesitant, something unsure.

Ethan, oblivious to the tension, clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Mate, did you know Y/N used to date a musician?”

Y/N nearly choked on her drink.

Harry’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “Oh?”

Ethan grinned. “Yeah! I don’t think she ever got over him, asshole broke up with her to go fuck around.”

Mal visibly cringed. “Ethan—”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Harry’s gaze was steady, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk. He looked at her, his voice smooth as ever.

“Yeah?” he mused. “Wonder what happened to him.”

Y/N shot him a glare across the table, her face burning, while Mal reached for Ethan’s hand and squeezed it in warning.

Ethan frowned, confused for a second before realization dawned on his face. His eyes darted between Harry and Y/N, his mouth dropping open. “Wait—no way.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. Mal let out a nervous laugh, while Harry just sat back, looking far too amused.

Ethan whistled low. “Wow. Okay. This just got interesting.”

Y/N peeked up at Harry, who was still watching her with that unreadable look in his eyes.

Ethan finally shut up after a pointed glare from Mal, and conversation around the table shifted away from Y/N’s romantic history—or rather, her history with Harry Styles. But the damage had already been done.

Y/N felt the weight of Harry’s gaze every so often, his eyes flickering toward her between conversations, his expression unreadable. She did everything in her power to ignore it, to focus on the food, on Mal’s wedding plans, on anything but the fact that Harry was sitting across from her, looking like a damn dream, completely unbothered by the chaos he had just walked into.

Eventually, the dinner plates were cleared, and drinks were passed around. Mal and Ethan stood to give a short thank-you speech, and while everyone was clapping and toasting, Y/N took the opportunity to slip outside for some air.

She stepped onto the balcony, the cool evening breeze brushing against her skin. She exhaled slowly, gripping the railing, trying to steady herself.

The air was crisp outside, a welcome contrast to the warmth and noise of the rehearsal dinner. Y/N gripped the railing, inhaling deeply, trying to calm the storm brewing in her chest.

She heard the door creak open behind her, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps.

“Running away already?”

She closed her eyes briefly before turning her head. Harry stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her with that same unreadable expression.

“Not running,” she murmured. “Just… breathing.”

He hummed in response, stepping closer until he was beside her, leaning against the railing. Their shoulders barely touched, but the proximity sent a ripple through her.

Silence settled between them, the weight of five years pressing down on both of them.

Harry exhaled, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood. “I tried.”

Y/N frowned slightly, turning to look at him. “Tried what?”

His jaw tightened for a brief moment before he met her gaze. His voice was steady, quiet. “To find something that felt like this.”

Her breath caught.

“Like us.”

The words settled between them, thick and heavy, cutting through the cool night air like a blade.

Y/N swallowed, her fingers tightening around the railing. She should say something—anything—but her mind was blank, her heart betraying her with how hard it was pounding in her chest.

Instead, she forced herself to look away, staring out at the dark horizon. “Did you?”

A beat of silence. Then, just as softly—

“No.”

The quiet stretched between them, filled with everything they weren’t saying.

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose. “Harry…”

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I know.”

But he didn’t move.

And neither did she.

The weight of his words sat between them, thick and unmoving. Y/N stared out at the night sky, her grip on the railing tightening.

She had waited.

For months. For years.

She had waited for the moment when he would come back, when the universe would prove him right—that if they were meant to be, they’d find their way back to each other.

But he never came.

And so, she had forced herself to move on, to let go of the idea of him and the promises they had made.

Except now, here he was. Standing beside her, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

She turned to him then, her voice quieter, but firm. “You told me if we were meant to be, we’d find our way back.”

Harry inhaled sharply, his gaze locking onto hers. “I remember.”

Her throat tightened. “I waited, Harry.”

A shadow crossed his face, pain flickering in his eyes. “I know.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She shook her head slightly. “I told myself I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t. But I did anyway.” She swallowed, the emotions she had buried for so long threatening to surface. “And the thing is… I didn’t have to let you fight for me.” She met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Because you were always the one.”

Harry’s breath hitched, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her.

She didn’t look away.

“I was yours, Harry,” she whispered. “Always.”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He looked like he wanted to say something—needed to—but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he did what he had always done.

He looked at her like she was his entire world.

The space between them was thick with tension, a storm neither of them could outrun. Y/N’s heart pounded, her breath coming in uneven waves as she tried to steady herself.

Harry looked wrecked, his hands twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back, like the only thing keeping him from reaching for her was the fear that she’d pull away.

“I thought about coming back a million times,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But every time I convinced myself it was too late. That you’d moved on, that I’d lost my chance.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I waited for you, Harry.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “You said if we were meant to be, we’d find our way back. And I believed you.” She swallowed hard.

His jaw tensed, pain flashing in his eyes. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you deserved better than someone who left you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he hated himself for even saying it. “Scared that if I came back, I’d ruin you all over again.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her emotions bubbling too close to the surface. “And what about me?” she whispered. “Did you ever think about what it did to me when you didn’t come back?”

Harry flinched like she had physically struck him. He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair before looking at her again, his green eyes burning into hers. “I never stopped thinking about you, Y/N. Not for a single day.”

She sucked in a breath, her hands trembling at her sides. “Why now, Harry?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t stand in the same room as you and act like I don’t still love you.”

Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs. “You—”

“I love you.” His voice was steady, sure. “I never stopped.”

A strangled breath escaped her lips. Every wall she had built over the years, every defense she had tried to put up—it all crumbled in an instant.

Because she loved him, too.

She always had.

And maybe she always would.

Before she could stop herself, before she could think about the consequences, she surged forward, her hands gripping his face as she crashed her lips against his.

Harry let out a soft, surprised sound before sinking into her, his hands flying to her waist, pulling her closer, like he had been starving for her.

The kiss was desperate, aching, filled with everything they had lost, everything they had missed, everything that still burned between them.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and shaken, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his hands still firm on her waist.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek.

“It was never too late,” she whispered back.

Harry let out a shaky breath, his forehead still resting against hers. His grip on her waist tightened, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

Y/N felt the warmth of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell in sync with hers, and for the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her fingers still cradling his face. His green eyes were glassy, searching hers for something—reassurance, hope, maybe even forgiveness.

“I can’t do this again if you’re not sure, Harry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I barely survived losing you once.”

Harry shook his head instantly, his hands cupping the small of her back, holding her like he never wanted to let go. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. “You say that now.”

“I say that because I know what it’s like without you.” He swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I’ve spent five years trying to figure out who I am, trying to find something that felt even remotely close to what we had. And I couldn’t.”

Her breath hitched, and she let her hands drop from his face to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

“So what now?” she murmured.

Harry gave her a small, almost nervous smile. “Now I prove to you that I mean it.”

Y/N felt something crack open inside her, something she had kept locked away since the day he left.

Before she could second-guess herself, before doubt could creep in, she nodded. “Okay.”

Harry’s face softened, and he let out a breath of relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A slow, almost disbelieving grin spread across his face before he leaned in again, pressing the gentlest, most reverent kiss against her lips—like he was sealing a promise.

Y/N melted into him, her fingers curling into his shirt, anchoring herself to him, to this.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy.

But it was them.

215 notes · View notes

cheriecelestial · 3 days ago

Text

Fitoor Pt.I

pairing *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Yandere! Batboys x fem! Desi!reader

disclaimer *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ swearing. fluff. crack. yandere themes (if you squint real hard).

a/n *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ cuz my desi girls need a bit of love too (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟThis story is just self indulgence at its finest. And like always Comment, Reblog and Like (☆≧▽^) Also credit to my co-writer/beta reader @swamiiyasssss ilysm🤍🤍

╰ ┈➤ ·:*:·゜Chapter list Pt.II Pt.III

The alarm blared at an ungodly hour, and Y/N groaned, slapping her phone with the precision of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. Her tiny Gotham dorm room was still cloaked in the grayish gloom of dawn, but her sister’s FaceTime call lit up the room like a spotlight.

“Subah ho gayi, mamu, chal uth!” Vanshita’s voice was obnoxiously lively for 7 a.m., her face dominating the screen. It’s morning, dude, get up!—a reference to Munna Bhai M.B.B.S. (2003)“Also, did you finally figure out how to use that fancy coffee machine, or are you still running on chai and pure delusion?”

Y/N squinted at the screen, her hair a wild mess that could only be described as “bedhead chic.” “First of all, it’s not a ‘fancy coffee machine,’ it’s a French press, and second, I’ll have you know I’ve mostly mastered it. Except for that one minor explosion, but we don’t talk about that, Vani.”

Vani snorted. “Explosion? Y/N, I still don’t get how you haven’t been fired from your part-time job for an entire year. Like, how?”

“Luck, charm, the fact that Gotham’s rogues haven’t noticed me yet and most of all Bhagwan ji ki kripa se,” Y/N shot back, hurling a pillow at her phone as if it could magically hit her sister back in Mumbai. By the mercy of God. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to look semi-professional for my internship interview. Apparently, ‘I survived moving to Gotham’ isn’t a valid aesthetic.”

Vani grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just remember, if you run into any brooding vigilantes, call me immediately. I need details.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/N muttered, grabbing her towel. “But if I see Batman, I’m totally getting an autograph for you. Now let me go before I’m late and my interviewer thinks I got kidnapped by the Joker or something.”

“I prefer Superman, tho—” Y/N didn’t wait for Vani to finish before hanging up. Gotham was chaotic, gritty, and smelled vaguely of bad decisions, but it was hers now.

A big part of Y/N’s family had been apprehensive about her moving abroad for her master’s—and to a place like Gotham, of all cities, given its stellar reputation for safety. But as Vani had said, “You survived Delhi; you can survive anything.” The Gotham School of Architecture was one of the best in the world, and it made practical sense, considering how often supervillains reduced buildings to rubble. Architects were always in demand here.

Today was the first day of her first semester of her second year and her shot at securing a position at one of the city’s most prestigious architecture firms. Y/N glanced at the clock, her stomach dropping as she realized it was almost time for her bus. She grabbed her bag, muttered a quick prayer to the universe, and bolted out the door. Gotham waited for no one—especially not a sleep-deprived grad student with big dreams and a caffeine addiction.

Y/N dashed out of her dorm, her bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder and a travel mug of hastily brewed chai in hand. But halfway out the door, she froze. “Wait, I forgot something!” she muttered, darting back inside. She yanked open the fridge and spotted the small bowl of curd and sugar she’d prepared the night before. Her mom’s voice echoed in her head: “Beta, never leave for something important without having a spoonful. It brings good luck.”

Y/N grabbed a spoon, took a big scoop, and swallowed it quickly. “For good luck,” she whispered to herself, as if her mom could hear her from halfway across the world. With that done, she was off again, racing down the stairs.

The Gotham morning was as grim as ever, the sky a patchwork of gray clouds that seemed to mirror the city’s mood. She weaved through the crowded sidewalks, dodging commuters and the occasional street vendor hawking “I Survived My Trip to Gotham” merchandise.

The bus stop was just a block away, but of course, today of all days, her bus was already pulling up. Y/N broke into a sprint, her boots slapping against the pavement as she waved frantically at the driver. “Wait! Please, wait!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the morning chaos. Miraculously, the bus screeched to a halt, and she hopped on, flashing a grateful smile at the driver.

“Cutting it close, huh?” the driver grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Story of my life,” Y/N panted, swiping her card and collapsing into the nearest seat. She took a sip of her chai, wincing as it burned her tongue. Note to self: let it cool next time.

The ride to Gotham University was a blur of towering skyscrapers and the occasional glimpse of the harbor. Y/N’s mind raced as she mentally rehearsed her interview answers. Why do you want to work at Wayne Enterprises’ architecture division? Easy. It was one of the most prestigious firms in the city, and their projects were groundbreaking—literally, considering how often they had to rebuild after supervillain attacks. What makes you stand out as a candidate? Well, she’d survived moving to Gotham, hadn’t she? That had to count for something.

By the time the bus rolled up to her stop, Y/N’s nerves were buzzing. She stepped off, smoothing out her blazer and adjusting her bag. The Gotham School of Architecture loomed ahead, its sleek, modern design a stark contrast to the gothic aesthetic of the rest of the city. Students milled about, some clutching coffee cups, others buried in blueprints and books. Y/N took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched inside.

The interview was scheduled in one of the smaller conference rooms on the third floor. Y/N checked her reflection in the elevator mirror—hair mostly tamed, blazer wrinkle-free, and a determined glint in her eye. She could do this.

The receptionist at the door gave her a polite smile. “Miss Y/N? They’re ready for you.”

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding as she stepped into the room. The panel of interviewers sat at a long table, their expressions a mix of curiosity and professionalism. At the head of the table was none other than her dean and next to him was a man in his twenties. She immediately recognized him, Lucas Fox, the son of the acting CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a business partner for the architecture and R&D division. Y/N’s stomach did a somersault. Stay calm. You’ve got this.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. “Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

Lucas smiled warmly. “Good morning, Y/N. You're one of the very few second years that matched our criterias. We’ve heard great things about your work. Let’s dive in, shall we?”

The next half an hour flew by in a whirl of questions about her portfolio, her design philosophy, and her thoughts on sustainable architecture in a city like Gotham. Y/N found her rhythm, her passion for the subject shining through as she talked about her vision for blending functionality with artistry.

Just as the interview was wrapping up, Lucas leaned forward, a thoughtful look on his face. “One last question,” he said. “Gotham is… unique. It’s a city that’s constantly rebuilding, constantly evolving. How do you see yourself contributing to that?”

Y/N paused, then smiled. “Gotham is resilient. It’s a city that refuses to stay down, no matter how many times it’s knocked over. I want to be part of that resilience—to design spaces that not only withstand the chaos but inspire hope. Because at the end of the day, architecture isn’t just about buildings. It’s about the people who live in them.”

Lucas nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. “Well said. Thank you, Y/N. We’ll be in touch.”

As she stepped out of the room, Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She’d done her best, and that was all she could ask for. Now, all that was left was to wait.

After her interview, Y/N headed straight to her part-time job at Sip and Savour, a cozy coffee shop tucked between a pawnshop and a dubious-looking alley. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid the bills and kept her caffeinated. She tied her apron, fixed her name tag, and braced herself for the afternoon rush. The first hour was relatively calm—just the usual crowd of students, office workers, and the occasional Gothamite who looked like they’d seen too much. But then he walked in.

Y/N’s least favorite customer walked in, and she immediately felt her patience start to evaporate.

He was a few inches taller than her, with dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and an annoyingly handsome face that always seemed to be with a smirk that made her want to throw a latte at him. Today, he was wearing a red hoodie over a collared shirt, looking way too casual for someone who ordered drinks so complicated it sounded like a science experiment. And today was no different.

“Hey,” he said, leaning casually against the counter. “I’ll have a grande oat milk latte, extra hot, with two pumps of vanilla, one pump of caramel, a dash of cinnamon, light foam, and—wait, no. Actually, make that almond milk. And can you stir it clockwise exactly seven times? Thanks.”

Y/N stared at him, her pen hovering over the cup. “Clockwise. Seven times. Got it.”

“Great,” he said, flashing her a grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. “Oh, and make sure the cup isn’t too full. I don’t like it when it spills.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Y/N muttered under her breath as she turned to make his drink. She meticulously followed his instructions, stirring the drink clockwise exactly seven times and yes, she counted, and handed it to him with a forced smile.

He took a sip, frowned, and set it back on the counter. “This is wrong.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“It’s wrong,” he repeated, as if she were the one being difficult. “This is almond milk, not oat milk.”

“You literally changed it to almond milk halfway through your order,” Y/N said, her patience fraying. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure I said oat milk the whole time. Maybe you just misheard me.”

Y/N clenched her fists under the counter. “I didn’t mishear you. You changed it.” He shrugged, his smirk widening. “Well, I guess we’ll never know. Just make it again, please. And this time, pay attention.”

She wanted to argue, but the line behind him was growing, and her manager was giving her the look. So she took a deep breath, tossed the first drink, and started over.

When she handed him the new drink, he took a sip, nodded, and said, “Much better. See? Attention to detail matters. Though you spelled my name wrong. It's Tim not Jim” Y/N forced a smile completely ignoring what he said. “Glad you like it. Have a great day.”

Thankfully he decided to let it go. As he was paying, she muttered under her breath while furiously billing his order at the cash register, “Saala madarchod, harami, apna order khud bana le agli baar se. Kahi jake sad ja.” Annoying motherfucker, jerk, make your own order next time. Go and rot somewhere.

And just when she thought she was done with him, he turned around. “Oh, by the way,” he said, holding up his screen to show her a recording of her muttering. “Customers ko aisi cheeze khena acchi baat nahi hoti. Hurts business reputation you know.” You shouldn't say such things to customers.

Y/N’s jaw dropped with her clearly flabbergasted. “H-Hein?” What ?

He grinned, clearly enjoying her shock. “I'm a bit out of practice but I manage. Anyway, I’ll keep this recording safe. You know, just in case I need to… remind you about my order next time. Kal phir milte hai.” I'll see you tomorrow.

And with that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, equal parts horrified and furious. Her coworker, Harper, leaned over, eyebrows raised. “What just happened?”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I think I just met my worst nightmare.”

“Can you please stop laughing at me?” Y/N groaned, glaring at her sister through the screen.

“I can’t—it’s just too good. I’m sorry!” Vani didn’t even try to hide her laughter, let alone show any sympathy. It wasn’t just a chuckle—no, it was a full-on, tears-streaming-down-her-face, can’t-breathe kind of laugh.

“Oh my god,” Vani wheezed, clutching her stomach. “He actually recorded you calling him madarchod and understood it. This is gold.”

Y/N’s glare deepened. “This isn’t funny, Vani. He’s my customer. And now he has a recording of me calling him that. Do you know how bad it’ll look if that video gets out? My professional credibility will be ruined!”

That only made Vani laugh harder. “I mean, he is a madarchod, though. Who orders a drink with seven clockwise stirs? What even is that?”

“I don’t know!” Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillow. “But he’s insufferable. And he said he’ll see me tomorrow. Tomorrow, Vani. What if he complains to my manager? What if he gets me fired?”

Vani finally managed to catch her breath, wiping tears from her eyes. “Relax, drama queen. If he wanted to get you fired, he would’ve done it already. Honestly, it sounds like he’s just messing with you. Which, by the way, is hilarious.”

“You’re the worst,” Y/N muttered, throwing a pillow at the screen.

“And you’re an idiot,” Vani shot back, grinning. “But hey, look on the bright side. At least he’s cute, right?”

Y/N froze. “What? No ! Mujhe kyu pasand aayega wo mendhak ki aaulad ?” Why would I like that son of a frog ?

Vani’s grin widened. “Oh my god, you totally think he’s cute! This is even better than I thought.”

“I hate you,” Y/N said, but there was no real heat behind it.

“Lekin dekh, zyada se zyada kya karlega?” Vani said, her tone shifting to mock seriousness. But see, what's the worse he can do? “You’ll get fired, that’s all. And even then, Gotham uski baap ki jaydad toh hai nahi. Once you get the internship at Wayne Enterprises, you won’t need that shitty part-time job anyway. And you’ll never see that dude again. So, sweet-talk him into deleting it and end of story.” And even then, Gotham isn't his dad's property.

“And what if he doesn’t delete it?” Y/N asked, her voice tinged with dread.

“Then go near the sink, ek chulu bhar pani le aur doob mar kyuki tuh toh beta chud gayi,” Vani explained in a voice so serious and methodical that Y/n would've even believed her for moment. Take a fist full of water and drown in it because you're fucked kiddo.

“Didi!” She whined and fake sobbed into her pillow.

“Love you too, sis,” Vani replied, still chuckling. “Now go to sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow—your mendhak is waiting!” frog

The next morning, Y/N woke up with a sense of dread hanging over her like a storm cloud. She dragged herself out of bed, muttering curses under her breath as she stumbled to the kitchen to brew her morning chai. The events of the previous day replayed in her mind like a bad movie, so much so that the image of him—smirking, recording her, and replying in his gora pakora accented Hindi—had even haunted her dreams.

“Kal phir milte hai,” she mimicked under her breath, stirring her chai aggressively. After a quick breakfast and another spoonful of curd and sugar, hoping it would help her luck a little, Y/N grabbed her bag and headed out the door. The Gotham morning was as gloomy as ever, the sky a dull gray that matched her mood. Thankfully, the bus arrived on time, and Y/N managed to snag a seat. She spent the ride mentally preparing herself for the day ahead—classes, assignments, and, of course, the inevitable encounter with him.

“Is… someone here?”

Y/N snapped out of her reverie at the sound of a voice, so soft it was almost inaudible. She looked up and saw a petite girl with prominent Asian features and short dark hair standing awkwardly beside her. “No, no, of course not. You can sit here,” Y/N said quickly, scooting over to make room. It was a good thing the girl had shown up; otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t have noticed she’d been spacing out and missing what was being taught in class.

“So, you’re an architecture major?” Y/N asked the girl, trying to make conversation since she hadn’t seen her in her other classes. The girl looked at her, confused, and shook her head. Y/N frowned, feeling her response was odd. Then she glanced at the girl’s notebooks and froze. Criminology and Criminal Justice. Her eyes darted to the front of the classroom, where the professor was discussing something about forensic psychology.

Y/N’s stomach dropped. She had been so absent-minded that she’d walked into the wrong classroom.

“You have to be kidding me,” Y/N muttered, burying her head in her hands. She lightly thudded her forehead against the desk, cursing herself under her breath.

“Are… you… okay?” the girl asked, her words slow and deliberate, as if she were struggling to form them. Y/N didn’t mind. A cousin of hers had a speech impediment, and she’d never been one to judge. She lifted her head and sighed. “No. I’m royally screwed.”

The girl gave her a small, sympathetic smile. “Wrong… class?”

“Wrong class. wrong choice. wrong life. Everything is wrong,” Y/N confirmed, groaning. “And I’ve already missed half the lecture. Great. Just great.” The girl hesitated, then reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook. “You can…ask the teaching assistant or... the librarian... for notes later.” Y/N blinked, surprised by the suggestion. “I suppose I can. Thanks.”

The girl nodded shyly, her cheeks tinged with pink. “No problem. I’m… Cass, by the way.”

“Y/N,” she replied, smiling for the first time that day. “Nice to meet you, Cass. And thanks for saving me from total disaster.” Sitting next to Cass, she couldn’t help but feel a little better. Maybe the day wasn’t a total loss after all. But as she glanced at the clock, she realized her next class was starting soon—and with it, the possibility of running into him again soon approaching.

“One disaster at a time,” she muttered to herself, packing up her things. “One disaster at a time.”

By the time Y/N arrived at Sip and Savour, her nerves were on edge. She tied her apron, fixed her name tag, and took a deep breath. “Okay, Y/N,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve got this. What would your ancestors think if you let a white man bully you like this? Get it together.”

The evening rush kept her busy, and for a while, she almost forgot about him. Almost. But then, right on cue, he walked in. Today, he was dressed more refined—a crisp white shirt, dark trousers, and his hair neatly combed. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a business magazine. He spotted her almost immediately and walked over with that wide, infuriating smile.

“Hey,” he said, his tone way too cheerful for Y/N’s liking. “I’ll have a grande oat milk latte, extra hot, with two pumps of vanilla, one pump of caramel, a dash of cinnamon, light foam, and—” Y/N cut him off, her patience already wearing thin. “Let me guess. Stirred clockwise exactly seven times?”

He grinned, clearly enjoying her frustration. “You remembered. Impressive.”

Y/N smiled without her eyes. “How could I forget?”

As she turned to make his drink, she could feel his eyes on her, and it took every ounce of self-control not to turn around and glare at him. She followed his instructions to the letter, stirring the drink clockwise exactly seven times and yes, she counted again, and handed it to him with a smile that was more gritted teeth than genuine.

He took a sip, nodded, and set it back on the counter with a hum of approval. “Perfect. Just like yesterday.” Y/N’s eye twitched. “How lovely. Anything else, or would you like to pay?”

“No, but I feel like you have something to ask of me,” he said, leaning closer. Y/N’s stomach dropped, but she kept her face neutral. “Harper, I’ll be right back in a sec,” she called to her coworker. Wordlessly, she stepped out from behind the counter and looked at him. “You. Come with me.”

“No,” he replied, crossing his arms. “Who knows what you might do to me if I follow you into a random alley?”

“I’m just asking you to step outside,” she stated blankly, her temper rising. Y/N was a sweet girl, the kind all her aunties loved. For years, she’d maintained the facade of being soft-spoken and well-behaved, but something about this man made her want to slam his head onto the counter. Maybe it was Vani's charm that had rubbed off on her.

“Hmm, I’ll consider it if you ask nicely. After all, the customer is king, right?” He smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing to her. Y/N almost felt a laugh bubble in the back of her throat. Who the hell does he think he is? But she held it in. “Sir, if you could please step outside for a moment.”

“See? You just had to ask,” he said, walking past her with that infuriating smirk. She followed him out, mentally running through all the ways she could end him without getting caught. Once they were in the alley next to the shop, Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself. She had rehearsed this moment in her head all day.

“So, about the recording—” she began.

“Oh, the one where you called me madarchod and harami?” he interrupted, his tone dripping with amusement.

Y/N cringed, her anger dissolving into sheer embarrassment. “Yeah, that.”

“What about it?” he smirked, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

“I was wondering if you’d like to make a deal,” she said, forcing herself to stay calm. “What is it that you want?”

He eyed her up and down, his gaze sharp and calculating, barely masking the smug grin plastered across his face. Y/N shifted her weight to her left leg, the alley suddenly feeling stiflingly hot. She felt even hotter, her skin prickling under his scrutiny. This was pure agony.

“What do I want?” he repeated, his voice low and deliberate, as if savoring every word.

Does this guy really expect me to repeat myself? Y/N thought, but she bit her tongue and gave him a stiff nod instead.

In a flash, he closed the distance between them, his eyes now level with hers. She swore his gaze was electric, sharp and piercing, like he could see right through her. The rough, uneven surface of the brick wall pressed into her back, the stench of discarded cigarettes, alleyway garbage, and damp concrete overwhelming her senses. That, combined with his faint, coffee-laden scent, left her feeling dizzy and nauseous.

He had her up against the wall, his presence towering and inescapable.

“I’ve yet to figure that out, miss,” he said slowly, his voice a low drawl that sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she tried to steady her breathing. “Well, figure it out fast because I don’t have all day.”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Feisty. I like that.”

But before she could retort, he stepped back, his hands slipping into his pockets as he turned on his heel. “I’ll let you know when I do,” he called over his shoulder, walking away without another word.

Y/N stood there, frozen for a moment, her mind racing. What just happened? She blinked, shaking her head as if to clear the fog he’d left behind. The alley felt emptier without him, but the tension still lingered in the air. “Ugh, that guy,” she muttered under her breath, pushing off the wall and brushing herself off. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the encounter, and headed back into the café. Her coworker Harper glanced up as she walked in, raising an eyebrow. “Everything okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said, forcing a smile. “Just dealing with a… difficult customer.”

Harper nodded sympathetically. “Ah, Tim ? Yeah, he’s a piece of work. I don’t know why he’s so fixated on you but anyway good luck with that.”

Y/N sighed, glancing out the window as she tied her apron back on. “Yeah. Luck.”

Y/N sat in the quiet corner of the Gotham University library, her textbooks and notes spread out in front of her. But her mind wasn’t on architecture or her upcoming assignments. Instead, it kept drifting back to him—his smirk, his words, the way he’d left her standing in that alley, confused and frustrated.

“I’ve yet to figure that out, miss,” his voice echoed in her head, and she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Ugh, why is he so impossible?”

Just as she was about to spiral into another round of overthinking, she spotted Cass across the library. The petite girl was sitting at a table, her nose buried in a criminology textbook, her short dark hair falling into her face as she scribbled notes.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then gathered her things and walked over. “Hey, Cass. Mind if I join you?”

Cass looked up, her expression softening into a small smile. “Of course. Sit.”

Y/N slid into the chair across from her, setting her books down with a sigh. “Thanks. I needed a distraction.”

Cass tilted her head, her dark eyes curious. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just… dealing with a weird situation,” Y/N said, choosing her words carefully. She didn’t want to dump all her frustrations on Cass, especially since they’d only just met. “You know how some people just… get under your skin?”

Cass nodded slowly, her gaze thoughtful. “Yes. People can be… complicated.”

“Tell me about it,” Y/N muttered, flipping open her notebook. “But you know that trick you told me worked. I got the notes. Anyway, what are you working on?” Cass held up her textbook, showing Y/N the chapter on criminal profiling. “Studying. It’s… interesting.”

Y/N leaned forward, genuinely curious. “That does sound interesting. What made you want to study criminology?”

Cass hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “I like… understanding people. Why they do things. It’s… important.”

Y/N smiled. “That’s really cool. I can barely understand why I do things half the time, let alone other people.”

Cass gave a small laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s… not easy. But it’s worth it.”

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, each focusing on their work. For the first time in days, Y/N felt her mind clear. Cass’s calm presence was exactly what she needed—no drama, no smirking customers, just quiet companionship.

But as much as she tried to focus, her thoughts kept drifting back to him. What did he want? Why was he so determined to mess with her? And why couldn’t she stop thinking about it?

“Y/N,” Cass said softly, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah?”

Cass pointed to Y/N’s notebook, where she’d been absentmindedly doodling instead of taking notes. “You’re still… distracted.”

Y/N looked down and groaned. “Ugh, you’re right. Sorry. I’ll try to focus.” Cass gave her a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. Sometimes… it helps to talk.” Y/N hesitated, then shook her head. “It’s nothing, really. Just… a guy being annoying. I’ll get over it.”

Cass nodded, not pushing further. “Okay. But if you need… to talk, I’m here.” “Thanks, Cass,” Y/N said, genuinely grateful. “You’re a good friend.”

Y/N’s words hung in the air for a moment, and Cass froze, her pen hovering above her notebook. Her dark eyes widened slightly, and she looked up at Y/N, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.

“Friend?” Cass repeated softly, the word sounding almost foreign on her tongue.

Y/N blinked, realizing the weight of what she’d just said. “Yeah, I mean… if that’s okay with you. You’ve been really nice, and I feel like I can talk to you. I hope that’s not weird or anything.”

Cass stared at her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile spread across her face—a genuine one, not the shy, hesitant smiles Y/N had seen before. “No. It’s not weird. I… like it.”

Y/N grinned, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”

Cass’s smile grew, and she ducked her head slightly, as if trying to hide it. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “For what?”

Cass hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her notebook. “For… calling me a friend. I don’t… have many.”

Y/N’s heart ached at the vulnerability in Cass’s voice. “Well, you’ve got one now,” she said firmly. “And if anyone gives you a hard time, just let me know. I’ve got a mean glare and a sharp tongue—trust me, I’ve been practicing on this annoying customer at work.”

Cass chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine. “I’ll remember that.”

The two of them fell back into their work, but the atmosphere felt different now—lighter, more comfortable. Y/N found herself actually focusing, her earlier frustrations fading into the background. Every now and then, she’d glance up and catch Cass smiling to herself as she wrote, and it made Y/N feel like she’d done something right. As the hours passed, Y/N realized how much she’d needed this—not just the distraction, but the connection. Cass’s quiet presence and kindness were a balm to her frazzled nerves, and for the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe. When they finally packed up their things to leave, Cass turned to Y/N, her expression soft but serious. “Thank you… for today.”

Y/N smiled. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver, Cass. Seriously.”

Cass nodded, her smile lingering as they walked out of the library together. As they parted ways, Y/N felt a renewed sense of determination. Whatever he had planned next, she’d handle it. And now, she had a friend to help her through it.

Y/N found herself glancing at the door every time the bell chimed, her nerves on edge. But he didn’t show up. Not that day, or the day after, or the day after that. His absence should’ve been a relief—after all, he was the source of her endless frustration—but instead, it only made her more anxious.

What if he hadn’t kept his promise? What if he’d already uploaded the audio somewhere? The thought gnawed at her, making it hard to focus on anything else. She found herself replaying their conversation in the alley, analyzing every word, every smirk, every glance. Had she missed something? Had he been bluffing all along?

By the third day, her frustration had reached its peak. She was snapping at Harper for no reason, messing up orders, and even burning a batch of pastries. Her coworkers were starting to notice, but no one dared to ask what was wrong.

“Y/N, you okay?” Harper finally asked during a lull in the afternoon rush. “You’ve been… off lately.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Harper raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Look if it's about that guy let me know, I might be able to deal with it.” Y/N nodded, but her mind was already elsewhere. She kept glancing at the door, half-expecting him to walk in with that infuriating smirk and another ridiculously complicated order. But he didn’t. And the more he didn’t show up, the more her anxiety grew. On her way to class one afternoon, Y/N spotted someone who looked like him from behind—tall, dark hair, wearing a hoodie with a collared shirt. Her heart leapt into her throat, and before she could think, she was weaving through the crowd, her bag bouncing against her side as she hurried to catch up.

“Hey!” she called, tapping the guy on the shoulder. He turned around, and her stomach dropped. It wasn’t him. Just some random guy who vaguely resembled him from behind.

“Uh, can I help you?” he asked, looking confused.

“No, sorry,” Y/N muttered, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Wrong person.”

She walked away quickly, her frustration boiling over. Why am I even doing this? she thought, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk. He’s probably just messing with me. I shouldn’t even care.

But she did care. And that was the problem.

That evening, Y/N called Vani, her frustration spilling out as soon as her sister picked up. “He hasn’t shown up in days, Vani. What if he’s already posted the audio? What if it’s too late?”

Vani listened patiently, her voice calm and soothing. “Relax, Y/N. If he was going to do something, he probably would’ve done it by now. That little shit is probably just playing mind games with you.”

“But what if he’s not?” Y/N groaned, flopping onto her bed. “What if he’s waiting for the worst possible moment to ruin my life?”

Vani chuckled. “You’re overthinking this. He’s just some guy who likes to annoy you. Trust me, if he wanted to ruin your life, he wouldn’t have walked away in that alley. He’d have done something already.”

Y/N sighed, staring at the ceiling. “I guess you’re right. But why hasn’t he shown up? It’s been days.”

“Maybe he’s busy,” Vani suggested. “Or maybe he’s just giving you space to freak out. Either way, stop letting him live rent-free in your head. You’ve got bigger things to worry about, like your classes and that internship.”

Y/N groaned again. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I have a presentation next week, and I haven’t even started.”

“See? Focus on that,” Vani said. “And if he shows up again, deal with it then. But don’t let him ruin your week, okay?”

“Okay,” Y/N said, feeling a little better. “Thanks, Vani. You’re the best.”

“I know,” Vani replied, her tone teasing. “Now go do your homework. And stop stalking random guys on the street.”

Y/N laughed despite herself. “I wasn’t stalking him. I just… thought it was him.”

“Kya din aagaye hai. Bacche abh mendhako ko stalk karte phirte hai. But then if it brings you happiness what can I say ?,” Vani signed dramatically. What have times come to? Kids now go around stalking frogs.

“I’m just gonna go,” Y/N said, hanging up.

As she lay there, staring at the ceiling. Vani was right—she was overthinking this. If he wanted to cause trouble, he would’ve done it by now. For now, she’d focus on her classes and her internship. And if he showed up again, she’d deal with it then.

The next morning, Y/N woke up feeling a little lighter. Vani’s words had stuck with her, and she was determined not to let him—or the anxiety he’d caused—ruin her day. She got ready for class, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door, the crisp Gotham air helping to clear her mind.

When she arrived on campus, she spotted Cass sitting on a bench near the library, her nose buried in a criminology textbook as usual. Y/N walked over, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Hey, Cass,” she said, plopping down beside her. “What’s up?”

Cass looked up, her expression softening into a small smile. “Hi, Y/N. I was just… studying.”

“Of course you were,” Y/N said with a laugh. “You’re always studying. Don’t you ever take a break?”

Cass shrugged, her smile widening slightly. “Sometimes. But… there’s a lot to learn.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze drifting to the notice board nearby, where a small crowd had gathered. “What’s going on over there?”

Cass followed her gaze. “Oh. The list of students accepted for internships… it’s up.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait, really? Already?”

Cass nodded. “Yes. I thought… you’d want to know.”

Y/N was on her feet in an instant, her bag slung over her shoulder. “Thanks, Cass! I’ll be right back!”

She hurried over to the notice board, squeezing through the crowd of students who were eagerly scanning the list. Her heart pounded as she searched for her name, her eyes darting over the names of her classmates. The list was short—Wayne Enterprises had extremely high standards, and only a handful of students had been accepted.

Her stomach churned as she scanned the names, her anxiety growing with each passing second. What if she hadn’t made it? What if all her hard work had been for nothing?

And then she saw it.

At the bottom of the list, in neat, bold letters, was her name.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she just stood there, staring at the notice board in disbelief. She’d done it. She’d actually been accepted. A wide grin spread across her face, and she turned around, practically bouncing with excitement. She spotted Cass still sitting on the bench and ran over, her bag bouncing against her side.

“Cass! I got it! I got the internship!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around her friend in a tight hug, almost lifting her from the ground. Cass stiffened for a moment, clearly surprised by the sudden display of affection, but then she relaxed, patting Y/N’s back awkwardly. “That’s… great. Congratulations.”

Y/N pulled back, still grinning. “Thank you! I can’t believe it! This is huge!”

She did a little celebratory dance right there on the sidewalk, earning a few curious glances from passing students. Cass watched her, a small smile on her face, though she still looked a little unsure of how to react.

“I’m so happy for you,” Cass said softly, her voice genuine.

Y/N beamed, her excitement bubbling over. “Thanks, Cass. Seriously, this means so much to me. And honestly I’m so glad I have someone to celebrate it with.”

Her cheeks were tinged pink. “You… deserve it. You worked hard.”

“You’re the best, Cass. I’m so glad we’re friends. And after class, let’s go and eat someplace. My treat!” Y/N’s heart swelled with gratitude.

Cass smiled, her expression warm. “Of course.”

As they walked to class together, Y/N felt a renewed sense of purpose. This internship was her chance to prove herself, to show that she belonged in Gotham, no matter how chaotic or overwhelming it could be. For the first time in days, she didn’t think about him or the recording or the anxiety he’d caused. Today was about celebrating her achievement and looking forward to the future.

After class, Y/N and Cass headed to a cozy little café near campus. The place was quiet, with soft music playing in the background and the smell of freshly baked pastries filling the air. They found a table by the window, and Y/N immediately launched into a detailed account of her internship acceptance.

“I still can’t believe it,” Y/N said, stirring her coffee absently. “Wayne Enterprises, Cass! Do you know how competitive that is? I mean, their standards are insane. I didn’t think I had a chance, but I guess all those late nights paid off.”

Cass listened quietly, her dark eyes focused on Y/N as she spoke. When Y/N mentioned Wayne Enterprises, Cass’s expression flickered for a moment—a brief, almost imperceptible shift. But she didn’t say anything.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” Y/N asked, grinning. “I just got the internship of my dreams!”

Cass smiled softly. “I’m… happy for you. You deserve it.”

Y/N beamed, leaning back in her chair. “Thanks, Cass. Seriously, this means so much to me. I can’t wait to start. I mean, it’s Wayne Enterprises. Who wouldn’t be excited, right?”

Cass nodded, her gaze dropping to her cup of tea. She stirred it slowly, her mind racing. She wanted to tell Y/N the truth—that Wayne Enterprises wasn’t just some prestigious company to her. It was her father’s company. But the words stuck in her throat.

What if Y/N treated her differently once she found out? What if she started acting like everyone else—awkward, distant, or worse, overly interested in her family’s wealth and status? Cass couldn’t risk that. Not when she’d finally found someone who treated her like a person, not just Bruce Wayne’s daughter.

But as Cass watched Y/N’s animated expression, a quiet, possessive part of her stirred, sending a flicker of satisfaction through her chest. If Y/N was working at Wayne Enterprises, it would be easier to keep her close. Cass wouldn’t have to worry about losing her to someone else or watching her drift away. The thought brought an odd warmth, one she quickly pushed aside, forcing herself to focus on Y/N’s excited chatter instead.

“Anyway,” Y/N said, snapping Cass out of her thoughts, “enough about me. How’s your criminology stuff going? Still solving crimes in your head?”

Cass smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. “It’s… interesting. I like it.”

“Good,” Y/N said, reaching across the table to give Cass’s hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. “I’m glad. And hey, maybe one day you’ll be solving real cases. Like, actual Gotham crimes. You’d be amazing at that. You could even be the next Batman.”

Cass’s smile widened, her heart swelling at Y/N’s words. “Maybe,” she said softly, though the mention of Batman made her chest tighten in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

As they continued talking, Cass felt a rare sense of contentment settle over her. Y/N was here, with her, and that was all that mattered. She didn’t need to tell her the truth—not yet, at least. For now, she could simply enjoy this moment, this friendship.

But deep down, that small, possessive part of her whispered something darker. She’d do whatever it took to keep Y/N close. After all, good friends were hard to come by in Gotham. And Cass wasn’t about to let this one slip away.

The morning of her first day at Wayne Enterprises, Y/N woke up early—or rather, she hadn’t slept much at all. Her nerves had been buzzing all night, a chaotic mix of excitement and anxiety keeping her awake. The first thing she did was call her mom, who launched into a long, heartfelt pep talk filled with blessings, reminders to pray before leaving, and, of course, the non-negotiable curd and sugar for good luck. Vani followed up soon after with her usual blend of teasing and encouragement.

“Your first internship, huh? I remember mine like it was yesterday,” Vani said, her tone dripping with nostalgia.

“Well, to be fair, it was only about two years ago,” Y/N replied, rolling her eyes as she double-checked her bag. Stationery? Check. Laptop? Check. Charger? Check. Notepad. Check. More station—

“Are you even listening to me?” Vani’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“I am listening, Vani di. First internship. Everyone loved you. You were the pride and joy of your company. I know,” Y/N recited, her tone half-amused, half-exasperated.

Vani scoffed. “Hey, I’m actually trying to give you valuable advice here!”

“I know, di. You’ve repeated it hundreds of times already. It’s getting annoying,” Y/N sighed. She loved Vani with all her heart, but sometimes—just sometimes—the constant nagging got to her. Her older sister had a way of hovering, even from thousands of miles away.

“The audacity,” Vani shot back. “You know what’s actually annoying? Working hard for years just to get into a college near the only person in this godforsaken family you actually care about, only for that person to move halfway across the globe for her bachelor’s. It's not that I’m blaming you, but—ugh, just drop it.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She always knew Vani never got along well with the rest of the family. Vani was the outspoken, rowdy one who didn’t hesitate to flip off nosy or mean relatives. Growing up, she had been Y/N’s shield, protecting her from the endless taunts about her height, weight, or anything else the relatives could nitpick. Even though she was a cousin, Vani was the closest thing Y/N had to a real older sister. She was always there, but her fierce protectiveness came at a cost—being singled out and ostracized by the rest of the family. Vani never complained, but Y/N knew it weighed on her.

And even when her own parents had threatened to disown her for choosing IIT Mumbai over CalTech, Vani had stood her ground. No one could argue much, though, since IIT was one of the most prestigious colleges in India. But Y/N knew the truth: Vani had wanted to escape the family, and CalTech would have given her that. Yet, she’d stayed—for Y/N.

Y/N didn’t have the heart to say anything more, but she managed a soft, “I’m so sorry, Didi. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know, baccha. Leave it,” Vani said, her tone softening. kid “And it doesn’t matter. I’m almost at the end of my fourth year. Companies will be coming to campus soon. I was aiming for LexCorp since Wayne Enterprises isn’t hiring this year.”

“LexCorp?” Y/N asked, surprised. “But they only have two branches in India—one in Mumbai and the other in Bangalore. I thought you wanted to go to Silicon Valley?”

“I did,” Vani admitted, “but honestly, the package is crazy, and even then, I’m aiming for Metropolis.” Her voice was laced with pride, and Y/N could practically hear the smirk on her face.

“No way. That’s crazy!”

“Is it now? I have the CGPA for it and multiple projects to vouch for my skills,” Vani said confidently. Y/N paused, realizing what Vani was doing. Metropolis was just two towns over from Gotham.

“I mean, I know it’s great and all, but Lex Luthor just gives me bad vibes,” Y/N muttered.

“Look, Y/N, it’s capitalism. All billionaires are bad people. And trust me, I’d work for the devil if it meant I could say ta-ta to this family and be close to you. That package is just a bonus. Eat the rich baby. That’s the only way to go.” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, though her chest felt tight with emotion. Vani had always been her rock, her protector, and now she was making career choices just to be near her.

“You’re impossible, Vani di,” Y/N said, her voice fond.

“And you’re stuck with me,” Vani replied, her tone light but laced with unspoken affection. “Now go crush your first day. And don’t forget the curd and sugar.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little lighter. “I won’t. Love you, di.”

“Love you too. Acche se rehna.” Stay well

After hanging up, Y/N took a moment to center herself. She walked over to the small Ganesha idol her mom had insisted she take with her to Gotham. Her mom’s voice echoed in her head: “Beta, always start something important with a prayer. Ganesha will remove all obstacles.” Y/N clasped her hands together, closed her eyes, and whispered a quick prayer, asking for strength, focus, and a little bit of luck.

Next came the ritual her mom had drilled into her since childhood—curd and sugar. She scooped a generous spoonful from the bowl she’d prepared the night before, the creamy sweetness melting on her tongue. “Beta, never start something important without it,” her mom’s voice chimed in again, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile. It was a small tradition, but it made her feel grounded.

With her nerves slightly steadied, she turned her attention to her outfit. She’d laid everything out the night before: a crisp white shirt, a sleek black pencil skirt, and black pumps that clicked confidently against the floor. It was professional, polished, and exactly the kind of first impression she wanted to make.

Her gaze drifted to the side table, where a pair of dainty oxidized silver jhumkas sat in a small velvet box. Vani had gifted them to her from her first internship stipend, and they were one of Y/N’s most treasured possessions. She picked them up, her fingers brushing over the intricate designs. They were delicate yet striking, and though they didn’t stand out too much against her outfit, wearing them felt like carrying a piece of home with her.

She fastened the earrings, adjusting them in the mirror until they sat just right. The jhumkas caught the light as she turned her head, and she felt a surge of confidence. She was ready. A buzz from her phone snapped her out of her thoughts.

Cass: All the best for your first day.

Y/N smiled, quickly typing back a grateful reply and checked the time—still on schedule. She gave her hair one final comb-through, ensuring every strand was in place, spritzed on a light mist of perfume, and dabbed on a touch of lip gloss.

Unlike her usual routine, she decided to splurge on a cab today. The thought of her meticulously styled hair getting ruined in the chaos of public transport was enough to convince her. Besides, today was all about first impressions, and she wasn’t taking any chances.

As the cab pulled up to Wayne Enterprises, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The building was a masterpiece of modern architecture—towering glass walls reflecting the Gotham skyline, sleek lines that seemed to defy gravity, and an energy that buzzed with purpose and innovation. She stepped out of the cab, smoothing her skirt and taking a deep breath.

The lobby was just as impressive, with its high ceilings, polished floors, and the faint hum of activity as people moved about with purpose. Y/N felt a thrill of excitement as she made her way to the architecture wing, her heels clicking against the marble floor. She couldn’t help but marvel at the atmosphere. Everyone here seemed to move with a sense of direction, their confidence and expertise palpable. It was intimidating, but also exhilarating. This was where she belonged—where she would prove herself.

In the center of the grand lobby, Y/N’s eyes landed on the reception desk. She walked up to it with her back straight, chin held high, and a determined glint in her eye. Today was her day, and she was ready to seize it. As she approached, she noticed the receptionist was the same woman who had guided her during her interview a few weeks ago. Y/N couldn’t help feeling a little more comfortable; at least there was one familiar face.

“Good morning,” Y/N greeted the receptionist with a warm smile. The woman, who Y/N now noticed had a name tag that read Mrs. Saberton, returned the smile, clearly recognizing her. “I’m here for the Architectural Internship for second years,” Y/N explained, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling beneath the surface. “I recently received my acceptance letter, and today’s my first day.” She handed over a folder containing all the necessary documents—her resident ID, student ID, and other paperwork.

Mrs. Saberton took the folder and began typing away on her computer, her fingers moving swiftly as she verified the details. While she worked, Y/N’s eyes wandered to the small bowl of candies on the desk. She couldn’t resist picking one up, unwrapping it quickly and popping it into her mouth. The sweet taste helped calm her nerves, even if just a little.

After a few minutes of thorough checking, Mrs. Saberton looked up with a warm smile. “Welcome to Wayne Enterprises, and congratulations!” She gestured to the left side of the lobby. “If you could just make your way down that hallway, you’ll find someone from HR waiting to assist you.”

Y/N thanked her with a grateful smile, feeling a small surge of confidence. She followed the direction Mrs. Saberton had pointed, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she made her way to the HR office.

The HR representative was a professional yet approachable woman, her demeanor immediately putting Y/N at ease. She greeted her with a bright smile that felt genuine and welcoming. “You must be Y/N. Welcome! We’re so excited to have you on board. As you know, you were one of the brightest candidates, and we’ve decided to place you directly under the head of the Architecture and R&D department. It’s a huge opportunity.”

Y/N’s heart leapt. Working directly under the head of the department? This was beyond anything she’d imagined. She thought back to Luke Fox, who had conducted her interview. He’d been so kind and encouraging, and she’d admired his work for years. She had read countless interviews and articles about both him and his father, Lucius Fox—two men Y/N held in the highest regard. Their accomplishments in their respective fields were nothing short of extraordinary, and the thought of working under someone of their caliber filled her with both excitement and a touch of awe.

“Thank you so much,” Y/N said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m really looking forward to this.”

The HR representative smiled warmly. “Of course. Your boss is in his office now. You can head right in.”

Y/N nodded, her excitement building as she walked down the hall. She paused outside the office door, taking a deep breath and whispering another quick prayer. This was it—her big moment. The culmination of years of hard work, late nights, and unwavering determination.

She thought back to the Wayne Scholarship program, the very reason she’d been able to pursue her dreams without the crushing weight of student loans. The program, funded by billionaire Bruce Wayne, had been a lifeline for students like her, both within Gotham and beyond. It was designed to give aspiring scholars the chance to study at top institutions without financial barriers, and Y/N had been one of the lucky yet deserving recipients. From the moment she’d been awarded the scholarship, she’d dreamed of this day—the day she’d step into Wayne Enterprises as one of their own.

Now, standing outside the office of the head of the Architecture and R&D department, she felt a surge of pride. This was her chance to prove herself, to show that she deserved to be here.

With one last deep breath, she knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open. The office was spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of Gotham’s skyline. The chair behind the desk was turned away, facing the window, and the person sitting in it didn’t respond immediately.

“Good morning, sir,” Y/N said, her voice bright and professional, though her heart was pounding in her chest. She stood tall, her hands clasped neatly in front of her, trying to project confidence even as her nerves threatened to get the better of her. “I’m Y/N L/N. I just wanted to say how grateful I am for this opportunity. I’m really looking forward to working with you and contributing to the team.”

The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Her words hung in the air, unanswered. Y/N’s smile faltered slightly as the seconds ticked by. Her mind raced. Did he not hear me? Did I say something wrong? Did I somehow offend him already? The silence was deafening, and her heart strummed with nervousness, each beat louder than the last.

And then, the chair swiveled slowly.

Y/N’s heart dropped to her feet.

It was him.

Tim sat there, his familiar smirk plastered across his face, looking far too pleased with himself. Her eyes darted to the nameplate on the desk, and her stomach churned as she read the words: Timothy Drake-Wayne. She knew that name.

Bruce Wayne’s prodigy son. The one who had taken over a significant part of Wayne Enterprises at just 17. The one whose name was synonymous with brilliance, ambition, and, apparently, an infuriating knack for getting under her skin.

Of course.

Y/N stood frozen, her mind racing as the pieces fell into place. The complicated coffee orders, the smug attitude, the way he’d always seemed to be one step ahead of her—it all made sense now. The coffee shop, the recording, the way he’d toyed with her—it wasn’t just some random guy being annoying. It was him. Timothy Drake-Wayne, heir to one of the most powerful families in Gotham. Y/N wanted to crawl into her own skin. She felt exposed, like he’d been playing some elaborate game she hadn’t even realized she was a part of.

Tim leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. “Grateful, huh?”

╰ ┈➤ A/n: Comment to be added to the taglist

╰ ┈➤ Masterlist

╰ ┈➤ Tags: @hana-no-seiiki @sophiethewitch1 @swamiiyasssss @lilyalone @cxcilla @one-pea-in-a-pod @cooki3dough @misaki-kira8 @br0ke-b1tch @sukaretto-n @ferchu0406 @iamabeaner @lu-zo-san @darkflowerrebelhorse @103you @isabellamorettosworld @fictionalwhor3

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marscardigan · 2 days ago

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family line, part vii

ellie williams x fem!reader

family line masterlist

summary: falling in love with ellie was easy. it was harder to hate her once you knew she was the one hunting your sister.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: this fic doesn’t follow the original plot of the last of us part ii. canon typical violence. no use of y/n.

The world felt distant.

Your body was heavy, your head throbbed, the steady pulse of pain syncing with the dull ringing in your ears. Every breath was shallow, slow, like your lungs had forgotten how to work properly.

It took effort just to open your eyes.

The theater’s dim lighting made everything look hazy. The room smelled like old wood, and dried blood.

Your sluggish gaze dragged to the figure sitting nearby. Ellie.

She was hunched over in a chair beside the couch, elbows on her knees, fingers threaded through her hair. The moment she saw you stir, she sat up straight, her breath catching.

"You’re awake," she whispered, like she didn’t quite believe it.

You didn’t respond.

She leaned forward slightly, like she wanted to move closer but didn’t know if she should. Her green eyes swept over you, scanning for any sign of pain.

"You—uh, you lost a lot of blood," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "But I stitched you up. I'm not as good as you, but—uhm, you should be okay."

Silence.

Ellie exhaled through her nose, rubbing the back of her neck. Her fingers were still stained red in places, dried and cracked against her skin.

"You need to eat."

She reached down, grabbing a can of food from the floor. When she opened it, the soft scrape of metal felt too loud in the quiet room.

She scooped up a small bite with a spoon and held it toward you.

Nothing.

Her hand hovered in the air, waiting.

"Come on," she tried again, her voice quieter. "Just a little."

You barely had the strength to shake your head, but you did. The smell made your stomach churn, and you could still taste the metallic flavour in your throat.

Ellie swallowed. She didn’t lower the spoon right away, like she was waiting for you to change your mind. But you didn't.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back as she sat there, staring at the ceiling.

"We can’t stay here," she said finally, voice tight. "Tommy and Dina already left. It’s just us."

Still, you said nothing, your lower lip trembling as you remember Dina's bloodied face.

Ellie shifted in her seat, restless. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flexed against her jeans. Like she was holding something back.

"You’re gonna have to talk to me at some point," she muttered, not looking at you.

Your throat felt tight. You kept your gaze locked on the floor as if it was the only thing keeping you sane right now.

"Right. Okay." She stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the room before stopping at the doorway. For a moment, it seemed like she might leave. But she didn’t.

She just stood there, gripping the doorframe tightly.

"You saved my life," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just—I don’t get it. Why would you do that?"

You shut your eyes, and Ellie didn’t push for an answer.

She just let the silence hang between you, before finally turning away.

When the door clicked shut behind her, you exhaled shakily, curling in on yourself as the weight of everything pressed down all over again.

Hours passed, and even if neither of you slept, you were still weak, and Ellie was restless, moving like she was running out of time. You didn't seem to react to anything, your head numb as you looked at your shaking fingers.

"We need to leave." Her voice cut through the silence. You barely proceeded the information.

She was already grabbing supplies, checking weapons, shoving things into her bag like it was her last day on earth. Like she was expecting someone to come through that door and finish what the world had started.

You didn’t move, and her jaw clenched. "I know you can hear me."

Still, you said nothing.

A heavy exhale, and then she crouched in front of you, green eyes searching your face. "You’re in no shape to walk, but we don’t have a choice." A beat of silence. "Can you stand?"

You swallowed, your throat raw.

You should shake your head. You should say something.

But you did neither.

Ellie’s expression twisted. Maybe she was angry. Maybe she just didn’t know what to do with you.

"Okay." She nodded once, "then I’ll carry you."

You barely had time to react before she was crouching, looping one of your arms over her shoulder, and hoisting you up. Your legs nearly buckled the second your feet touched the floor, but Ellie held you up, her grip firm but careful.

She was warm. Too warm. She felt like safety, and you hated that.

Ellie sighed, shifting your weight against her. "Let’s go."

The first few hours were unbearable.

Every step sent bolts of pain through your body. Ellie stayed close, letting you lean against her when you needed to, never saying anything about how slow you were moving.

She should've left you behind. It would've been so much easier. But she didn’t.

It wasn’t until the sun was beginning to set that Ellie stopped.

"Okay, so, we’re taking a break."

She helped you lower yourself onto a fallen log, dropping her bag to the ground. You watched as she pulled out a can of food, a water bottle, and a few crumpled ration bars. She opened one and held it out to you.

You didn’t take it.

Ellie’s fingers twitched, her voice tense. "You need to eat."

Nothing.

"You haven’t said a single goddamn word since you woke up, and now you’re not even eating? What, are you trying to die?"

You didn’t flinch, didn’t react.

Ellie exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her face before crouching in front of you again. "Look. I know you’ve been through shit. I get it. But you need to eat something. Don't care if you don't even speak to me ever again, just want you to get better. Please."

Something in her voice made your chest ache.

She was trying, really hard. And you knew you weren't doing things easy for her, and she still hadn't left you.

You swallowed, your voice hoarse from not using it. "I’m not hungry."

Ellie froze. "Jesus. I was starting to think you fucking forgot how to talk."

You shifted uncomfortably.

She didn’t push you again. Just handed you the food and muttered, "Try." And so you did.

The sky was dark by the time you found the cabin.

It was small, tucked between the trees near a lake, long abandoned, but intact.

Ellie scouted ahead, checking for infected before calling you inside.

The second your legs gave out, she was there, easing you onto the old couch near the fireplace.

"We’ll stay here tonight," she murmured. "Maybe longer."

You didn’t argue. Ellie sighed, rubbing her face. "I’ll set up some traps outside. Get a fire going."

You barely heard her.

The theater was behind you. Abby was behind you. The scars, the wounds, the ghosts—they were all behind you.

But they still felt so close.

You curled into yourself on the bed, arms wrapped tightly around your legs as silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Muffled sniffles filled the quiet space, but then, you felt warmth. Two arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. When you didn't push her, she started pecking you small kisses on your back. You stopped crying moments later.

Abby’s breath was ragged by the time she reached the theater. She scanned the room, eyes darting from the old furniture to the bloodstained ground where she had left Ellie gasping for air.

Then, her gaze landed on it. Your Spider-Man comic.

It sat abandoned on a nearby chair, slightly bent at the corners, worn from the way you used to flip through it over and over again.

She swallowed, throat tight, as she reached for it with unsteady hands. The second she lifted the cover, something slipped out and fluttered to the ground.

A folded piece of paper.

Abby knew what it was before she even picked it up.

Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it, breath catching as her eyes scanned the words written in your familiar, messy handwriting.

Abby,

If you’re reading this, it means you came back, but I already left.

You don’t have to look after me anymore. You’re free now.

I will always be grateful for you; for your protection, your unconditional support, and the love you’ve given me for as long as I can remember. Thank you for shutting down my nightmares, for holding me until I stopped crying, for being my safe place when the world felt too cruel.

We’ve always been different—opposites, really. But no matter what, you’re my sister. You always will be. Our paths have been pulling us apart for a while now, and as much as it breaks my heart, I know we both have to move forward. You deserve to chase your dreams, your ambitions. And so do I.

Even if our lives take us in different directions, I know we’ll find each other again. One day, when we’re both okay.

I'm okay now. I’ll be okay. And I hope you will be too.

I love you so much.

—Bug

No. Abby’s vision blurred, the ink smudging as a single tear splashed onto the page. Then another. She sucked in a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the paper so tightly it crumpled in her grasp.

How could you say that? How could you accept this?

How could you be strong enough to walk away when she wasn’t?

She had spent her entire life making sure you were okay. She had promised to protect you, to keep you, and now… now, she was grasping at nothing.

The realization hit her in full force, a broken sob tore from her throat as her forehead was pressed against the crumpled letter as if it could somehow bring you back.

As her chest ached, she allowed herself to crumble.

The cabin smelled like pine and woodsmoke, warm and safe against the crisp autumn air outside. The morning light spilled through the window, catching the dust motes that floated lazily through the air. Outside, the lake stretched endlessly, its surface rippling with the gentle touch of the wind.

It was peaceful here. Safe.

And, for the first time in what felt like forever, home.

You stretched beneath the thick quilt, blinking against the golden sunlight as warmth pressed into your side. Ellie’s arm was draped over your waist, her breath soft against the nape of your neck. She always slept like this—like she was afraid you’d slip away if she didn’t hold you close.

You shifted slightly, feeling her stir behind you. A soft groan left her lips as she buried her face into your shoulder.

"Mm… too early," she muttered, voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut again. "You say that every morning."

She hummed in response, pulling you impossibly closer. "And I’m always right."

You let yourself sink into the warmth of her, savoring the slow, quiet morning.

It hadn’t been easy to get here.

The first few weeks had been… rough. You barely spoke. Eating was a chore, sleep was filled with nightmares, and the weight of everything that had happened clung to you both like a second skin. But Ellie never pushed. She just stayed. Kept the fire going, made sure you ate at least something, and waited.

And then, one day, the silence cracked.

It was over something small. A comment about how she sucked at fishing. And then, a quiet laugh—your own. It had been a weak, broken thing, but Ellie had looked at you like you’d just given her the goddamn world.

And after that, things got easier.

Now, eight months later, you were here. In this tiny cabin by the lake, tangled up in Ellie’s arms like it was the only place you were ever meant to be.

You turned in her arms, facing her. Her hair was a mess, auburn locks sticking out in every direction, and her face was soft, relaxed in a way that made your heart ache. You reached up, brushing a few stray strands away from her freckled cheek.

Her eyes cracked open, sleepy and hazy, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "S’not fair, waking me up just to stare at me."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re the one who came back to bed."

"Because it’s warm," she murmured, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. “And you’re here.”

Your chest ached in the best way. You knew it hadn't been easy for Ellie either. After all, you were Abby's sister, you shared blood with the one who ended Joel's life. And even if you didn't look alike, Ellie could sometimes see traces of Abby deep in your eyes. She tried to fight the image away, tell herself that it was you who was by her side, not her, but sometimes you do needed to give her some time. Because healing took time. And so did forgiveness.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the bare skin of her back. "You wanna go fishing today?" you asked.

Ellie groaned dramatically. "Ugh. Do we have to?"

"You need a shower, you kinda stink, baby."

That made her pause. Then, with a sigh, she nodded. You grinned, pressing another kiss against her hair before slipping out of bed.

Ellie groaned at the loss of warmth, but followed soon after, stretching her arms above her head before pulling on one of her flannels—yours, actually. She stole them all the time. But so did you.

The two of you fell into the rhythm of morning, moving around each other with practiced ease. Ellie stoked the fire while you grabbed your boots. She handed you a steaming mug of tea with a lopsided smile, and you swore it tasted better just because she made it.

The plan was simple: clean some clother by the lake, as Ellie tried to catch some fish. But, as always, Ellie had a way of turning even the most common tasks into something ridiculous.

You had just started washing some clothes in the metal basin outside when Ellie came up behind you, arms snaking around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. "You know, we could just let the rain wash our clothes," she mused.

You snorted. "That’s disgusting."

"Survival, baby."

You flicked some water at her, making her yelp and jump back. "Alright, now you’ve done it."

Before you could react, Ellie scooped up a handful of water and flung it at you, soaking the front of your shirt.

"Ellie!"

She cackled, dodging as you swiped at her. “Now you look good.”

"Oh, you’re so dead."

You abandoned the laundry entirely, lunging at her. She tried to escape, but you were quicker, tackling her to the ground. She groaned dramatically as she hit the dirt, laughing breathlessly as you pinned her down.

"I surrender, I surrender!" she wheezed between chuckles, her hands coming up in a weak defense.

You squinted at her, pretending to consider it. Then, leaning down, you pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose before rolling off of her with a satisfied hum.

Ellie blinked, momentarily stunned. "That’s so unfair."

You smirked. "Tough luck, babe."

She groaned, dragging a hand down her face, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

The lake shimmered under the afternoon sun, gentle ripples distorting its glassy surface as Ellie stood knee-deep in the water, her makeshift fishing spear gripped tightly in her hands. She was focused, brows furrowed, every muscle tense as she waited for the perfect moment.

You sat on the shore, leaning back on your palms, watching her with a fond smile. Ellie took everything so seriously—even catching a couple of fish for dinner had turned into some epic hunt in her mind.

Then—quick as lightning—she lunged forward, the spear slicing through the water. A second later, she yanked it back, grinning triumphantly as a decent-sized fish flailed at the end of it.

"Would ya look at that!" she called, holding it up for you to see. "Told you I’m a pro now."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Baby, you literally missed the last four times."

"Yeah, but this time I didn’t," she shot back, wading back toward the shore. "Which makes me officially the greatest fisher in this whole damn lake."

You raised a brow. "I think the bears might have you beat."

Ellie plopped down next to you, dropping the fish into the bucket beside her before nudging your shoulder, pouting. "Shut up and be impressed."

You only hummed in response, your gaze drifting from her to your hand, where the silver band on your finger caught the sunlight.

The ring had been Ellie's discovery—something she’d found months ago while the two of you were scavenging through an old house. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple band, slightly worn, but the meaning it had was priceless.

She hadn’t even asked. Just got down on one knee right then and there, dirt on her jeans, a shit-eating grin on her face as she held it up to you.

'So,' she had said, 'you wanna be stuck with me forever or what?'

It was the easiest question you’d ever answered.

You twisted the ring absentmindedly, smiling softly.

Ellie noticed. "Whatcha lookin’ at?"

You lifted your hand, showing her the ring proudly.

Ellie’s lips quirked up. "Admiring my excellent taste?"

"Just thinking," you murmured, scooting closer, "that technically, I’m Mrs. Williams now."

Ellie blinked, her smirk faltering for half a second before her entire face lit up. "Holy shit."

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You just called yourself Mrs. Williams," she said, her voice laced with pure delight.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. "Well… yeah. That is what happens when you get married."

Ellie practically tackled you, sending you both tumbling onto the grass as she hovered over you, her hands on either side of your face. "Say it again."

You snorted. "Ellie—"

"Say it again."

You bit your lip, pretending to think about it before whispering, "Mrs. Williams."

Ellie groaned dramatically, dropping her forehead against yours. "God, I love you."

You giggled, running your fingers through her damp hair. "Yeah, yeah. I know."

She pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes soft and full of something that made your chest ache in the best way. "You are really stuck with me now," she murmured.

You brushed your nose against hers. "Wouldn’t want it any other way."

Ellie grinned before capturing your lips in a kiss, slow and sweet, the kind that made the rest of the world disappear.

Back inside, your wife stood at the small kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up as she attempted to prepare lunch.

"Told you I can cook," she said, carefully chopping up some carrots with a look of pure concentration plastered in her face.

You leaned against the doorway, watching with amused skepticism. "You burnt canned soup last week."

"That was one time."

You snorted but let her continue, stepping in only when she nearly cut her finger for the third time. "Okay, okay, move over before you lose a hand."

She huffed but let you take over, leaning against the counter as she watched. "Y’know, I think I like watching you cook more than actually doing it."

"Oh yeah?"

She grinned. "Yeah. It’s hot."

You flicked a piece of carrot at her. "Go set the table, you perv."

She laughed, dodging the attack, but did as she was told.

After dinner, the two of you settled on the couch, Ellie stretching out with her head in your lap as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair. She hummed softly, eyes fluttering shut.

"Mm… this is nice," she murmured sleepily.

You smiled, brushing your thumb along her temple. "Yeah. It is."

Silence settled between you, warm and comfortable. Ellie shifted slightly, her arm draping over your waist as she nuzzled into you.

And just like that, whatever plans you had for the rest of the night faded away. The world outside could wait.

For now, it was just you and Ellie, wrapped up in the kind of peace neither of you ever thought you’d get to have.

a/n: did someone said... DOMESTIC ELLIE???? I did. It was me. I love her. Also, next chapter is kinda going to be the last one... I'm actually so sad bc i love this series with my heart, but I swear I'll give you an ending to remember :)

taglist !

@kaykeryyy @vahnilla @autisticintr0vert @leavemeinthewater @alexandra-001 @liasxeatt @urge-to @catrapplesauces @jhyoos @womenlover0 @sevyscoven @antobooh @brooks-lin @sleepingwasp @iamhellagae @moki-nat

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mediocre-shark-tales · 2 days ago

Text

The Worst Weekend Ever

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

Trigger Warning - Death + Grief + Panic Attack

I sat motionless in my room, staring blankly at the screen in front of me.

P18.

The number felt like a punch to the gut every time I looked at it. I blinked hard, but it didn’t change. No last-minute miracle, no sudden jump up the order. Just me, stuck in a position I had no business being in.

This was shaping up to be one of my worst weekends. A sprint weekend, which meant I had only one practice session—one chance to figure out how the car handled on this track. And I had blown it.

I should have done better.

I needed to do better.

I had spent the entire offseason working harder than I ever had before, refining my skills, studying every weakness in my driving. I wasn’t supposed to be fighting just to stay out of last place.

A tightness grew in my chest, heavier than the bruises and cracked ribs from last weekend's crash. I swallowed hard, but the feeling didn’t go away. I could hear the voices creeping in, whispering doubts that I had spent years learning to drown out.

Maybe you’re not as good as you think you are.Maybe they were right—maybe you never should have been here in the first place.

I shook my head, trying to push them down, but it was like trying to fight a riptide.

I exhaled sharply, my hands clenched into fists against my legs. I needed to focus on what I could control. I needed to do something. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was suffocating in my own helplessness.

What if this was it? What if I had hit my limit?

No. I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t afford to think like that.

I forced myself to stand, ignoring the way my body screamed in protest. It didn’t matter how much I hurt. It didn’t matter how much my mind was turning against me.

I had to fix this. Somehow.

Sprint Qualifying was next. This was where I turned things around.

I would push myself and the car to the absolute limit. That was how I fixed this. That was the only way I could fix this.

The countdown to the session ticked away on the garage screen. Ten minutes. My hands tightened into fists as I rolled my shoulders, wincing at the dull ache still lingering in my ribs. I didn’t have time to dwell on pain, frustration, or doubt. My job was simple—get in the car and drive.

As I suited up, my mind drifted to my uncle. He was coming tomorrow to watch qualifying for the Grand Prix. He had always been one of my biggest supporters, never questioning whether I belonged here. He believed in me even on the days when I struggled to believe in myself.

I wanted to make him proud. I wanted to dedicate a good finish to him.

But for that to happen, I needed to get my head straight.

This weekend wasn’t going as planned, but I had to be smart about it. If I wasn’t fighting for points in the sprint, then I needed to use it for something else. If I could pinpoint exactly where I was losing time—where my weaknesses were—then I could make sure tomorrow’s real qualifying session would be different.

This was a long game. I wasn’t out of it yet.

The sun hung low over the circuit as I strapped into the car, my visor reflecting the floodlights beginning to glow around the track. The team went through final checks, and then I was given the all-clear to leave the garage.

The moment I rolled onto the track, everything else faded. The noise, the tension, even the pressure clawing at the edges of my mind—it all disappeared. All that mattered was the car beneath me and the road ahead.

I took my warm-up lap steady, weaving slightly to get heat into the tires before opening it up. My first push lap wasn’t aggressive—I needed clean data, a starting point to build from.

The car felt better than it had this morning, but it still wasn’t perfect. The front end wasn’t biting into the corners the way I wanted, and I felt like I was scrubbing off too much speed mid-corner.

I noted it. Adjusted. Went again.

By the time the final runs of SQ1 began, I was sitting right on the edge of safety. I needed to improve. I could improve.

I took a deep breath and started my final lap.

The first sector was smooth—I hit every apex and carried more speed into Turn 4 than I had all session. The middle sector was where I needed to be precise, and I adjusted my braking points just enough to feel the difference. The car wanted to fight me, but I forced it to stay clean, to stay fast.

As I crossed the line, my engineer’s voice crackled over the radio.

"That’s enough, you’re through. Good work."

I exhaled. One step forward.

SQ2 was a different beast. The track was ramping up, getting faster with every lap. I pushed, but so did everyone else.

My first run placed me 14th. The car still wasn’t responding the way I wanted, but I was finding ways to work with it rather than against it. I adjusted again for my second attempt, braking just a fraction later into Turn 1, trusting the grip to hold through the high-speed corners.

It worked—13th place flashed on my dashboard as I crossed the line.

That was it.

Not spectacular. Not terrible. But workable.

I unbuckled and climbed out of the car, pulling my gloves off as I walked back toward the garage.

The result didn’t spark any overwhelming emotions—it was just another piece of the puzzle.

Tomorrow, when my uncle arrives, I will be ready.

Tomorrow, I will be better.

The sun was high in the sky as I walked through the paddock the next morning, the air a little warmer than yesterday. The weight on my shoulders had lightened slightly overnight, my mood lifted by the thought that today I had a real chance to improve. Yesterday had been a challenge, but it was behind me now. Today, I had the opportunity to prove myself all over again.

As I made my way toward the garage, I couldn't help but feel a spark of hope. My uncle would be here soon, and I wanted to show him that all of his years of support hadn’t been in vain. I would show him that I belonged here—no more doubts, no more holding back.

But just as I reached the entrance of the garage, I was stopped by the familiar sight of a few camera flashes and the hum of reporters waiting for their moment. The media team had warned me there would be interviews, but I wasn’t expecting the barrage I faced as I stepped out of the car and into the paddock.

I steeled myself. Time to put on the mask of my persona.

The first reporter approached, microphone in hand. His expression was professional, but his question, sharp and pointed.

"Ghost, you’ve had a tough weekend so far. You’re not inside the points like you usually are. What do you think went wrong?"

I exhaled slowly, the words coming from him more of a jab than a question. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked this, and I doubted it would be the last.

I forced an optimistic vocal tone, trying to keep my composure. "It’s a long season, and not every race is going to go exactly as planned. We’re working hard to find what we need to improve on. Every lap is a learning experience, and we’ll take that into account for tomorrow’s race."

The reporter raised an eyebrow. "But you’re usually so consistent, always inside the top 10. You’ve been a regular contender for the points since the start of the season. Do you think this is a sign that your team, or perhaps your driving, isn’t as strong as it was at the beginning?"

His words were veiled, but the insinuation was clear. I could feel my jaw tightening, but I maintained my calm. I had to.

"Every team has their ups and downs," I said, keeping my tone level. "We’re always pushing to improve, and sometimes it takes a few races to find the right balance. As for my driving—I’m always looking for ways to do better. That’s the nature of the sport."

I stepped away quickly, the smile fading as the next reporter moved in, the tension in the air thickening with every question.

This time, the reporter was from one of the major networks. She wasted no time, cutting straight to the heart of the issue.

"Ghost, after your results so far, do you think your seat is in jeopardy? There’s been a lot of talk about new, younger drivers getting their chance inside the teams. Can you still hold your own in this competitive field?"

I could feel the fire burning in my chest, but I swallowed it back.

“My focus is on the race. That’s all that matters to me. I’m not concerned about speculation or rumors. We’re here to race, and I’m doing everything I can to contribute to the team’s success. As for the competition, it’s fierce, and that’s exactly what makes this sport exciting. It pushes all of us to be better."

The reporter pressed on, clearly not satisfied with the answer. "But with your performance dipping, could that affect your standing in the team? If you aren’t consistently bringing in results, could a change be coming sooner than expected?"

I wasn’t sure if it was the question itself or the underlying insinuation, but I could feel the walls in my mind start to close in. The words hit harder than they should have, and I found myself mentally retreating just a little.

“I’m focusing on getting through the weekend and learning from each session. Nothing more, nothing less,” I replied curtly, forcing my body language to stay professional.

She nodded, but her tone wasn’t finished. "So, it’s just about surviving the season now, then?" she asked, almost tauntingly.

I could feel the heat of frustration rising, the edge in her voice grating against the calm I’d worked so hard to maintain. But I kept it together, offering one final tight nod before I turned away.

A few minutes passed, and I found myself standing in front of another reporter. This time, it was someone I knew better, someone who often asked tough questions, but without the hidden agenda. Still, even his words had a certain sharpness to them today.

"Ghost, given the struggles you’ve faced this weekend, and the pressure that comes with not being in the points, do you feel like you’re underperforming? Do you have anything else to prove?"

I took a deep breath, my patience fraying but still intact.

"Look," I said, leaning forward just slightly. "There’s always something to prove in this sport. But I know my worth, and I know what I’m capable of. We’ve all been in moments of doubt. What matters is how you handle it when everything feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. This season is long, and I’m not giving up. We have one goal: to keep improving, one race at a time."

The reporter nodded, sensing the shift in my tone, and finally let me go.

I walked away from the media area, my thoughts spinning. I had done my best to keep it together, to shield myself from the prying eyes and the harsh questions. But as I left the paddock and made my way to the garage, the weight of it all began to settle in. These questions, these insinuations—they weren’t just about the race anymore. They were about something deeper. They were about me.

The doubt that had been planted by those questions was harder to shake than I would’ve liked. But I wasn’t going to let it break me. Not yet.

I couldn’t afford to let it.

Tomorrow was another day, and I still had everything to fight for.

—

The sprint race was over. P13. Right where I started the race.

It felt like a punch to the gut. I had fought for every inch of the track, every position, every opportunity to gain just one more place, but it hadn’t been enough. I was stagnant. Stuck. I kept telling myself that qualifying would be better. Tomorrow, I will be better in the real race.

I sat in my driver’s room, still in my fireproofs, my arms resting on my knees as I stared at the floor, trying to calm my mind. I wasn’t happy, but I was trying—trying—to hold onto the sliver of hope that qualifying would give me another chance.

Then my phone rang.

I glanced at the screen, my stomach twisting when I saw my mother’s name. She never called. Ever.

I hesitated before answering. “Hello?”

She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. Didn’t even give me a moment to brace myself. Her voice was cold, detached, yet somehow heavier than I’d ever heard it.

"Your uncle was in an accident on the way to the Grand Prix. He passed away a few minutes ago."

The words hit me like a sledgehammer.

My breath caught in my throat. My chest tightened, my heart stopped, my whole world tilted—no, no, no.

I gripped the phone tighter, knuckles going white. "What?" My voice cracked. My brain refused to process the words.

"It was sudden," she continued, as if that made it any easier. "He was on his way to watch Jack race. The doctors said there was nothing they could do."

I couldn’t breathe. Jack. She thinks he was going to see Jack.

Because she didn’t know. She didn’t know the truth.

She didn’t know that I was the one he was coming to watch. That I was the reason he had been on that road. That I was the reason—

I pressed a hand to my chest, struggling to suck in air.

"You needed to be told. Your father and I expect you to be home for the funeral. Don’t make this difficult."

And then the line went dead.

I didn’t move. I didn’t blink.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just empty silence ringing in my ears, an eerie void swallowing me whole. Then, all at once, it hit me.

A choked breath. A sharp inhale. Then the first sob tore through my throat.

I dropped my phone, barely hearing it clatter to the floor as I hunched forward, my hands pressing into my face as the floodgates burst.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to see me race. He was supposed to see me prove that all of his belief in me wasn’t misplaced.

I gasped for air, but it came in shuddering, broken pieces, as if my lungs had forgotten how to function. My hands trembled violently as I clawed at my chest, as if I could physically rip out the pain sitting there, crushing me from the inside.

He was gone. Just like that.

The only person who had always believed in me. The only one in my family who had ever truly supported me. Who had told me I could do this. Who had fought for me when no one else would.

Gone.

I pressed my forehead against my knees, curling in on myself, as if I could somehow disappear into the darkness that was swallowing me whole.

I was utterly, devastatingly alone.

Nico burst into the room, breathless, his usual calm demeanor shattered by the sound of my broken sobs. His eyes scanned the room in a split second, landing on me curled up on the couch, shaking violently. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He didn’t press for answers. He just moved.

He crouched in front of me, his hands hovering slightly, unsure of where or if he should touch me. “Hey, hey—breathe. Just breathe, y/n. Look at me.” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it, a sharp contrast to my ragged, gasping breaths.

But I couldn’t breathe. My chest was too tight, my lungs refusing to expand properly. Every inhale felt like knives scraping against my ribs, and my head spun so violently I thought I might pass out.

Nico sat beside me, his movements careful, calculated. “Okay. Okay. In for four, hold for four, out for four,” he instructed, demonstrating the rhythm himself. “C’mon, just follow me.”

I tried. I really did. But all I could do was choke on another sob, my vision blurry, my body trembling so hard my fingers tingled from the lack of oxygen.

His hand finally landed on my shoulder, firm and grounding. “I’ve got you, alright? You’re safe. Whatever it is, you’re not alone. Just try—try to slow down.”

A sharp vibration rattled against the coffee table, cutting through the room like a blade. My phone.

Nico glanced at it before his jaw tightened. Jack Doohan.

The name on the screen nearly sent me spiraling all over again.

He knows. He was just told.

I sucked in a sharp, uneven breath as the call went to voicemail.

Two seconds later, it rang again.

Nico’s expression darkened as he grabbed the phone and flipped it over, silencing it. “Not now,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

But he wasn’t the one being suffocated by the weight of that name.

It rang again.

Each time, it was like another twist of the knife in my chest, another reminder of the cruel reality I had just been thrown into.

Nico ignored it again. And again.

The fourth time, it finally stopped.

Silence filled the room again, save for my shaky breaths and Nico’s quiet murmurs as he kept coaching me through it, kept anchoring me down when everything inside me was spiraling.

Minutes passed, but it felt like hours before the storm inside me dulled to a distant roar instead of an all-consuming void. My breaths were still shaky, my body still weak, but at least I wasn’t choking on air anymore.

Only then did Nico speak, his voice gentle but unwavering. “Y/n, what happened?”

I couldn’t answer.

I just stared at the wall, hollow, empty, my entire existence shattered into a million pieces at my feet.

I swallowed thickly, my throat raw, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of my breakdown. The weight of Nico’s question pressed down on me like a boulder, and for a long moment, I couldn’t force the words out.

But he just waited. Patient. Steady. Not pushing, not demanding—just there.

Finally, with a shuddering inhale, I forced the truth past my lips.

“My uncle…” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “He was coming here… but there was an accident.”

Nico’s brows furrowed, the warmth in his eyes flickering with something heavier.

I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “He—he didn’t make it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Nico’s face fell, and for a moment, I saw him crack—just a little. Just enough to tell me that this hit him too.

Because he knew.

He knew my uncle wasn’t just some distant relative. He was the person who had believed in me from the very start. The one who had vouched for me when everyone said I was too young, too reckless, too out of place in IndyCar. The one who had been standing right there when Nico first approached me, offering to help shape my career.

He knew.

And now, my biggest supporter is gone.

Nico exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before shifting closer, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “I’m so damn sorry, y/n.”

I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak.

He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but instead, he just rested a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “You don’t have to do anything right now. Just breathe, alright?”

I tried. God, I tried.

But the emptiness inside me was too vast, too suffocating.

Neither of us noticed the figure lingering just outside the doorway, as they were gone before we even had a chance to notice. Nor did we hear the quick footsteps leaving the hallway.

—

The fireproof balaclava felt suffocating as I pulled it over my head, the fabric clinging to my skin as if it knew—as if it knew—that I was barely holding myself together beneath it. The helmet followed, locking me back into the Ghost persona. A shield. A mask. A way to separate myself from the weight pressing down on my chest like a lead weight.

I could not afford to think about my uncle. I could not afford to let the grief consume me.

I had a job to do.

Just make it through qualifying.

I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing my mind to quiet as I ventured out of my driver's room. My gloved fingers flexed at my sides as I glanced up, my gaze instinctively sweeping across the garage.

And then I froze.

Franco was watching me.

He was still gearing up, pulling his balaclava over his head, but his eyes—those damn eyes—never left me. There was no usual smug amusement, no relaxed indifference.

Just worry.

A deep, unwavering concern that made something tighten painfully in my chest.

This wasn’t like him, he was never obvious with his feelings towards me unless it was unbridled hatred or frustration.

No.

This felt… different.

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering beneath my skin.

But before I could do anything—before I could try to gauge what had made him look at me ike this—I heard my name being called over the radio.

"Ghost, let’s get you in the car."

I blinked hard, yanking my gaze away.

Right. I didn’t have time for this.

I moved quickly, stepping toward my car as the mechanics guided me into the cockpit, the familiar routine of being strapped in grounding me for a brief moment. The belts tightened, the halo locked into place. The world outside my visor blurred, reduced to nothing but focus points.

Just make it through qualifying.

I exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel.

And don’t drown before the checkered flag.

The engine roared to life beneath me, vibrations rattling through my body as I rolled out of the garage and onto the pit lane. The world beyond my visor was a blur of color and motion, but inside the car, inside Ghost, everything narrowed to a singular focus.

I had to do well today.

I needed to do well today.

The out-lap was automatic, muscle memory guiding me through the motions as I weaved to get heat into the tires. My grip on the wheel was tight, but not out of fear—not yet. It was controlled. It was a necessity. It was the only thing keeping my mind from spiraling back to him, to the phone call, to the way my chest felt like it had been hollowed out and left to collapse in on itself.

The radio crackled in my ear. "All right, Ghost, let’s push. Track is yours."

I swallowed hard and dropped the hammer.

The car jolted as I slammed on the throttle, the engine screaming as I surged forward. The first flying lap was clean, precise—but not perfect.

Too careful on turn three. Overcompensated in the final sector.

I gritted my teeth, barely listening to the times coming through the radio. P8 at the moment, but there were still faster cars out there. Faster laps to come. I had more to give.

Another push lap.

Another shot at control.

I forced myself to feel the car. To let the machine be an extension of myself, something I could command instead of something I was simply inside of. Each movement was deliberate, every fraction of a second shaved off adding to the fire simmering beneath my skin. I needed this. I needed to prove—

To who?

I clenched my jaw.

To myself. To him.

The second lap was better. Cleaner. More aggressive. I took the corners like I was carving my way through battle, attacking the apexes with precision. It wasn’t just about surviving this session anymore. It wasn’t just about making it to the next round.

This was about honoring him.

If he couldn’t be here to see me race, then I would make damn sure he was watching from wherever he was.

"P6, Ghost. Good lap."

A flicker of something warm lit in my chest, but I buried it deep. No time for relief. No time for hope.

Q2 came next.

The pressure mounted with each passing second, the fight for position growing more brutal. I could feel the others pushing harder, shaving off thousandths of a second, squeezing every ounce of performance from their machines. I pushed right back, wringing everything from the car, throwing myself into each lap like it was the last thing I’d ever do.

"You're on the line, Ghost. Need a good final push."

I inhaled sharply.

One last chance.

The tires were hot, the car alive beneath me. My hands were steady as I attacked the lap, finding time in the places I’d hesitated before. The final sector approached, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

"Come on, come on…"

The car crossed the line.

"P9, you're through to Q3."

I exhaled, the weight on my chest lifting just enough for me to breathe.

One more round to go.

Q3 was always a warzone. This was where the fastest, the best, fought for their spots at the top of the grid. I wasn’t here just to participate—I was here to claim my place.

I rolled onto the track for my first attempt, the nerves returning for just a second before I crushed them beneath the sheer force of need.

The car danced on the edge of control, skimming past track limits but never crossing them. I pushed deeper, braked later, and fought harder.

The lap was good. Not pole-worthy, but good.

"P7 for now, Ghost. One more run."

One more chance.

One more lap to cement my place.

I clenched my jaw and launched out of the pits for my final attempt. My heart pounded, my vision tunneling as I attacked each sector with everything I had left.

Turn one. Perfect.

Turn three. A slight oversteer correction, but still fast.

Sector two. Holding strong.

The final corners came, and I could almost feel him there.

Watching. Supporting.

I crossed the line.

"P6. That’s it. That’s all we’ve got."

The radio went quiet.

I exhaled, my chest tightening with a mix of emotions I wasn’t ready to face.

It wasn’t pole. It wasn’t a podium start.

But it was a damn good result.

And this one was for him.

The walk to the media pen felt longer than usual, each step weighed down by exhaustion that wasn’t just physical. The adrenaline from qualifying was fading, and in its place was a cold emptiness that gnawed at the edges of my mind. My body moved on autopilot, my helmet still on, my breaths slow and deliberate.

I barely registered the journalists waiting for us, their cameras trained on me like vultures circling their next meal.

"Ghost, was P6 a fluke after such a disastrous weekend?"

"Is this a sign of inconsistency? You went from struggling to even break into the points yesterday to suddenly starting in the top six. What changed?"

"Was it just luck today?"

"Some people think this proves you’re not as strong as the other top drivers—what do you say to that?"

The words hit like dull blows, one after the other, relentless. I could hear them, process them, but they barely registered beyond a distant buzz in my skull. My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I wasn’t sure if it was the grief pressing down on my chest, or the exhaustion from the emotional storm I’d barely made it through, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

The world blurred around me.

I stared past the reporters, my mind slipping, detaching from the moment as my breathing became shallow inside the helmet. I knew I should say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

Then, something warm pressed against the center of my back—light, grounding.

I blinked hard. The fog thinned just enough for me to realize what had happened. Franco had stepped closer, his hand barely touching me through my suit, but the presence of it—solid, reassuring—was enough to pull me back.

He was still mid-interview, but his voice had changed, sharper than before.

"You know, it’s funny how quick people are to doubt a driver," Franco said, loud enough that I knew he was speaking for my sake as much as for the cameras. His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, something firm and unyielding. "A lot of you were asking where his pace was earlier, and now that he’s found it, you’re questioning if he deserves it? You can’t have it both ways."

A few reporters shifted awkwardly. I heard my name again, but Franco wasn’t done.

"Ghost has proven time and time again that he belongs on the track. One bad day doesn’t erase talent. And if you think today’s performance was luck, then you haven’t been paying attention."

Silence followed, just for a second.

I let out a slow breath.

The warmth of Franco’s hand vanished as he pulled back, but the effect lingered. My grip on reality felt a little steadier now, my heartbeat not as erratic.

I turned my head slightly toward him, still saying nothing, but he didn’t need words to understand. He just gave me a small nod before turning back to his own interview.

And for the first time in hours, I didn’t feel completely alone.

The hotel room was dark, the only light coming from the dim glow of the city outside the window. I lay sprawled across the bed, still in my base layers, my limbs heavy and unmoving. The adrenaline from the day had fully drained, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and a mind that refused to be quiet.

I stared at the ceiling, thoughts swirling too fast to catch hold of. My uncle was gone. I wasn’t supposed to find out this way. I wasn’t supposed to feel this alone.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through the silence. I flinched before turning my head to see the name flashing on the screen.

Jack.

My stomach twisted. He had stopped calling earlier, but now he was trying again. And I knew if I ignored him, he would just keep trying.

With a deep breath, I forced my voice into something steady before answering.

"Hey."

"Finally," he sighed, the relief obvious in his tone. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Busy," I replied instantly, the lie automatic. "Work’s been crazy. You know how it is."

"Right," Jack said, but there was something in his voice—something suspicious. "And what exactly does your super-secret job even have you doing this late at night?"

"You wouldn’t understand," I muttered, rolling onto my side, staring at the wall.

Jack let out a small huff. "Try me."

I hesitated. I could make up something boring, something that would keep him from digging deeper. But I was so tired. So tired of pretending.

"I’m just… trying to keep everything running smoothly." It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

Jack was silent for a moment, then his tone softened. "You sound like shit."

I swallowed hard.

"Yeah, well," I forced out, "it’s been a long day."

Jack was quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t hesitation. It was understanding.

"You found out, huh?" he asked gently.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Yeah."

Jack let out a slow breath. "I was gonna call you sooner, but I figured Mom got to you first."

"She did."

"I still can’t believe it." His voice cracked just slightly, but he covered it up quickly. "It doesn’t feel real. One second, he was on his way to watch the race, and the next…" He trailed off.

I bit down on my lip hard. He thought our uncle had been coming to see him. That was the lie our mother had told. And I couldn’t correct him.

"I know," I whispered.

Jack exhaled sharply, shaking off the grief just enough to switch gears. "Listen, I know we haven’t seen each other in forever, but the funeral’s in a month. I know everything’s a mess right now, but at least… we’ll see each other. It’s been way too long."

Three years. That was how long it had been since we had last been in the same place at the same time. Three years since I left, since I let everyone believe I had moved away for some prestigious academic opportunity when in reality, I had chased my real dream—with my uncle by my side.

And now he was gone.

"Yeah," I murmured. "It has been."

Jack let out a small chuckle, the kind that barely masked the sadness underneath. "I’m actually kinda excited. Even with… everything."

I squeezed my eyes shut, guilt pressing down like a weight on my chest. He had no idea. No idea that I had been right there at the same racetrack as him. No idea that I wasn’t some office worker drowning in spreadsheets, but the very driver he had tangled with on track before.

"Me too," I lied.

Jack sighed. "Look, just… take care of yourself, okay? I know you like to act like you’ve got everything under control, but I can hear it in your voice. Don’t shut down. Don’t let this wreck you."

Too late.

"I’ll be fine, Jack," I said, forcing a bit of strength into my tone. "You don’t have to worry about me."

"You’re my little sister. Of course I do."

I nearly flinched at the word—sister. He said it so easily, so casually, completely unaware of how much weight it carried.

"I’ll see you soon, okay?" he added.

"Yeah. See you soon."

Jack hesitated like he wanted to say more. But then, he just sighed. "Night, kid."

The line went dead.

I dropped the phone onto the bed beside me, staring blankly at the ceiling.

My uncle was gone.

My brother was expecting to see me.

And I was drowning.

Taglist: @widow-cevans @honethatty12 @wierdflowerpower @imlonelydontsendhelp

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