#i wrote a million words and said NOTHING
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ni-kol-koru ¡ 2 years ago
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KnB 30-Days Challenge
Day 5 : Your OTP
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🍍 Miyaji × Hayama ⚡️
Many consider this a crack ship. It is mostly because the characters have less than 5 minutes worth of interactions and those interactions aren't really special or cheesy in any way. So, where exactly does this ship come from? What exactly gave us the shippy feels? Personally... I don't know. I was thinking about it a lot, but I seriously have no idea. One day I just woke up and I shipped them. And I still do. It has been around 7 years since this is one of my favorite ships, and I have no clue how it all even started.
Still, I would love to share my views on this very unlikely couple. More precisely, I would like to explain how I think their relationship started, what their relationship looks like, how long their relationship lasts...
After the Shūtoku-Rakuzan match in the WinterCup, Kiyoshi just couldn't stop thinking about his opponent for the game. Kotarō was just incredible and talented, and Kiyoshi hated how useless he was against him. He loved basketball, and that defeat hurt him deeply. Instead of sitting in his room and crying about it, he decided to practice more, become better and face Kotarō again. This time, he would do better, not necessarily beat him, just not feel as useless. He promised that to himself!
He was a graduate student at that time and when college preparations, graduation and all the formalities hit him, he had no choice but to forget about facing Kotarō for a while.
When college started, everything went quite well for him and he continued playing basketball. Practicing harder than ever, one day, he felt ready, and all he had to do was meet up with Kotarō. It was easy! Kotarō was pretty pleasantly surprised when Kiyoshi sent him a message, and he quickly accepted to meet up with him in Tokyo. After all, Kotarō is a pretty social and friendly person and making another friend is something he always looks forwards to! He was also summoned for a rematch in basketball, and that sounded pretty fun!
They met up that weekend and played some one-on-one. In the end, the result was similar to the one from almost a year ago. Kotarō easily won, except that this time Kiyoshi felt better about himself and did a better job. Of course, Kotarō noticed that, so he complimented him and expressed that he would love to play more with Kiyoshi. At that moment, Kiyoshi felt pretty proud of himself, and of course, he agreed to have more matches with Kotarō!
They would meet up on weekends, when both found time to see each other and travel to each other's cities. They had so much fun with each other playing basketbal that they started seeing each other more often. After some time, they started doing other things, like going out to cafés, going sightseeing in the area, going on walks... Being in Kotarō's presence was like a drug to Kiyoshi. He was such a positive guy, always smiling, always searching for ways to have fun, he was so funny and adventurous and hanging out with him after an exhausting week was so refreshing... Seeing Kotarō became something that he was looking forward to every day and his go-to plan for every weekend.
Though, Kotarō was a graduate student this year, and he and Kiyoshi started hanging out less and less since he couldn't find enough time with all the college preparations. They were both pretty sad about it, but there was nothing they could do other than accept it. Kiyoshi realised that his life was rather boring and dull without Kotarō, and he took some time to reflect on how he really felt when he was around him. He was always pretty happy, but also a little nervous, he wanted to be around him a lot, he really cared about his opinions, he wanted to see him smile, impress him by making a good joke, looking good or playing well, he talked about him a lot and now he was thinking about him so much... After Googling his symptoms the almighty Internet diagnosed him with having a crush. Well. That explained everything.
Every time he got a message from Kotarō informing him he has time to meet up over the weekend, his heart would skip a beat. Ever since the day he realised he might have a crush, every time they saw each other it was just becoming more obvious to him. He was really crushing hard. He didn't really want to make it that obvious though, so he started acting a little... Tsundere. He really thought it was a good mask.
At last, when the college stuff was over for Kotarō, they could finally see each other all the time again, and they were both so excited for that! The greatest news ever struck Kiyoshi when he saw Kotarō right after his finals. He wrote in a college in Tokyo! Now, that meant that in a couple of months they would live in the same city and could hang whenever they felt like it.
That time came by soon, and ever since the first day Kotarō moved in, they started hanging out almost every day. But what was Kiyoshi supposed to do now? The more time they spent together, the more he was falling in love and the harder it was for him to wear the fake mask. He would make the first move now, but he was not sure how Kotarō felt about them.
Kotarō knew Kiyoshi liked him, it was painfully obvious. Though, at first, he only loved the attention Kiyoshi was giving him, how Kiyoshi was always so excited to see him and how he looked at him with some strange eyes. After some time, he started finding it cute, and he loved seeing Kiyoshi like that, so silly because he had a crush oh him. It was a little funny how he was trying to hide it and failing miserably, but it was still so sweet! He grew to really love being around Kiyoshi, he loved feeling important to someone and he always felt so appreciated and loved, he also thought Kiyoshi was smart and cool and pretty... He soon figured out that he probably had a litttle crush as well!
Great! Well, Kotarō knew that they both liked each other, and Kiyoshi seemed too unsure about making the first step, so Kotarō decided that he was going to do it. It wasn't that hard for an easy-going person like him.
'Hey, I know you like me, you can stop pretending you don't. You know, I really like you, too... Wanna be boyfriends, maybe?'
Kotarō said that on a completely random day, in the most random moment ever. Of course, after hearing that Kiyoshi was rather confused. Kotarō has known all along? He liked him, too? He thought he was dreaming. Before he collected himself and opened his mouth to say something, he felt a hand placed on top of his.
'Sooo, what do you say?'
Kotarō was looking up at him expectantly with his eyes shinning. Kiyoshi's words failed him and all he could do was just kiss his cute face. And just like that, they became boyfriends!
Just like every relationship, the first few months were just incredible. Magical. They were so in love, they were getting along really well and didn't argue much, just bicker from time to time, they had a lot of fun, went on cute dates, bought each other gifts, went places together, they had told their friends and everybody was supportive of them! It was just like a dream! They really, truly enjoyed being with each other... Until life hit.
Ever since the moment Kiyoshi knew Kotarō was his boyfriend, the silliness of having a crush was slowly, but surely, starting to wash away and now that it was secured that Kotarō loved him, he felt comfortable with being himself. His irritable side, that he didn't really show that much before, was starting to become more and more prominent. A Kiyoshi in a bad mood was not something impossible that Kotarō couldn't stand or deal with. He knew his ways to cheer his sad partner up, or calm him down when he was angry. Kotarō was pretty tolerant and really tried his best to be a good boyfriend to Kiyoshi in those moods. After all, they were a couple and they promised that they will always be together, in happiness and in sadness, understand each other and love each other. He had a lot of patience and loved the relationship.
Though, Kiyoshi's moods kept getting worse and worse, mostly because of college and stress, and Kotarō, who was also in a similar situation with academic pressure sitting right on his lungs, who was in his first year of college and had a hard time adapting to the new pace of life, started slowly losing the patience. They started fighting more and more and bickering over little things all the time. Since they are both rather short-tempered, in the heat of an arguement they would sometimes say things they didn't really mean, especially Kiyoshi with his foul language, and hurt each other. Kotarō was not exactly honey, especially when he felt attacked, so whenever Kiyoshi would hurt his feelings and attack him, his vengeful side would wake up. It wasn't anything special, because Kotarō didn't really want to hurt the person he loved badly. It was some small things, but it was still unpleasant.
They knew things were done when they stopped apologising to each other and created a lot of negative energy. Still, they decided to talk. They really wanted to do something about the current situation, save their relationship somehow. In the end, they agreed that they loved each other and cared for each other deeply, that they had a great time and enjoyed the relationship, but that it was probably just the wrong time. They agreed to part ways for a while, maybe it would turn out to be forever, but they couldn't know that.
Congratulations if you are reading this now and thank you for your patience. This is the shortened version but still it is too long, I promise I won't write a post this long again!
Anyways, this is how it goes in my head. I really tried to explain a lot of things here because I found that my view of this ship is quite different from the common dynamic. I enjoy this ship like this. I quite love the idea of them just being young adults and having fun, forgetting about their not so good past where Kiyoshi had one sided beef with Kotarō, but also finding each other because of it. I also live for the idea of Kiyoshi having a soft spot for someone and becoming this silly confused dork, something very unexpected and unusual for him. The most obvious person that anyone would have a soft spot for is a person like Kotarō. He is just like a puppy, or a kitten.
Still, I can't see them last long, no matter how much I love them. After the 'everything is perfect I am so in love phase' they just learn they don't naturally get along. They are too similar in that one way: short-temper combined with pride. When their arguements break out and they hurt each other with their words, sometimes they feel too much pride and just skip the applogy part. Even if they feel really bad about what they said... Also, college is tough, especially in first year when one is supposed to adapt to this whole new schooling style and, in Kotarō's case, whole new city. Naturally, he went a little crazy. Kiyoshi is always a little crazy so that is why their arguements start getting bad.
Maybe it is good for them to just have fun for a while and then ditch the relationship idea. They could just be friends. Though, who knows, maybe later in life, when they are not so crazy and are more stable and more mature, they could meet up again and fall in love... Still, this is good for me, I like it like this.
Note: The characters are a little OOC and I am very well aware of that. I have been putting sprikles of my personal love experiences and struggles into this couple over the years, because it is my comfort ship. ✨️
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thedrotter ¡ 6 months ago
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Re:Kinder Fun Facts of the day☺️!!! Have you ever wondered who talks the most from the main cast in Re:Kinder?? Well, I did😊. Today I'll be answering this question with some graphs and as a bonus telling you what words each character uses the most! I will warn you, this will be a bit long and I don't know how to be less verbose so, yeah!!!
First, I've made some basic rules as to what I counted regarding how much the characters speak. Not all lines really count as speaking, after all.
Any of the incoherent screaming lines don't count. There's a lot of screaming since the characters die a lot (as expected for a horror RPG game), but I don't really count that as speaking unless they're saying proper words. In that same vein, I didn't really count any of the panting or sniffing and such that are conveyed through words. Again, I don't really see that as a character actively speaking their thoughts!
If I cannot tell who a line belongs to, I will not give it to anyone. This happens for certain lines, so I felt this rule was important.
I won't be counting repetitions of the same line if it's on a variation of the same scene. This may sound a bit strange, but when a character dies, the game goes on to the same next scene it would regardless (unless the scene that follows it is an ending), with variations and new lines here and there to account for the dead character, but a lot will be reused and placed in the exact same beats it normally would have been in originally. So, this rule is here for that. Oh, and also the scenes with bits of Yuuichi's backstory that appear in Shunsuke's head won't be counted twice, because some appear twice line by line.
Of course, the "..." lines won't count. I am so sorry Aya!!!!😞
Now that the ground rules have been set, there's just one thing I want to mention. Though I will count all the total lines for Takumi and Yuuichi like any other character, I just want to mention that first I will have two separate counts for them! Takumi | Takumiel and Yuuichi | Yuuichi's Heart respectively.
Takumiel is separate because I was curious about how much Takumi spoke as an archangel compared to when he was alive. Yuuichi's Heart is because he speaks so much he feels notable enough to be given his own division, even if he and Yuuichi at the end of the day are one person
(I count the silly mind telepathy where Shunsuke is being directly spoken to [and being told things normal Yuu would avoid saying at that point] and the comical theater as Yuuichi's Heart. I clarify in case one assumes he only starts being counted the moment he's directly labelled as Yuuichi's Heart. Any line that can't be distinguished between Yuuichi's Heart and Yuuichi will be given to Yuuichi by default.)
With nothing else to be clarified let's get to the numbers!!!😊😊
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First, the line counts with Takumiel and Yuuichi's Heart counted individually!! Here are the rankings:
Shunsuke (With a lead of 535 lines over second place!!)
Yuuichi
Rei
Yuuichi's Heart
Hiroto
Ryou
Sayaka
Aya
Takumi
Takumiel
You may be thinking— woah, does Shunsuke really speak that much?! You could say that, for a good chunk of those lines are from how he describes interactable points around the map and his inner thoughts, so they aren't all exactly said out loud. The benefit of being the protagonist, I suppose ww
Funny enough, Yuuichi's Heart has almost as many lines as Yuuichi does for not having that much time in the game, being on the higher end between the characters that don't get the benefit of being a protagonist (lol)!
Admittedly I had expected for Rei and Hiroto to have a more similar amount of lines given their nearly equal amount of presence, but for what it is Rei surpassed Hiroto by 51 lines! I also had expected for Takumiel to speak a little bit more than Takumi but turns out the opposite is true.
While the lack of lines of Takumi and Takumiel are to be expected due to their short time on the game, what stands out is Aya not even reaching triple digits between her other peers who are in there for most of the game. This is because a good chunk of Aya's lines in game are silence!^^" And thus weren't counted. If ellipses were a word, she surely would have reached triple digits, but unfortunately they're not.
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Now the line count with combined sums of Takumi | Takumiel and Yuuichi | Yuuichi's Heart!!!
In here, the ranking isn't affected, with Yuuichi remaining second place and Takumi being last place. But the disparity of everyone's numbers compared to Takumi's feels a bit more clear to see when Takumiel isn't individually counted.
With Yuuichi's line counts combined, Shunsuke remains 318 lines ahead of him, but it also means Yuuichi has a 59% the amount of Shunsuke's lines; and impressive feat for someone who doesn't get the benefit of being the point of view for everything you press... Although he does also have an upper hand over everyone by essentially being the plot of this game ww
But maybe line counts do not suffice to tell how much a character speaks. Yes, Shunsuke has a bunch of lines from everything he interacts with, but is it really reliable to say he speaks all that much in all those lines? A good chunk of those could easily have 3 words each! So with this in mind, let's do a word count.
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Even in a word count, Shunsuke has the lead, having a lead of 2,247 words over second place. But we'll see about that when we combine Yuuichi's numbers. Anyway, here's the ranking!
Shunsuke
Yuuichi's Heart
Yuuichi
Rei
Hiroto
Ryou
Sayaka
Aya
Takumi
Takumiel
This time, Yuuichi's Heart is the one at second place!!! It's pretty funny that he speaks more than his physical counterpart ww. I genuinely didnt think he'd out yap himself that way when I chose to count for him individually 😭!!! He has a lead of 63 words over himself, but a lead nonetheless.
In here, Rei and Hiroto are more even than in the line counts, with the difference seeming more minimal when put into words. But it also showcases that despite Rei having more lines than Yuuichi's Heart in the line count, those only get to have a bit over half of the amount of words he talks (To be fair he does get to infodump a lot in his section of the game).
And here's the combined word count!!! Suddenly Shunsuke's lead is only by a mere 55 words! So Yuuichi speaks about as much as he does with 318 less lines.
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I must admit that I genuinely did not expect it to be that close. When I chose to count the lines for when you interact with things for Shunsuke, I thought he was granted to speak an absurd amount more than anyone else. But turns out that Yuuichi speaks about the same amount out loud when most of Shunsuke's are his own thoughts ww. But it does make sense! He is still the plot of this game.
So, after all those charts, here's the average/middle point of lines and words for characters to have, because why not, it's fun.
Average Line Count (YH and Takumiel counted individually): 197 lines
Average Line Count (When combined): 247 lines
Average Word Count (YH and Takumiel counted individually): 1,333 words
Average Word Count (When combined): 1,666 words
So there it is. That's how much the characters in Re:Kinder speak!
But wait!!! I am not done. I will share with you an additional fun fact... Did you ever want to know what word each of these characters said the most?! This one will be quicker, I do promise.
When it came to counting these words I did not count stop words, that being common words that are used all the time by everyone in English. "I, you, me, the, to, a, my, your, yes, no"... Words like that! Otherwise everyone would have one of those as their most said word and it'd be rather boring to look at. With that said, here are the words these characters say the most!
Shunsuke: Yuuichi - said 40 times! (this genuinely confused me so much im sorry he uses interjections so much I had expected it to be something like "huh" or "um" but no i dont know how this passed by me as i was rounding up all the lines he says or proofreading or writing all of those lines WHAT?!?! its been two days and it still takes me out)
Ryou: Shunsuke - Said 14 times
Sayaka: Murderer - Said 7 times (All in one sentence!)
Takumi | Takumiel (counted in one for how little he speaks.): Takumiel - Said 3 times (That name is so important, he said it thrice.)
Aya: Sorry - Said 5 times
Rei: Hell, gonna, look, Yuuchi - said 8 times (Most of the repeated words she says are stop words for she doesn't tend to speak about the same things repeatedly.)
Hiroto: Shunsuke - Said 17 times
Yuuichi (separate from YH): Problem - Said 17 times
Yuuichi's Heart: Mama - Said 24 times
Yuuichi (Overall): Mama - Said 31 times
So that is finally it. That is the fun fact of today.😊😊 Use this to woe your friends at parties!!!
I am aware Mami speaks about enough to be counted in, but this is pretty time consuming to do and I'm not sure anyone is invested on her enough to count her in. But if there's enough curiosity regarding that, I'll try counting her in. But for now this suffices.☺️ Thanks for reading!
#re:kinder#rekinder#not art#fun fact!!!#i talk!!!#ive been at this for... two days how yall doing😊#ive thought of doing this since when i started by transcript of rekinder but i wasnt ready to do that after finishing that beast of a scrip#so here it is later than i anticipated! it is more time-consuming than i thought considering i have the benefit of the transcript#so when i was getting to doing mami i was already tired ww 😭 love her but this is just a silly bonus thing i throw out#so im not as ready to spend more than the several hours i already spent than with other funny silly proyects#i have more things i want to work on more😊!!! and also the semester is ending soon ww#ANYWAYYY#THIS WAS FUN THOUGH!!!#originally i wasnt going to count the things you can interact with for shunsuke but they are so obviously said by him i just had to#I WAS GOING TO IGNORE IT BUT THEN MY CONSCIOUSNESS TOLD ME... NO.... YOURE ROBBING HIM OF PERFECTLY FINE LINES!!!! 💔💔#so now his numbers are absurdly high#i still cant believe he said yuuichi more than huh i cannot believe that . like. he says huh 5 times less BUT STILL#i really wrote a whole transcript proofread it for 30+ hours then went back to do a line count for several more hours#and didnt notice the protagonist of this game said the name of my favorite character a million times#I NOTICED A “HUH” MORE THAN A NAME COME ONBRUEJWJFNNW#i dont really make any comments regarding ryou or sayaka in here as much because their numbers are exactly as i had expected#about the same amount not too much... its nothing groundbreaking to make a comment out just saying#if anyone is curious yuu says vamos cantar only 6 times#no one's most said word is particularly surprising to me after shunsuke but i did have a stroke seeing problem pop up for yuu#the document i was writing all of this info in before doing this post was very tidy and organized very well articulated until thay happened#i was perfectly expecting him to mention one of his parents the most overall but when separated from Yuuichi’s heart i did not knwo what#so when problem popped up my gut reaction was thinking that i wasnt making it to the end of the document no one speak to me i felt#IT . IT MAKES SENSE but it isnt fun💔#i wasnt even going to count yuuichis heart most said word until he out yapped himself admittedly#I SEPARATED HIM FROM USUAL YUU FOR THE LOLS I DIDNT THINK HE'D SPEAK THAT MUCH
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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels ¡ 4 months ago
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I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.
You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?
Click on their name. And look at their profile.
I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.
"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.
"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.
Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.
Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.
Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.
I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.
Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.
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felixbit ¡ 5 months ago
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what friends do
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pairing: felix x gn!reader w. 2.1k genre: fluff, a bit of angst and suggestive content summary: at some point a few months ago, felix kissed you for the first time. you didn't mean to catch feelings, but the lazy make-out sessions on his couch were melting your heart. warnings: swearing a/n: this is a fic i wrote on ao3 almost a year ago for @ppiri-bahng! i just wanted to post it on here. unlikely for a part 2 but enjoy :)
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At some point a few months ago, Felix kissed you for the first time.
You'd been friends for years up to this point. You met him not long before his debut, so you're his day one. There was always something about the way you interacted with each other that felt so right, and it's why you became such close friends so fast. You spent all the time in the world together, and you'd spend every moment of every day with him, if you could. Felix had agreed with you once that you were soulmates. He was the best friend you'd ever had.
There was nearly nothing you didn't tell or do with Felix. He knew all of your secrets, little facts about you, every person in your life that was significant to you, and it was reciprocated on your end. You two knew each other like the back of your hand, and it felt as if nothing could ever separate you. There was nothing you wouldn't do for Felix, and there was nothing he wouldn't do for you.
So, when he asked if he could kiss you, you said yes.
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"Hey."
Your eyes opened, previously closed as your head was slumped onto Felix's shoulder. The television in front of you had some romantic comedy movie on, but you weren't nearly awake enough to know what it was about. You moved your head off of the boy next to you and looked over at him, his chocolate eyes returning your gaze. "Yeah?"
"Would you kiss me?" Felix let his words out nonchalantly, which you struggled to tell if it was the byproduct of his exhaustion or if it was his attitude towards the question in general. His eyes never left yours, so you assumed there was some care behind it.
You shrugged. "Uhh, I don't see why not. Why, do you wanna kiss me or something?" The thought of kissing Felix hadn't really crossed your mind, aside from the few times you stared at his lips a little too long and wondered how soft they were. But really, you'd never thought that way of him.
"I might." Felix pursed his lips and stared at you, which you almost immediately picked up on what he was doing. The look in his eyes and his expression was one you'd seen a million times before, it what was Felix did when he wanted something. You'd usually see it in the context of him wanting some food or to go out, but the look never changed.
Your eyebrows furrowed a little bit, wondering his intentions. Felix never liked you in that way, at least that's what he claimed. "Is this just a totally platonic thing between friends? Why do you want me to kiss you?"
"I just.." Felix trailed off for a moment, tapping his finger on his leg, "I want to kiss you because I miss kissing. The few times I've done it, it was always so nice and fun.. and I thought you'd be chill with it. It's not a romantic thing for me. It's just something I've wanted to do for a while, but I get it if you don't want to."
"No, no.. I get it. If it's not changing anything between us, I don't really see why not. Kissing is fun."
Felix smiled and nodded softly. He let out a sigh of relief and put his arm around your shoulder. "Can I kiss you now?"
"Yeah."
That's where it started. The first time you put your hand on his chest and your lips collided, his hands finding their way to cupping your cheek and the back of your neck, pulling you in close. When you first found out that you were right, his lips were as soft as they seemed. An assortment of little pecks turns slower and into deeper, longer kisses that are more drawn out and intimate. You didn't expect him to kiss you for that long, but you didn't mind. He was a good kisser, which he occupied you with for three minutes the first time around.
Every time the two of you broke apart for little gasps of air, he'd give you these smiles that would break you. Something made kissing him so fun and easy, so addicting and great. The way your hand rose and fell as it stayed planted on his chest made your heart flutter a little. Fuck, wait. No, that's a little too much. A little weird.
Then, it kept happening.
You'd be sitting around in the dorm kitchen, cooking up a meal, and a pair of arms would surround your waist. You'd look down, seeing skinny arms covered in freckles, and smile. Felix needed kisses. You'd tell him to leave you be, that you had to pay attention to your food, but his little pecks on your neck and cheek got you hooked. You'd end up with food burning as you were pressed into the kitchen counter, giving slow, sloppy kisses to Felix for far too long. When he finally let you go, he'd apologize for burning your food and take you out to eat.
Then it was movie night again. Then it was in his room. Then your room.
Felix turned out to love kissing a lot more than you expected. Almost any time you were alone together turned into a lazy make out session. You'd learned the ins and outs of what he liked, how your mouths fit together just right, how eager he was to add tongue, or how he'd always smile into the kiss when you wrapped your arms around his waist or put your hand on his chest.
Every time you'd pull away from him, finally stopping, you'd often end up laying your head on his chest and your head felt fuzzy. Your brain hadn't felt like this before, which was utterly confusing. This was your best friend, but every time you made out with him, your stomach would pull flips and feel like you had butterflies. But, in your head, he was just a friend.
Was he?
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You sat on Felix's bed, scrolling your Twitter feed and turning your brain off to the real world. The room was nice and just cold enough for you to be wearing one of Felix's sweaters, which was your favorite. He'd always let you borrow them when it was cold in the house, and they smelled like him. They smelled like home, always taking you to a safe space mentally and cooling your anxiety for a bit.
Peering past your phone, you tuned back in to hear angry phrases coming out of Felix as he sat at his desk. Watching Felix play games was funny, since he never seemed to improve much at them. He always got mad when he lost, and overjoyed when he won. It was obvious he was playing a losing game, and it would be over shortly. You watched on, picking up more about how the game worked, as he gave up and the game ended. He threw his arms up in exasperation, standing up from his desk.
"You okay?" You knew he wouldn't ever really be upset over a game, not in a true way. Though, you always liked to ask so he could vent his frustrations and feel better faster.
"Yeah, fuck, it's just-" Felix let out a long sigh, covering his face with his hands, "I hate playing this game. I always end up losing a bad game and I'm in a bad mood for a while. I don't even know why I play it."
"Awh, 'lix," You opened your arms, "Come here."
Felix walked over slowly to the bed, slumping his body into yours and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Your heart tensed, a warm feeling shooting through your body as you wrapped your arms around him and held him close. He let out soft murmurs, speaking angrily under his breath in an unintelligible way that you couldn't make out what he was saying.
You rubbed his back softly in silence until he finally sat up on his own, looking at you. You met his eyes, entranced in his beauty for a few moments before you looked at his expression. Your eyebrows furrowed. "Felix.."
"Please?"
Fuck. Felix's smooth, deep voice always won you over. As soon as he pleaded with you, you folded for him. Your mouth pursed as you tried to fight off a smile, looking away as you took a deep sigh. "Okay, fine."
Felix smiled giddily and let out a small noise of excitement, which hit you in the gut again. You leaned back against the wall behind you, legs dangling over the short side of the bed as Felix climbed onto your lap. You reached up and brushed a bit of hair out of his face, which he smiled at. Your heart wasn't dealing well with this. Before you could keep thinking, he pressed his lips against yours and you were taken into a mind-numbing state of bliss.
Your arms stayed firmly wrapped around his waist to keep him secure as his hands stayed planted on your neck and cheek. Your kisses were always perfectly slow and tender, Felix never liking to rush through it. The way his lips dragged almost lazily over yours drove you crazy, but you took it at his pace, as much as you'd like to go faster.
At least he was a crazy good kisser. You could never get bored of kissing him, even if you had to spend an hour doing it. You just might, as your longest kissing session went for half an hour with only two small breaks in it. Making out with Felix could take up all your time, and you'd be okay with it. As much as you hated how much you liked kissing him, it was true.
So when he finally pulled away from you a few minutes later, you felt a tensing in your gut. Your lips formed a thin line as you looked down at the bed, unable to contain how you were feeling. Every time you kissed, your feelings for him got progressively worse. You'd reached a breaking point.
"You alright?"
Your chest got a strike of pain through it. The innocence and caring in Felix's deep voice could've shattered you in that moment. You were a house of cards spilled all over the floor. You wanted so badly to tell him a lie, tell him everything was normal and fine, but you knew deep down it wasn't true. You loved him.
"No." Your voice shook, tears forming in your eyes. It was too much to handle.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here. What's wrong?" Felix stroked your hair softly, leaning down to try to see your face.
You pressed your face directly into his chest, a place that had grown to be your comfort spot. His scent filled you with that soothing feeling, but your stomach turned again and you knew it meant something different now than it did before. A tear slid down your cheek. "I can't do this anymore, Felix. It's too much for me."
"Too much for you? Am I making you uncomfortable? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," Felix wrapped his arms around you and held you close.
"No, it's not that at all," Your voice broke, trying not to sob, "I think.. somewhere in this whole kissing thing.. I caught feelings for you. I haven't been able to tell you because I didn't want to make it weird, but it was making me feel so guilty.. and I was liking this too much for my own good. I get it if you don't want to hang out with me anymore, Felix. I'm sorry."
Felix froze for a little bit. He continued to hold you and stroke your hair, but he was silent for long enough to make you worry. Your heart ached as you realized that this might be the end of your relationship with him.
"I think I did, too."
"What?" You pulled back suddenly from his chest, meeting his eyes.
Felix's brows furrowed as he nodded. "I wasn't lying when I wanted to kiss you because I missed kissing.. but I think I did it partly because I wanted to kiss you specifically, and I thought I'd fuck things up between us if I tried to make it more than friends."
"Oh, Felix.." You broke into a smile, a few tears still rolling down your face, "You should've told me."
"I know.. I just couldn't get myself to do it. You were in my head all the time, driving me crazy. I knew it wasn't what friends do, but it was the only way I could still be normal friends with you without going mad."
"So, does that mean we can kiss.. like, not just as friends?"
"Yeah."
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frenchkisstheabyss ¡ 3 months ago
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♡ Softer, Softest ♡
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♡ Pairing: mafia!boss!san x stripper!chubby!fem!reader
♡ Genre: smut/angst/fluff
♡ Summary: A fun night of stripping takes a turn when an encounter with a particularly unpleasant customer leaves you in tears, running to your boss seeking comfort and protection. Both things he’s more than willing to give.
♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish
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♡ Warnings: explores themes of body insecurities, reader has her arm grabbed (nothing violent but brutal violence against the person who grabbed it), mentions of blood/injuries (not yours, babes), kissing, heavy body worship, san’s obsessed with you, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), clit sucking, nipple pinching, a lil manhandling, hair pulling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, low key mirror sex, pet names (baby, pretty).
♡ A/N: Hello my loves, I wrote this little fic for any of my chubby darlings out there who might not know or might need reminding that their bodies are gorgeous, worth loving, and desirable. I also really love myself a hot criminal and who better than San? K, let me shut up now. Just know I love you. Your body’s amazing. Never forget that ❤️
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Midnight. Friday. The back alley of a strip club. The best in town. The strip club, not the alley. It’s a dark, starless night. The smell of fresh rain hangs in the air, the aftermath of a sudden downpour that left the ground slick with rain. Music from inside the club bleeds through the cracks of a heavy steel door. A neon red EXIT sign hangs overhead. The door creaks on its hinges as it swings open, sending the music blaring out into the night and with it comes a body. The blur of one at first, flying through the air, and then the weight of it. The heavy thud of bruised flesh and cracked bone colliding with the asphalt. 
The man on the ground is unremarkable, nothing about him worth noting except the mangled nose that gushes blood down his face, leaking into the cavernous gash that is his busted lip. He said the wrong thing to the wrong person and now he can’t speak at all, only mumble. A brushed leather Dolce and Gabbana shoe collides with his cheek. His blood splashes scarlet against the pitch black soles, a horrible crack emitting from his jaw as more pressure’s applied. Now this man? He’s remarkable. He’s muscular, defined in every way so that, even through his black dress shirt, you can read the broadness of his shoulders. His features are sharp and intense. The kind you either fall for or fall victim to. There’s no in between. He’s a handsome devil but a devil all the same. 
“You look like shit” San sighs, effortlessly kicking the man onto his back. He rolls his sleeves up, kneeling beside the man like a hunter inspecting its fallen prey. He stares down at him, emotionless, void of anything close to that thing we call remorse.  
The man heaves in a breath of air before coughing it back out. “Mmm s-s-sorry” he croaks, “I didn’t know she was anyone fucking special.” 
San grips the man’s face, grinning in a way that isn’t the least bit friendly. He squeezes tightly, forcing jagged teeth to press into the soft flesh of the man’s cheeks. “Well now you do.”
This is your boss and you, tucked away safe and warm in his office, are something special. But a part of you knew this already. You downplay it when the other girls point it out. You pretend not to notice the clear signs of favoritism but they’re there in even the smallest interaction between the two of you. Since day one San’s been your protector, your admirer. You’ve denied it a million times, convincing yourself you’re simply making more of things than what’s there. Still, after everything happened you couldn’t fathom running into the arms of anyone else. 
You were dancing like any other night—working your section and getting your tips—when some asshole grabbed you by the arm, demanding your presence in one of the private rooms. Usually you could count on security to drag him out but on weekends the club gets packed and things slip through the cracks. Sadly tonight you were one of them so, like a proper lady, you told him to kiss your ass and sent the tip of your stiletto crashing into his balls. You might be a stripper but that doesn’t mean you’re some thing that men can treat however they wish. It’s a lesson he had to learn the hard way and you were happy to teach it to him. Two shots past drunk and embarrassed by your rejection he snapped, spewing the most vile things you’ve ever heard about yourself—about your body. 
It isn’t news to you that you’re one of the bigger girls here. San says that’s what makes you special, why customers come in to blow a check on you and you alone. He’s right, your bank account says so. The customers love you, they eat up every inch of your plush body. By all means you should feel like the baddest bitch in this building, simply because you are, but in that moment his words had reduced you to nothing. A few seconds ago you were twirling around the pole like a goddess now you found yourself scurrying back to the dressing room with tears in your eyes. 
At least that’s where you intended to go. Somewhere along the way you changed course, riding the velvet lined elevator to the third floor where San’s office sits at the end of a long hallway. At the time you hadn’t considered how much this might escalate the situation because, quite honestly, you didn’t care. More than feeling hurt, you were pissed the fuck off. Your tears were of anger and, whether you felt it at the time or not, you wanted that motherfucker to pay for it. 
This place you work at. There’s more to it than what’s on the surface. It’s easy to get so distracted by the luxury and the lights and the pretty girls dancing that you miss the truth of it all. In fact, that’s the point, but you know a mafia front when you see one. You aren’t oblivious. You know what this is, who San is, and maybe that’s exactly why you were tapping at his door. A damsel in distress in black lace lingerie.
San’s heart dropped when he saw his favorite girl in tears. He stopped everything, sending his men away so he could place all of his focus on you. Resting his jacket over your shoulders, he gently cradled your cheeks, brushing the tears away to ask quite simply, “Who did it?” 
You explained everything, how that asshole grabbed you and the things he said, and San’s anger grew quietly, simmering beneath a surface of calm. He took a seat at his desk, setting you down comfortably in his lap, and pulled up the security cameras. “Tell me when you see him, okay, baby?” he instructed sweetly, his palm massaging the smoothness of your thigh.
You nodded, struggling to focus on the screen with his hand on your thigh and him calling you “baby”. San touching you wasn’t a rare occasion but it was always something light. A hand on the small of your back or fingertips grazing your arm. Never this purposeful—this intimate. You couldn’t help imagining how it might feel if he gripped a little harder, moved a little higher. You felt your heart begin to race, your temperature rising the longer you sat there in his lap.
“That’s him” you sniffled, spotting that familiar face on the screen. San studied the screen a moment before turning back to you. “I’ll take care of it” he promised, his hand riding your thigh and coming to rest at the gentle curve of your hip. “And no more crying, baby. You’re too pretty to cry.” Too pretty to cry? Oh, but you were crying, absolutely weeping, only between your thighs this time. 
San disappeared from the office, leaving you too lost in the lingering haze of his touch to even think about your insecurities, but that only lasted so long. Alone in the quiet of his office, the self doubt began to creep back in. You tried to distract yourself by exploring your surroundings—the impressive collection of vintage whiskey, the gorgeously framed art hanging from the walls—but nothing could distract you from how uncomfortable you’d become in your own skin. It didn’t help that the office was lined with mirrors, reflecting glimpses of your figure with every turn.
At last out of distractions, you turn to face the mirrored image of yourself, letting San’s jacket slip to the floor. You strike a pose, a half hearted copy of something cute you might do on stage, and watch the way the fat of your body squishes together here or there. You strike another then another then another but they’re there in every pose. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs. Your weight shows in all of them. Pinching your lower belly you think of how the other girls have had work done. Maybe if you got some done yourself…
“I left him out back. Clean him up before someone sees” San says, pushing through the door, his phone pressed to his ear. 
You jump a bit at his arrival, scrambling to grab the jacket, but San slips in behind you, closing his arms around your waist before you can retrieve your safety blanket. You tense at first but find yourself settling into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place for you to be. 
“So, what was that?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he inhales your perfume and the sweet scent of honey and jasmine fills his lungs. You smell as beautiful as you are, as beautiful as everything about you is. 
“How’d everything go?” you press, quick to change the subject. Noticing a series of tiny red scrapes on the knuckles of his right hand, you carefully take it into yours, assessing the damage. 
San shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It still stings but it’s far from the worst pain he’s ever felt. “I said I’d take care of it. It’s been taken care of.” 
You giggle at the contrast of something so menacing being spoken by someone so regal. “San, you make it sound like you killed him.” 
He leans into your neck, his lips grazing your skin on their way up to your ear. You shiver at the contact and his hold on you tightens, your bodies pressed flush against each other so that you can feel his bulge pressed into the plush of your ass. 
“Killed him? Almost” he whispers, “I answered your question so it’s only fair you answer mine, isn’t it? What were you doing? I came in and you were…” San pinches your belly, his fingertips planting adoration where there was once doubt. 
“I…uh…I was…” you stutter, searching your brain for a believable lie but you can’t find a single one.“There’s this doctor, a few of the girls have gone to him to get some work done, and I was just thinking, I don’t know, maybe...why am I even telling you this? You don’t care and anyway, it’s silly.”
“It is silly” he agrees, notes of that quiet, controlled anger you witnessed earlier resurfacing, “But you’re wrong to say that I don’t care. I care about how you feel about yourself, I care about you. You must know that.”
“I mean, I know you care about me. You care about all of the girls” you say, hesitant to accept this as a profession of anything in particular. 
San spins you around, pinning you between the warmth of his body and the cool mahogany of the desk. “I don’t care for any other woman the way I do you.” 
There it is, a profession of something very particular. He’d hoped that you’d seen it by now. He wonders if he didn’t do a good enough job of showing you. It’s been so long before you, years even, that he had feelings like this for anyone. The world he operates in doesn’t allow for soft spots. Soft spots are how you make mistakes and when mistakes are life or death you can’t afford to make them but he couldn’t help himself with you. You caught his eye the day you walked in for your audition and you’re all he’s been able to see since. You’re so delicate, so beautiful, a perfect contrast to the toughness of his life. It’s why he protects you—why he always will. 
“Your body…” he says, his palms racing up and down your curves, “It’s perfect. There’s nothing about it that needs fixing. If you let that doctor touch you I’ll break both of his hands.” San’s gaze is heavy with lust, months of longing just begging to be satisfied. It burns him up inside, sets fire to his very being, and being kissed by the flames of that need is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 
“Is that the way you romance women? With threats of violence?” you tease, draping your arms across his shoulders.
“Sometimes but usually it’s like this” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue parts your lips, twining around yours to deepen the kiss. His movements are careful and deliberate. The kiss intoxicatingly slow. 
San grabs you by the hips, lifting you onto the desk and you let out a little squeak of surprise as he sets you down. “You’re so fucking cute” he grins, spreading your thighs to fit perfectly between them. 
“You think so?” you say so innocently it only makes him want to ravage you more. 
Tangling his fingers in your hair, he tilts your head to look back at the mirror, “Don’t you?” 
An unexpected wetness soaks the lace of your panties at the sight of your shared reflection. Nothing has changed about your body. It’s the same one you were picking apart, the same one you were doubting, and San loves everything about it. He praises it with his hands, with his fingertips, with whispered confessions of everything your body needs to hear. 
”I watch you sometimes when you’re dancing” he says, effortlessly doing away with your bra, “I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself when you look the way you do. It’s like you’ve put a spell on me. My little witch.”
San captures one of your breasts, kneading the plump flesh in the palm of his hand. He pinches your bud between his fingers, tugging at it just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 
“But I don’t have any magic” you whimper, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. They pop open one by one, revealing a body that had to be sculpted by some divine feminine deity. You push the fabric away, your fingertips delighting in the perfection of her creation. 
San’s free hand reaches between you, stroking your clit through your panties. He groans at how soaked you are, your juices leaking through the lace to coat his fingers in your juices. “You do have magic, baby” he whispers, tucking your panties to the side, “It’s right here.”
“Aah, Sannie” you moan, your hands sliding down his abs as his fingers stretch you open. 
Your body falls back, a sharp chill coursing through you as your bare back hits the desk. San sinks his fingers deeper into your core, his cock stiffening at the sight of your body moving as hypnotically as it does on the pole. Only now it’s for him and only him. This is how San likes it, how he’s always wanted it to be. Him with his fingers buried deep into the warmth of your pussy, your walls greedily clenching around them, and you spread out across his desk, your gorgeous body on full display and your lips spilling out moans meant for his ears alone. 
Kneeling between your legs he pulls your panties aside harder this time, nearly tearing the fabric as he knots it in his fist. He brings his thumb to your clit, toying with it just to see how your body twitches with every touch. “How can a girl be this perfect?” he says, nearly salivating, “Even your pussy’s gorgeous.” There’s an audible wet sound, another sweet whimper escaping your throat, as his fingers slip out of your core and his tongue takes its place.
“San, wait…” you beg, grabbing at his hair, but you’re too late. Your attempt at pacing yourself is useless. His tongue’s already filling the space between your walls, wiggling and curling against your sweet spot. His dark hair knots around your fingers, your hips raising to ride every wave his tongue sends washing over you. 
San drags his tongue up through your petal soft folds, swirling it around your clit before diving into you again. He suckles at your clit, gently at first then faster, more ravenous. His gaze flicks up to you, taking in the way your belly jiggles and your breasts bounce. He’s drunk on your juices, already addicted to the way you coat his tongue. You taste like heaven and look like it too. It takes all of the self control he has to pry his mouth free of your pussy, snatching your panties down as he does. 
Standing back up, he grips your thighs, spreading you open to watch the arousal drip from your pussy, leaving pretty little drops on his desk. Your eyes are glued to him as he unzips his pants, letting his cock fall right between your legs. The swollen tip throbs against your lower belly, leaking precum, warm and sticky, on your skin. You rock your hips, clenching around air, craving friction from that deliciously veiny cock of his. 
“You want it, baby?” San teases, tapping the head of his cock against your clit. His length slips between your folds. They’re so smooth, so slick. Toying with your pussy’s like splashing in a lake. You’re wet enough to drown in.
“I want it, Sannie, aah, fuck…” you moan, your eyes widening at the realization that his tip’s pressed to your entrance now, stretching you the faintest bit. 
“Then tell me how perfect your body is. Tell me you love it.” He pushes in an inch more, stopping to leave your hole spread wide around his cock, still needy and deprived. 
The stretch has the room spinning, a single taste of him already making you want more. “My body’s, mmph, beautiful” you manage as he gradually feeds you more of him, “I love it.”
“Don’t stop. Keep telling me. Make me believe you” San demands, thrusting into you so hard that he bottoms out. 
You cry out at the force of the thrust, your lashes fluttering away tears, “I love, aah, my body. I love my body. It’s beautiful. It’s…it’s…”
Tucking his hands behind your knees, San pushes them to your chest, snapping his hips against you hard enough that your thighs jiggle around him. All of you does. Every stroke of his cock makes you tremble and he’s hardly able to keep still himself. You’re so tightly wound around his cock that he can feel all the finer details of your walls. They’re glued to him, sucking him in every time he even thinks about pulling back. 
Through heavy lids you watch the man you’ve only ever known to be a mountain crumble to pieces all because of you. San’s muscles are slick with sweat and a glossy haze dances over his eyes. His fingers are digging into your thighs, completely devouring them. He does what he can to swallow his moans but it’s impossible when you’re making him feel like his entire soul’s being snatched from his body. 
“You feel so fucking good” he grunts, planting breathless kisses up your leg, “Come here.”
San props your ankles up on his shoulders, hooking an arm around you and sitting you up so that you’re close enough to kiss. He grinds against your sweet spot, forcing his tongue down your throat so that every moan you set free echoes between his cheeks. Gripping the back of your neck, he slams into you, harder, faster, forcing your body to give into him. He fucks you until your eyes are rolling back, your mind too blank to recall anything that happened before this moment. There’s no thought of the incident, no thought of your insecurities. High on euphoria, your body feels beautiful, every inch of it. 
“S-San…” you whine, a familiar pressure building behind your belly. Your fingers begin to tingle as they cling to his muscles, searching for any stability they can reach. 
“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he coos, not letting up on you, not even for a second.
Pulling his arm away he lets you fall back on the desk. With one hand cupping your breast and the other circling your clit, he watches you fall apart in the palms of his hands. For so long he’s had to watch you from afar, pretending that he wasn’t utterly obsessed with you, but now you’re all his. His pretty, moaning, teary eyed girl pouring your cum down his cock while you repeat his name like it’s the only word you know. He’s so singularly focused on watching you hit your high that his own takes him by surprise. 
Grabbing him by the wrist, you lock eyes, a weak smile forming on your lips. “Fill me up, Sannie” you whisper, your voice sexy even in its brokenness.
San’s body shudders and you feel a new fullness inside of you. The warmth pools deep within you at first, cascading down your walls the more he empties himself into you. “Fuck, baby” he pants, catching himself before his body doubles over. He came so hard his ears are ringing and holding onto you is all he can do not to fall. You sit up to stroke his cheek and he kisses your wrist lovingly. You stare into each other’s eyes for a minute that lasts an eternity, letting yourselves get lost in one another’s gaze. 
San breaks the trance with a kiss, holding you like one would the most precious thing they own. “Tell me, baby, how do you feel now?” 
You contemplate his question, your attention drifting back to the reflection in the mirror. It’s all there. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs, and San looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world. You turn back to him with a smile, “Beautiful.”
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it-was-summer ¡ 9 days ago
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Buy Me Presents, Baby
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A/N: Minors; DNI. I DONT CAREEE I WANT HIM!! Anyways, this may or may not be based on true events in my life. If you're reading this also know that I wrote this Christmas Eve and it is now 5am on Christmas Day, the powerhouse of lust. Hope you guys like this because I DID NOT proofread this AT ALL!! I mention the pill (oral contraception), so sorry if this is an issue, I'm just a girl. I KNOW there is a typo in here... i know it. Merry Christmas!! My gift is porn!!- Love you, Em
edit- the typo was fully in the title… go to bed at a reasonable time kids.
Link to the Ao3: Buy Me Presents, Baby Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Woof uhh okay! newly established relationship, Christmas sex, Spanking, Creampie, PnV sex, Reader gets called girl.. I apologize, Oral contraceptives are mentioned at the end, lingerie, that one bow lingerie... yall know which on I'm talking about?, That ONE!! WITH THE BOW YES!!, I had to use the word pussy.. IM SORRT IM NOT HAPPY ABOUT It, dirty talk, cock this cock that, not proofread, merry christmas.
Genre: Porn, no plot. Some fluff? Pairing: Established relationship!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Plot: You and Spencer exchange gifts for Christmas, and one of your gifts happens to be a little physical.
Word Count: 3,669
Spencer doesn’t know what’s gotten into you. 
Though the longer he thinks about it, he should have seen the signs of your recent… restlessness. Being in the BAU came with its challenges, and one of these challenges was— of course— being away from home. Usually, the two of you would find a special time that worked for both of you to meet up and spend some well-deserved time together. 
Lately, it has felt like the world was against you, though. Every time you had free time, he’d plan a date night with you, only for him to be called away on a case. The one time you planned a date, you came down with a cold. The cycle kept repeating in a million different annoying ways. 
The cherry on top? It was almost Christmas. It's nearly Christmas, and neither of you has seen each other for a good three weeks— it’s miserable. 
So imagine his excitement when his phone doesn’t ring early Saturday morning. When he steps out of his shower, he checks it again— nothing. He’s beaming when he calls you, your sleepy voice answering him before he says, “Dinner tonight?” 
There’s a pause, followed by some rustling, “You’re free?” 
“Mhm,” He hums with a grin, grabbing his glasses from the case and placing them gracefully on his face. 
He can hear the excitement in your voice. " You want to exchange presents?” He remembers the playful tone in your voice when you said it, but at the time, he thought nothing of it. He chuckles softly before agreeing, saying a sweet goodbye, and hanging up the phone. 
Dinner begins and ends at your place, decorated in lights and festive trinkets, and presents wrapped neatly under the fake tree in the corner of your living room. The gift exchange went smoothly; you got Spencer some reading essentials, followed by a special edition of one of his favorite books. Spencer, in turn, had bought you a pair of earrings you pointed out back in November and a framed copy of your favorite painting.
It was getting late now, with a warm cup of tea in his hands, you turned and whispered in a playful voice, “I still have one more gift for you.” 
His eyebrows raised at that, bending his head to look at you as you sat with your back pressed against his chest, “More? After the special edition Tolstoy?” 
“More. I was saving it for the twenty-fifth, but…” You trail off, your eyes leaving his as you glance toward your bedroom. “I could go get it ready now?” 
Spencer smiles, thinking about it momentarily before he decides that he might not be home for Christmas. He mutters a soft “Yeah, okay.” 
You stand up quickly, an excited look in your eyes when you tell him, “Okay, stay here!” And then you’re gone. 
Spencer’s watching your bedroom door close with a faint smile. He stretches as he waits, his tea finished, when he hears you call out for him, “You can come in now!” 
He stepped into your room with nothing but good intentions, that is, until he saw you lying on your bed in lingerie. Maroon satin material lays smooth against your skin, and the shape of a tantalizing bow teases him at the center of your chest and your underwear— barely there. 
He clears his throat in a vain attempt to appear calm and collected, though he’s sure you can see his blushing cheeks and growing arousal. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in the back of his throat when you sit up on your elbows, pushing your breast out toward him a little more with an innocent tilt of your head. “You don’t like it?” 
His voice cracks when he says, “No! I mean— that is to say, I do like it! I mean, I’m sure you can see how much I–” He nervously adjusts his sweater, shaky hands pulling at the collar. 
You let out a soft hum, relaxing a little. " Are you going to stand by the door the whole time, or?” You tease him with a low laugh. 
He quickly walks closer, shaking his head as he gets closer to the edge of the bed. The bed dips as he climbs onto the edge of the bed. He watches as you roll on your side to adjust for him, waiting until he is lying beside you before you whisper, “If you don’t want to, it’s okay–” 
“I do! I do. It’s just we’ve only–” He motions between the two of you slowly, replacing the word. “A few times, and I wasn’t expecting,” His eyes trail down to your chest, his fingers twitching– itching to feel the material against his palm.  
When he looks back into your eyes, you smile at him with a little sigh, “I know. I just saw it, and I thought of you.” 
Spencer feels like his entire body is on fire when you say that. His pants become increasingly uncomfortable as he croaks softly, “That made you think of me?” 
You hum a sweet-sounding “Mhm,” you lick your lips, “Cognitive association, right?” 
Spencer thinks you’ll break him with the way you’re talking to him; your voice is low and quiet, clearly amused. He holds back a sound when he feels your hand take his and guide it to your barely clothed hip. For some reason, he wants to spew some facts about cognitive association, but in a rare moment, his mind goes blank. 
His mind slows, and the only thing he can process is the feeling of satin material against your body. He drags his hand along your side, higher and higher, until his fingers trace the bra’s underwire. His eyes flicker over to yours as he leans in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. 
Kissing Spencer always starts soft, tender, and languid. It then slowly devolves into something passionate, heated, rough– something you adore. And you’re starting to feel the shift in this kiss, his tongue slightly grazing your bottom lip– a silent plea you happily fulfill, parting your lips to let his tongue tentatively enter the kiss. 
You’re smiling into the kiss, shifting with him so you’re under him before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him deeper into the kiss. Spencer lets out a tiny sound of surprise against your lips at the rough movement, and he pulls away slightly, his lips barely touching yours when he says, “So aggressive,” His tone teasing as he captures your lips in another giddy kiss. 
With your eyes closed and mouth occupied, your hands get to work. Blindly, you pull the bottom of his sweater, your lips only leaving his to help him pull the piece of clothing off his body. He’s eager to get his lips back on yours, his tongue resuming its work against yours, a kiss that makes your head spin and thoughts go hazy with how intense it feels. 
You move your legs up and around his hips, pushing his hips down to yours with ease. Spencer whines into the kiss, his lips moving slowly against yours until he pulls away to kiss your jawline. His hips grind down onto yours, your breath hitching at the feeling. 
Feeling his hardness through his pants makes you realize just how badly you need him, and it seems it does the same for him. His lips latch onto the lower side of your neck, sucking and licking softly at the sensitive area as his hips grind against yours harder. 
The feeling makes your core squeeze around nothing; the new desire to get something, anything, inside you plants a seed in your lower abdomen. You feel shamefully needy as Spencer continues leaving light red and purple marks on the sensitive skin of your neck, his breathing heavy as he decorates you with marks. 
You’re surprised to see that he’s actually moving lower, his markings getting closer to your collarbone when he pulls away, looking up at you with those lust-filled honey eyes, “May I?” The tips of his fingers tug lightly at the satin red bow covering your breasts. 
Your legs leave his hips as he pulls the bow apart with a simple flick of his wrist. His eyes stay trained on your breast as he takes one into his hand and gently rubs at your nipple, eliciting a soft, quiet moan from you, “So pretty,” Then he dips his head lower to bring your left nipple into his mouth, licking at the sensitive bud with precision. 
A sound— embarrassingly loud— escapes your lips at the feeling, your body squirming against his. You’re sure you can feel him smiling against your breast, his right hand moving to your right nipple, pinching it lightly. 
Your fingers latch onto his hair, gently running them through his hair and occasionally pulling when his tongue does something particularly amazing against the bud of your nipple. You can feel electric arousal coursing through you, soft moans and sighs leaving you with every touch. 
However, he’s pulling his lips away from your breast soon after, his cheeks red as he mutters a low, “Need to make sure you cum,” And you find yourself nodding in agreement as his hands leave your breast, pulling the lingerie’s satin thong to the side as he swipes two fingers along your entrance. 
You let out a little sigh, feeling incredibly needy as his fingers brush against your clit teasingly. “Did dressing up like this make you this wet, or did I?” He asks, his fingers curiously leading back down to your entrance. 
Shifting under him, you let out a breathless chuckle, “A bit of both,” 
He grins at that, his head now to the side of yours, his thumb pressing against your clit slowly as he slides a finger inside you. You tense for a second with pleasure before relaxing as the feelings, his finger gently curling inside of you as his thumb presses down harder on your swollen bundle of nerves. “You’ve been fantasizing about this for weeks, haven’t you?” 
His voice against your ear isn’t something you expect, but you aren’t surprised for long as he slides a second finger into you— your thoughts turning to mush, “Yes,” You whisper, your back arching slightly at his fingers move faster inside you, curling and pleasing you at a medium pace. 
Spencer lets out a low hum, his eyes watching you as you get lost in pleasure, his thumb pressing against your clit a little harder as he finds that sweet little spot inside of you. He can feel the way your walls tighten around his fingers, and he’s envious of his own hand, wishing it was his cock instead. 
Your moans only add to personal envy, his fingers moving and caressing your G-spot with greater precision. He tries not to groan, watching you arch your back off the bed. A cry followed by a string of heightened gasps from you has him wholly enraptured. 
When his fingers start to get rough inside you, you’re already seeing stars, your left hand reaching over to grab onto Spencer’s bicep at the feelings, fingers gently digging into his skin as your body shakes. “Love watching you get close,” Spencer groans softly against your ear. 
His lips slowly resume their markings on your neck, and the added stimulation sends you falling over the edge with a loud cry of pleasure. Your body shakes against him, and your high-pitched moans, accompanied by heavy panting, have pride swelling in his chest as his fingers help you ride out your orgasm. 
His fingers only stop when your body goes slack, his lips leaving your neck to gently kiss at your lips— a gesture you return lazily. The feeling of his fingers leaving you has you feeling empty, but you’re quickly distracted as Spencer drags his soaked fingers to his lips. Your eyes widen for a second as you watch your boyfriend lick off every bit of you on them, “Let me get a taste,” Your voice is soft as Spencer leans in, kissing you fast and rough. Your tongue drags along his to get a second-hand taste of yourself in his mouth. 
You’re quick to pull away, your hands hooking into the belt loop of his pants, gently yanking at the loop. Spencer laughs at the feeling, and he looks into your eyes with a shameful look— lustful and pleading. You know how badly he wants to dive straight in, but his determination to make you cum too many times to count usually gets in the way of his cock. 
“Haven’t seen you in three weeks. You can make it up to me later.” You joke softly, your fingers undoing the top button with ease. 
Spencer grins as he slides his pants down his legs, kicking them off. He finds himself blushing at how your eyes shamefully stare at the outline of his cock in his boxers, precum already wetting some of the fabric. He finds himself doing the same with you, though, his eyes taking in the undone ribbon of the lingerie at your sides, the way your legs are parted to give him a delicious view of your dripping sensitive folds. 
Your fingers slip into the waistband of his boxers, gently tracing his cock with your fingers, a soft, pleasured sigh leaving his lips at the feeling. “So hard,” You mutter, leaning up to kiss a part of Spencer’s jaw. 
Spencer lets out a low hum of agreement. Being as busy as he has been, he hasn’t found time for any kind of sexual release as of late. “It’s been a little while since I’ve–” 
“That’s okay,” You sigh sensually, your hands wrapping around his dick slowly, “Take off your boxers.” 
Spencer’s more than happy to comply, hurriedly discarding his boxers at your request. He watches as you pull your hand off him to take off your underwear, and Spencer squeaks out a nervous, “Leave it on?” 
Grinning, you nod, your fingers pushing the thong back to the side of him. He groans at the action, looming over you now, his hands on either side of you. “Flip over,” 
A jolt of excitement runs through you at the request, quickly flipping over on your stomach for him. A pleased sound leaves your lips as his hand moves to pull your hips up, forcing your back to arch for him. He slides his thumb and index inside the sting on your thong as he slowly rubs his cock in between your folds– the head of his cock gently kissing your clit. 
The worst part about being in an established relationship and having just started having sex with your partner is the anxiety that follows you after you say something risky. Your lips part nonetheless, your hips pushing back against him quickly, “That’s right, get that cock wet with my pussy.” 
You were never dull during sex, but Spencer was not expecting something so vulgar to fall from your lips. His hips stutter against yours before he finds himself incredibly turned on by the sudden confidence and vulgarity in your words. His hands yank your hips back roughly, lining himself up to inch himself inside of you slowly. 
About halfway inside you, he pulls out till it is just the tip and then repeats the motion— it’s infuriatingly hot. You let out a soft whine at his toying with you and start to move your hips back against him, but that is met with a surprising spank to your ass. 
A sharp gasp leaves your lips at the feelings before you blink, lifting your head to peer at him over your shoulder and whisper a little, “Harder,” 
Seeing your half-lidded eyes looking over at him, your soft lips begging him to spank you harder, Spencer feels a shiver shoot down his spine. He’s sure he can feel himself grow harder as he pushes deeper into your pussy and delivers a solid smack to your ass with the flat of his palm. 
He then follows the motion with a comforting rub of his hand against the swell of your ass. For a second, he’s worried about hurting you or making you uncomfortable–  unexplored territory. The feeling of your walls tightening around him for a second, fluttering in a way that has him bottoming out inside you without hesitation, reassures him. 
“God,” He huffs as he sets a pace, his hand occasionally delivering a hard spank to your ass whenever he feels your hips moving with his. You feel terrific; the feel of your reddening ass under his hand, the soft skin of your hip in his other, he’s surprised that he isn’t drooling. 
You, however, are starting to feel yourself beginning to drool. Moans and groans coming from the two of you has your head spinning, the rough feeling of Spencer’s hips against yours making your legs feel weak. 
Spencer pulls all the way out as he feels himself getting close, his soaked cock resting against your ass– the sight is something has him letting out a shaky sigh. He doesn’t need to say anything before you’re flipping over on your back again, legs spread and lips wet as you mutter a needy sounding, “More.” 
Spencer can’t find it in himself to deny you or himself, moving closer to you and lining himself up with your entrance again. As he sinks into you, you move your legs up, your hands holding the back of your knee. The new position lets him sink in deeper, and Spencer’s sure you’re an angel. 
You’re practically sucking him in, his breathing getting heavier as he moves against you, His eyes dipping between your face and between your legs– intelligent eyes watching the way his cock disappears deep inside of you. “You take it so well.” 
His hands reach up slowly, tracing the back of your thighs before replacing your hands at the back of your knee, bending your legs back further. He places a chaste kiss on your forehead, the gentle gesture leaving your head reeling when accompanied by this immense pleasure. 
You gasp out at the slight burn of your thighs, toes curling slightly, when Spencer starts to roll his hips in fast, tight circles. The roll of his hips makes his cock hit your G-spot, your eyes rolling back at the feeling as a guttural-sounding groan joins the lewd sounds leaving your lips. 
Spencer takes that as his sign to snap his hips into yours, his forehead pressing against yours as he moans and whines. “You feel so fucking good. I’ll never leave again.” 
You can feel your lower abdomen tighten quickly at the rough movements. A shaky laugh leaves you at his mention of never leaving, but words fail you as you cry out. The past few times the two of you have had sex, he was never this rough. You aren’t complaining, but his frantic, rapid thrusts are leaving you with the feeling that you’ll beg for a repeat sometime in the future. 
A long whine leaves you as you feel yourself getting closer, your hands holding tight on Spencer’s shoulders, your body jolting slightly with his rough thrusts. “So good! You’re fucking me so good. Please, don’t stop.” You beg without shame, “Need to cum, make me cum again.” You beg through moans. 
Spencer almost cums inside you upon hearing your begging, but he holds off— a new mission in focus. He slows for a second, moving one of your hands off his shoulder and under your knee before he slides his hand down to your aching clit. His thumb makes quick, tight, hard circles without warning— the scream that leaves your chest has him worried for your neighbors. 
“That’s it, tighten around me like that.” He pants out from above you, his eyes locking onto yours as he speaks. He watches the way your eyebrows raise in pleasure, and your mouth starts to let out a mix of silent screams and loud groans. “You look pretty when you cum around my cock, my pretty girl.” 
Your legs are shaking with that, the coil in your abdomen snapping with force as you bite your bottom lip to try and silence the sound of your orgasm– a groan that almost sounds inhuman. Spencer’s quick to follow, his hips roughly snapping into yours with his thumb continuing its torment on your sensitive clit. 
The feeling of overstimulation has you letting out a weak-sounding whine, almost a sob. You’re gasping hard as he keeps going, frenzied thrusts that have your free hand gripping the sheet tight until he bottoms out in you with a shaking groan. His hips thrust into you a few more times as he empties himself into you, shaking hard. 
A moment passes with neither of you moving, your legs moving down to the bed, and the realization sets in. Spencer looks at you with wild eyes, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking–” 
You laughed weakly and held up a hand, “Spencer, it’s okay.” Your voice sounds a little raw as you relax into your bed slightly, with him still hovering over you. “I’m on the pill, remember?” 
“Well, when taken correctly, it’s 99% effective, but if you’ve forgotten a day lately, it’s only 93%.” He pouts lightly when a giggle leaves your lips, but he smiles against his better judgment. “I’m serious, what if…” 
“I doubt it will, but if it does come to that, we’ll deal with it.” You mutter, slowly reaching a hand up to rake your fingers through his messy brown hair. “Clean me up?” 
Spencer notes how your voice sounds: shy and a little desperate. He tilts his head, a playful smile on his face as his eyes trail down to your parted thighs, “Insatiable this evening, I see,” He jokes as he begins to lower himself, soft fingers rubbing against your inner thighs.  
You groan in faux annoyance before you feel his breath fanning against your inner thighs, “Merry Christmas,” You tease softly.
480 notes ¡ View notes
lovelyhan ¡ 2 years ago
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— again and again ⟢
pairing: mingyu x reader
summary: your mother calls one day, asking if you’re bringing mingyu along for chuseok this year. in your panic, you end up giving her an affirmative—never mind the fact that you and mingyu have stopped seeing each other over half a year ago.
word count: 15.7k words
tags: exes, fake dating, mutual pining, idol!gyu, vet!reader, mild angst, fluff, smut
warnings: medical jargon, mentions of shots (for pets), mentions of snake bites, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)
notes: i wrote this with bss' 7pm on loop for two straight days. nothing like the sweet taste of yearning <3 this also wasn't extensively proofread, so if you spot a few mistakes, i implore you to ignore them EJWHJHSDF
this is part of the doting on you! series.
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smut tags: vanilla, mingyu is super whipped, praise kink, service top gyu, dirty talk, nicknames (babygirl, sweetheart, sweet thing), overstimulation, multiple rounds, unprotected sex, creampie, heads up that the filth is at the very end tho
taglist: @cherrycheolie1995 - @ashkuuuu - @potatofrieswithketchup - @christinewithluv - @fancypoisonapple - @odetoyeonjun - @minnie-mouser22 - @etherealyoungk - @davoraciousreader - @mariondior - @hella-sirius - @coveyland - @marlow234 - @dobomiyeon - @belysusonrisa - @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @seoksoop - @dreamhannies - @renjunphile - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @acgyu - @gae-uls - @pluviophile-xxx - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @yutadae - @smileyjimvn
additional notes: you might want to check your visibility settings if you can't be tagged!
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When you hear the telltale ring as the call connects to its intended recipient, you wonder why you even considered this idea in the first place. Not to mention, you’re getting a nasty case of phone call anxiety—one that you haven’t felt in god knows how long. Maybe it’s because of the identity of the person you’re calling that your nerves are all over the place. 
In fact, you’re not sure if he’s even going to answer. There are a million and a half reasons why famous superstar Kim Mingyu won’t be able to pick up your call. He could be shooting for a music video or some fashion magazine. He could be in the middle of an interview. Or he could be out spending time with his members like tends to these days if his recent Instagram posts are anything to go by. 
But you try anyway because your mother sounded so hopeful in the phone call you just hung up on five minutes ago (The rice wine he got for us last Christmas was splendid! He’ll bring some again for Chuseok, won’t he?), that you just didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.
So, because you can’t take back the pretty white lies you uttered (Uh, of course he will. Gyu told me he missed everyone back at home, too. Especially Namja), you’re attempting to rope Mingyu into the charade even if the odds are against you.
The first call doesn’t go through. Neither does the second. 
By your third try, you’re about to accept the fact that you’re going to have to make some due corrections to what you told your mother until you hear a groggy, “Hello?” on the other line. 
You nearly fall off your seat at the throaty sound of Mingyu’s voice, but you’d rather not get weird looks from your receptionist, so you breathe in as deeply (and quietly) as you can before mustering a smile that he won’t even be able to see.
“Hey, Mingyu, it’s me,” you begin, a bit proud of how your voice didn’t even falter. “It’s been a while. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
He doesn’t respond for a while, and the prolonged silence makes you bite the inside of your cheek. Did the call fall through? Did he not hear what you said? But just when you’re about to repeat the words—
“Kind of,” Mingyu grumbles, and you try not to think about how sexy his morning voice sounds despite it being two in the afternoon. “We finished taping a variety show today and I figured I’d get some sleep. It’s midnight right now.”
Well that’s news to you.
“Oh. You’re not in Korea?”
“Nah. We’re in New York for some brand collaborations,” he says, and you hear some rustling in the background, followed by a yawn. “Though I doubt you’ve been keeping tabs on us.” 
Okay, he doesn’t have to call you out like that.
Sure, you still catch posts from Mingyu, as well as the other twelve members of SEVENTEEN from time to time, but…after breaking up with him (on good terms, promise!), you thought it’s best if you didn’t see too much of them anymore. The block and mute buttons are your best friends, and while you didn’t use them on the members directly, gossip outlets were your regular targets.
So to speak, it’s been a peaceful six months since your break up with Mingyu. 
Until now.
“Do you need something?” he asks, and you realize you didn’t respond to what he said last. “Whatever it is, I might not be able to help you out right away. We’re holed up here until next month.”
Well…that’s all the confirmation you needed.
“I see,” you sigh, trying not to sound too disappointed. “It’s— It’s okay.”
“So you do need something,” Mingyu points out, voice much clearer now than it was two minutes ago. Like he was more awake. “What is it?”
“Nothing you should worry about, Gyu,” you reassure before making a face, not realizing how easily the old nickname just slipped out. “I’m sorry for waking you up. You should go back to—”
The sound of him whining at the other end sends another rush of vertigo through your entire being. “Come on, I’m awake anyways right? You know how hard it is for me to fall asleep again.”
“If I’d known we weren’t in the same continent, I wouldn’t have called altogether,” you say before quaintly adding, “Shit. This counts as an international call, doesn’t it?”
There’s someone else in the room with him, you think—a quiet drawl of Mingyu-hyung, what time is it? You immediately recognize it as Seungkwan. 
“Five minutes past midnight,” Mingyu says, and Seungkwan asks another question that you aren’t able to catch. “Who am I talking to? Bookkeu and Bobpul’s worst enemy.”
“Hey!” You scowl at him. “They never even whined when you and Seungkwan brought them to me for their shots!”
“Noona? Why are you calling this guy?” Seungkwan says a bit more loudly for you to hear. “Didn’t you dump him already? Good choice, by the way.” 
This time it’s Mingyu’s turn to utter out a semi-offended, “Hey! Mind your own business, Seungkwan-ah.”
A few minutes of bickering with his dongsaeng later, you figure that Mingyu must’ve gone outside of their hotel room for some privacy. You can vaguely hear the sound of the wind blowing on his end before he heaves a deep sigh.
“Sorry about that.” He coughs awkwardly. “Anyway, if you’re not going to tell me about what you needed help with, how are you? Is the clinic doing well? Did your receptionist finally ditch her shitty boyfriend? Does that one guy with a husky still hit on you?”
You’re a little overwhelmed by the sudden influx of questions. Last you checked, you haven’t spoken to Mingyu since you greeted him on his birthday over a quick text message. But then again, your ex does have a talent for completely ignoring the time that exists in between interactions. Mingyu’s always been amicable for conversation, idol or not, boyfriend or not. 
The mere thought that he hasn’t changed at all makes your heart ache in more ways than one.
You manage a quiet laugh. “I’m fine. The clinic’s fine. Chae has a new boyfriend now. He even helps us sort out new products on the shelves sometimes.”
At the mention of her name, your receptionist whips her head in your direction, one brow raised. You shake your head with a smile, gesturing that this is nothing she should even be remotely concerned about. 
It’s just Mingyu after all.
“Okay, how about the guy who—”
“I turned him down when he asked me out for lunch last week.”
He whistles. “Ouch. And he’s been trying to get with you all this time.”
“I don’t usually date my clients, you know.”
“Yeah? I must be special then.”
Then comes the silence—so thick, you can cut through it with a knife. 
“Uh, so I have a patient coming in an hour for a castration procedure,” you tell him a bit awkwardly. “Gotta prepare everything before the owner arrives.”
Mingyu sighs, and you can almost imagine him pouting. “You’re really not gonna tell me? I can still help you with whatever you need even when I’m out here. Unless it requires me to, you know, physically be there.”
You chuckle. “That’s the thing, Gyu. You can’t help me because I need you to actually be here.”
“Oh. Why? What for?”
You inhale sharp breath through your nose, closing your eyes as your face warms with embarrassment. Chae is definitely looking at you funnily from her station now, but you tell yourself not to give it too much thought.
“Mom asked if I was bringing you with me for Chuseok,” you admit. “I haven’t been home since Christmas, so… They kind of have no idea that we aren’t together anymore.”
Mingyu falls silent for a while yet again, and you realize that your anxiousness spikes whenever he isn’t talking like there’s no tomorrow. You wonder if he’s figured out what you’re trying to insinuate and is silently berating you for the lapse in judgment. But when Mingyu bursts out laughing on the other end, you suddenly don't mind being on the receiving end of his silence after all.
“No way,” he gasps between chuckles. “You were going to ask me to pretend to be your boyfriend over the holidays, weren’t you?! One of the fans wrote a story about the exact same thing once, except it’s between me and Wonwoo-hyung. It was in English though, but Vernon translated it pretty well.”
…Kim Mingyu admitting to reading fanfiction about himself and Wonwoo aside, you groan. “What am I supposed to do? My family loves you. I’d rather not dampen the Chuseok spirit by saying their favorite son has unfortunately made his unannounced exit half a year ago.”
“So you’re willing to pretend we’re still together just to keep them happy?”
“Well, yeah. It’s not like you’re an ex I should be ashamed of, Gyu.”
“Because I’m an idol that millions are vying for?” 
You roll your eyes. “No. It’s because out of all my exes, you’re the only one that Namja actually likes. That’s pretty much the highest honor you can receive in your entire life.”
Your heart does a little flip when Mingyu barks out another light-hearted laugh. You tell yourself that you’re only reacting that way because…it has been a while since you talked to him. That, and Mingyu was always so smiley whenever you brought up your ten year-old retriever.
“Point taken,” he says. “I’d totally be down to help you out, but…yeah.”
“I knew you would be,” you reply, a sad smile ghosting your features. “That’s why I called.”
Silence settles over the line once again, but it’s, by no means, awkward. It’s more…sentimental. Like two old friends reminiscing about the good memories you shared. 
Huh. You’re friends with Mingyu…
“Anyway, thanks for catching up with me, Mingyu,” you tell him before you end up saying something you’re not supposed to. “I’ll get going now. Good night.”
“Hey—”
You end the call before he can have the chance to make you falter.
Right behind her desk, Chae looks up at you with a knowing look. You flash her a smile that silently pleads for her not to say a word, but your receptionist has always been on the frank side.
“Something’s telling me you’re still hung up on him, boss.”
Sighing, you push yourself back to your feet, tugging on the lapels of your crisp white coat. That might be true to some degree, but it’s not like you can do anything about it.
You and Mingyu live in two completely different worlds. It’s something that you both came to terms with when you broke up. You just had to accept the fact that there’s simply no efficient way to work around his busy schedules and the appointments you need to attend to at the clinic. 
It was the most unproblematic breakup you’ve ever had, and it’s with a famous idol. Who would’ve thought. 
“Anyway,” you tell Chae before nudging the door to the operating room open. “Care to help me look for the anesthetics? I can’t remember where I put them away last time…”
Your receptionist is most definitely judging you inside your head, but despite how straightforward she can be, Chae still knows when to drop it. After a few clicks on the clinic’s desktop computer, she joins you on the hunt for that pesky bottle of anesthesia without asking any intrusive questions.
You make a mental note to treat her to some coffee tomorrow.
…
One of the reasons you seldomly paid your hometown a visit is the hassle that comes with the entire commute.
First you have to endure the long queue to get tickets before sitting through an eight-hour train ride to the seaside town of Haenam. Then comes navigating the local bus routes and schedules that always seem to change every time you go home. 
When you made it out of the train station for this year’s Chuseok celebration, you didn’t even bother stressing yourself out with taking the bus back to your parents’ house—flagging down a taxi that definitely charged you a ridiculous rate in exchange for your utmost comfort instead. 
You try not to think about how easier it was last Christmas, when you and Mingyu took turns driving one of his company’s cars on the way here—laughing and singing along to their songs on the road like nothing else mattered.
The scent of salt hangs heavy in the breeze when you unload your baggage from the trunk of the taxi. You had the foresight to make the trip before midnight, so you’re rewarded with the sight of the sunrise breaking through the nearby ocean—light glittering across the horizon like it means to say welcome home. 
That’s what you should feel; like you’re at home. But the fact that you’re about to bring some disappointing news to the table regarding your breakup with Mingyu isn’t doing your peace of mind any favors. 
You contemplated coming clean about it to your parents over a phone call, but it seemed too…impersonal with how attached they’ve gotten to your ex-boyfriend. Having a significant other that your family absolutely adores seems like a double-edged sword now that you think about it.
Once the cab hits the road again, you stand in front of your family home with a wistful sigh. It’s barely past seven in the morning, but your father must already be at the pier—sorting out today’s catch with the other fishermen in town.
Your mother loves taking walks in the market even if she doesn’t have anything in particular to purchase for the day. They’re early risers by default. 
You can’t really say the same for your younger brother, Haneul, though. That one likes to sleep until noon. 
When you ring the doorbell outside, you expect to hear the sound of excited barking from the other side of the gate. Namja was always the first to welcome you back whenever you’re in town, and just thinking about reuniting with him quells your anxiousness a little. But surprisingly, you don’t hear the telltale noise of your family dog’s excitement. 
What you do hear is the sound of the screen door opening and slamming back shut—slippers being hastily slid on before the gate creaks open, revealing Haneul still sporting a bedhead as he rubs his eyes.
“You’re back,” he says a-matter-of-factly, like he isn’t even thrilled to see you, but you’re too surprised to see him up so early to quip about it. “Mom said you wouldn’t arrive until noon.”
“I wanted to make the most of my vacation leave,” you explain before looking around the garden inside. “Where’s Namja? Did Mom take him for a walk, too?”
Haneul hums before taking your luggage. “Hm. You can say that.”
“What does that even mean?”
As if on cue, your ears perk up at the sound of a familiar bark resounding from the end of the road. You quickly whip your head around to see your beloved golden retriever, Namja, wagging his tail excitedly at the sight of you before letting out another woof when you call out his name in glee.
However, the moment you realize who’s holding his leash, you suddenly feel like you got struck by lightning.
It’s Kim fucking Mingyu.
The sight of your ex-boyfriend just...standing there when he told you he was on the other side of the world sends a million thoughts surging through your head all at once.
You try not to think about how gorgeous he looks in the early morning light. Loose, long sleeved shirt that still emphasizes his muscular build despite. Hair having grown past his chin, curling slightly at the tips. And those stupid fucking canines that peek from his lips every time he grins. 
The bastard is just standing there with zero disguises, as if his existence in this place, at this point in time, doesn't throw a wrench in all of your plans.
What the hell is he even doing here?!
“Oh, sweetie, you’re back!”
The sound of your mother’s voice is, thankfully, enough to snap you out of your impending mental breakdown. You were so taken aback by Mingyu’s presence that you didn’t notice her standing next to him, carrying the bag she usually brings for her early market visits as she flashes you a warm smile. 
You can only stand there in shocked silence as your mother makes her way back to the house with your dog and ex-boyfriend in tow. Haneul was already inside, so you can’t exactly glare at him for not giving you a head’s up. But given that you still have no idea what on earth is going on, you’ll play along. For now.
“Are you surprised?” your mother giggles before patting Mingyu’s shoulder. “Mingyu here said he got off work for a while so he could celebrate with us!”
“Gee, I didn’t know about that,” you say dryly, unsure of what expression you should even wear. “I thought he was going to be in New York until next month.”
She laughs again. “Oh, he told me and your father to keep it a secret that he’s going back to Korea anyways. Seems like the surprise worked, didn’t it, Mingyu-ah?”
The culprit himself agrees with a minute nod before loosening his grip on Namja’s leash. 
Your goldie immediately bounds towards you at the first sign of freedom, bracing his paws on your stomach as he attempts to lick your neck. It’s enough to distract you from the current predicament at hand, making you sigh in defeat as you sink to your knees and receive Namja’s slobbery affection in its entirety. 
As you snuggle up to the family dog, Mingyu says, “What can I say? I missed Haenam a lot. The scenery, the family, Namja, but of course…”
You can only sit there in growing disbelief as Mingyu mirrors your movements. He crouches low enough so that your gazes are leveled before caressing your face with a tenderness that’s both familiar and foreign at the same time. 
“I missed her the most.”
This is all a charade—that’s what you can confirm from the limited clues he’s dropping for you to pick up on. You can try to figure out why he’s suddenly here in your hometown—having arrived earlier than you, from the looks of it—a little later.
What’s important is that Mingyu, ever-so helpful, is actually playing along with the act you not-so-jokingly told him about on the phone.
You should be glad. 
…But why do those words make your heart ache anyways?
“Of course you do,” you sigh before peeling yourself away from his touch, carrying Namja in your arms as if he doesn’t easily weigh thirty kilograms. “Come on. Let’s get back inside and help Mom prepare whatever she’s planning on cooking for lunch.”
Mingyu’s smile doesn’t falter despite your obvious dismissal of his affection. You remind yourself that he’s racked up a lot of acting gigs throughout his career, so it’s normal for him to be a natural at this. 
But even if you know that this is all an act, you can’t help the way your heart lurches when Mingyu scoops Namja out of your grasp—the mere brush of his skin on yours more electrifying than it should be.
Namja whines in your ex’s arms, pawing at his chest before licking a long stripe across his cheek. Mingyu bursts out laughing as he coos at him, and your chest burns with an indescribable feeling.
A few moments later, your mother starts gushing about how excited she is to have both of you in the kitchen with her again as she leads you back inside the house. But all that rings in your head is a broken mantra of Mingyu saying I missed her the most.
As if repeating the words enough times will make them come true.
...
It’s one thing to know that Mingyu is in Haenam when he’s supposed to be overseas.
It’s another thing to see his usual overnight bag at the foot of your unmade bed, making you realize that he definitely came here much earlier than you anticipated.
Mingyu is currently in the kitchen, helping your mother out with lunch prep while she insists that you get some sleep first. Though the trains that led to the southern provinces were designed to be more comfortable than the ones contained in Seoul, nothing defeats the comfort of your old childhood bed. 
Except when you’re made aware of the fact that your ex-boyfriend probably slept in it after making the trip all the way here. 
The sheets even smell like him. A hint of that expensive fragrance he never seems to get tired of laces your pillows, and warmth rushes to your face when you realize you’re breathing it in a bit too much. 
So what if Mingyu slept here, right? Your parents’ house doesn’t have a guest room, and this was probably the only room available.
Oh, and in your family’s eyes, Mingyu is still your boyfriend. There shouldn’t be anything weird about your boyfriend, who went out of his way to quote-unquote surprise you, sleeping in your room, on your bed, without your knowledge.
And there definitely isn’t an issue with having to sleep next to him on said bed come nightfall.
You totally got this.
An attempt to dissuade all these intrusive thoughts is made as you unload the contents of your luggage into your old cabinet. It works for a while because all the old clothes you still kept tickled some memories from way back in high school, when becoming a vet was nothing but a pipe dream you came up with after Namja became sick on the day of his first birthday. 
In fact, as you look around further, you’re reminded of just how much time has passed since you moved out. The paint on the walls is starting to chip, and the floorboards creakier than you remember. Even the bed that was too spacious for your liking seems to shrink when you imagine Mingyu sprawled all over it with a blanket thrown over his large form. 
But when you recall how you two somehow made the sleeping arrangement work last Christmas, you figure that there isn’t much to worry about.
Aside from the fact that you’re not together anymore. Fuck.
“Hey. Are you awake?”
You jolt at the sound of a soft voice coming from the door. Mingyu’s handsome face peeks from the crack before he opens it all the way, lips pressed together in a hesitant smile.
“Your mom asked if I could fetch your father at the pier in a few,” he says. “Do you want to come with me or do you want to get some sleep first?”
“Do I want to—” you cut yourself off, throwing your hands up in disbelief. “Mingyu, what I want is for you to explain what you’re doing here.”
He cranes his head. “You said you needed help.”
“Yeah, but I was going to be honest about the breakup anyway!” you whisper, not wanting to attract unwanted attention from outside. God knows this house has paper-thin walls. “But then you’re suddenly here, cozying up to my family like we haven’t been ignoring each other for months already.”
“Hey, I’d never ignore you.” Mingyu pouts. “I even picked up when you called me at ass o’clock in the morning, remember? If someone’s ignoring anyone here, it’s you, sweetheart.”
You hate how you bristle at that little pet name. Mingyu doesn’t seem to notice how you react to it, so you steel yourself instead—refusing to give into his unintentional charms. “That’s not the point and you know it, Mingyu. You can’t blame me for reacting this way when you told me that you wouldn’t be able to help me out.”
“But I’m here, right? I thought you’d be a little happier to see me, but I might have been overestimating myself.”
You are. You are happy to see him. 
But having to live with the knowledge that Mingyu is right here, close enough for you to touch, yet can’t because your relationship has long expired? 
You weren’t ready for that. You don’t think you’ll ever be.
“Look,” he starts with a tone that’s meant to placate you, “you were right about not wanting to ruin the holidays with the breakup. I’m just here to help you out since you’re obviously not ready to break the news to your family. It’s not a big deal.”
You scowl at him. “Mingyu, it is a big deal. You are literally an idol with a packed fucking schedule. You can’t just play house with me here when you’re expected to be somewhere else.”
Mingyu shakes his head. “Listen to me first, okay? We were all given the weekend off because of Chuseok on short notice. You don’t have to worry about you unknowingly stealing me away from work because there is no work. Besides, I told you I’d still be here when you need me, right?”
How can he say all that with a straight face? Like he still thinks of you as anything but an old flame that’s long been snuffed out?
The problem with Mingyu is that he’s too earnest for his own good. Always wearing a spectrum of emotions on his sleeve. Always so honest about what he feels about certain things. It’s so fucking difficult to stand your ground against someone who’s nothing but forthcoming about every aspect of his life. 
But it’s not like you could ever resist him to begin with, right?
“Fine,” you grumble. “Give me a few minutes to prep. I don’t want to go out in the docks wearing this many layers anyways.”
You hate how your chest warms when Mingyu’s eyes light up at that. Fight back, maybe?!
He looks like he’s about to say something when an abrupt knock disturbs the quiet atmosphere of your room. From how annoyingly long it lasts, you single out your younger brother as the perpetrator.
“You better not be making your firstborn in there,” Haneul drawls from the other side. 
Mingyu flashes you a mischievous smile before cupping the sides of his hands over his mouth. “We might be making our second born for all you know.”
You won’t survive this weekend. You really won’t.
…
“Remember when we used to eat ice cream by the Han River?” 
You flash Mingyu a perplexed look as you climb out of the car he used to drive all the way to your hometown. It’s a mystery how his manager allows him to go places with their company car with no supervision, but it’s not like Mingyu has done anything in the past to warrant that kind of surveillance anyway.
Besides, if he’s spending the entirety of Chuseok with a bunch of bodyguards lingering around your house, you might actually force him to go back to Seoul altogether.
“Why’d you bring it up?” you ask. “I thought you didn’t like those kinds of dates ‘cause you had to amp up the disguises and everything.”
Mingyu pockets the keys to the car before leaning against the metal railings installed along the pier. Your father is yet to show up at your rendezvous point, so you figure it wouldn’t do anyone harm to entertain Mingyu’s attempt at small talk. 
“Hmm. While I did prefer just cuddling in the dorms and at your place, it always felt a little different whenever we went out together,” he muses, the wind tossing his hair around slightly before turning to look at you. “How about you? Do you have any favorite date of ours in particular?”
You sigh, unsure why he’s even asking you all of this. Yet you indulge him anyway with, “I don’t think it classifies as a ‘date’, but I kinda liked it whenever you hung out with me in the clinic while I tended to some patients. Even if your presence there is an occupational hazard in itself.”
He snickers to himself, and you know damn well he still remembers the flock of fangirls that ran into him in the waiting room when Mingyu paid you a visit out of boredom. Thankfully, they were the respectful kind, and promised not to divulge information about Mingyu’s whereabouts whenever they catch him at your clinic.
“The dogs are always happy to see me,” he chuckles. “The cats, not so much. Oh, but remember when someone brought in their pet snake? I think that one had a crush on me.”
You do, in fact, remember the day Mingyu got bitten by a boa constrictor named Yujin. Her owner is one of your regulars, since other vets in the city don’t have reptiles under their area of expertise. Yujin hasn’t bitten anyone since she first came for a checkup, so you figure that Mingyu must have done something pretty stupid to provoke the aggression. 
“You better be glad constrictor bites aren’t venomous,” you point out with an airy laugh. “Not even a true love’s kiss can cure a venomous snake bite.” 
“It can cure a handful of other things though.”
You turn to glance at Mingyu with a miffed look at his attempt at smooth-talk. He’s always been this way, so it doesn’t particularly faze you. But it still feels surreal to be talking with him right next to the open sea in your hometown as you both wait for your father to arrive.
“I never really got to ask,” you murmur, eyes still trained on a flock of seagulls huddling together near the docks. “How are you? You’re not burning yourself out again, are you?”
You don’t see it, but Mingyu smiles to himself. “It’s in our job description to push ourselves past the limit, you know. But…honestly? It’s been pretty lonely.”
You make a face at that. “Lonely? You’re literally with twelve other guys, like, eighty percent of the time. How does it ever get lonely?”
Mingyu hums before leaning further over the railing. He looks up at the clear blue sky, breathing deeply with his eyes closed, and for a moment, you’re a bit taken aback by how breathtaking he looks under the spill of morning sunlight. 
“You can still get lonely in the middle of all the noise,” he murmurs. “That’s why I was kind of glad I got to go back here for a while. I know I said I meant to help you out, but there might’ve been some selfish reasoning behind the choice, too.”
Your gaze softens at his words. Mingyu is one of the most intensely passionate members of their group, so it’s not hard to believe that he’s also one of those that ends up feeling this way. You remember having a similar conversation with him during a quiet night in your apartment, limbs tangled together under the sheets as he wonders if your lives would be different if he wasn’t an idol.
But of course, it’s your job to remind him that, even if it could become exhausting at times, he once dreamed of being where he is now. 
“They probably miss you already,” you say. “Don’t you guys usually film content for Chuseok?”
“Yeah, but all of that’s prerecorded. They’re all with their families right now, too.” 
“Really? What are you doing here then?” you tease.
Mingyu tilts his head to the side, lips curved into a lopsided smile that reminds you how it felt to catch feelings for him the first time.
“Who ever said you aren’t family?”
Unfair. He’s being so fucking unfair right now.
But you can’t even think about pushing him into the sea because your father has already made his entrance, waving at the two of you despite his hands being full of fishing paraphernalia. 
He sulks about how it took you so long to go back home, and you had to explain that things have been extra hectic at your clinic, especially when you inevitably earned the reputation of being ‘SEVENTEEN Mingyu and Seungkwan’s trusted veterinarian’ despite neither of them having dropped by since the breakup.
You don’t tell them that last part though. The last thing you need is for Mingyu to have something to gloat about.
“It’s a miracle how those nasty paparazzi folks from Dispatch haven’t caught on yet,” your dad says before climbing into the backseat of Mingyu’s company car. “Unless you’re already in cahoots with them? Remember, Kim Mingyu, leave my daughter out of any celebrity gossip! She’s already built a good name for herself.” 
A throaty laugh rumbles in Mingyu’s chest as he pulls out into the street. “You don’t have to worry about that, sir. Protecting her has always been my top priority.”
Your father nods, seemingly pleased with his response. “Damn straight.” 
You don’t express any outward reaction to what Mingyu just told your dad, but you don’t resist when he reaches for your hand over the center console. 
The moment you he squeezes your fingers, you squeeze back. 
…
The rest of the day is packed with preparing lunch and dinner options for your other relatives in town. Having Mingyu on board is an undeniable asset, since the man knows his way around the kitchen even better than you do. It’s a little endearing to think that, even if it’s the first time he’s meeting your aunts and uncles and cousins, his personality makes him fit right in. 
Turns out, one of your cousins’ daughters is a huge fan, and she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw Kim Mingyu smoking fish in the backyard of your parents’ house. She made him promise to sign one of her photocards before they leave—a request that your ex is all too happy to oblige. 
By dinnertime, most of the guests have already left, and it’s just you, Mingyu, and Haneul sharing the rice wine Mingyu brought for the occasion, with your parents having already retired for the night. You didn’t even tell him that your Mom wanted another taste of it, yet he delivered anyway. 
“How are you guys doing it?” Haneul whines, a bit red in the face since he’s already had a few beers before your cousins all left. “When my ex-girlfriend moved to another city, it only took two weeks for us to break up. Long distance is the bane of everyone’s existence.”
“Everyone but ours,” Mingyu says before clinking his glass with yours. “You just have to communicate with each other constantly. If you’re honest about everything both of you are feeling, then it’ll be easier to work things out together.”
It’s so easy for him to say these kinds of things. As if your relationship didn’t go to ruin because of the long distance that always kept the two of you apart. You feel a bit bad for having Mingyu lie to your brother right in his face, but you tell yourself that you’re already here anyway. 
You’ll just have to fake it until you make it.
“But what if the other party doesn’t want to talk about it?” Haneul sighs, tracing the rim of his own glass with his finger. “I wanted to make it work. I really did. But she… She didn’t even want to try anymore. Lost faith in us so quickly, I could hardly believe she even loved me.”
You know Haneul is just drunkenly rambling about his grievances with his ex. He called you about it a few years ago, long before you even met Mingyu, and you consoled him by saying that his ex-girlfriend never deserved his love in the first place.
But even if you know the circumstances that led to your split with Mingyu are completely different, you can’t help but find similarities between the stories. 
You broke up with Mingyu on the first day of spring. When the snow was just beginning to thaw, and the wind started to bring in a warmer climate. They’d just gone back from tour, and you know you’re not the only one feeling the tightly-wound strings of your relationship beginning to fray at the seams. 
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but I don’t think we’re going to work, Gyu,” you murmured, not having the guts to meet his eyes. “I think it’s best if we just focused on our careers.”
You thought he’d throw a fit. Or at least ask you a bunch of questions. Did he do something wrong? Is he not enough? Yet Mingyu simply flashed you a sad smile before nodding right back at you.
“Okay,” he said with a kind of resignation that breaks your heart to hear. “Thank you for being with me all this time.”
In the present, Mingyu shifts beside you on the table—abruptly startling you out of that impromptu trip down memory lane. 
“Then, you’ll just have to take it in stride, Haneul-ah,” he murmurs before throwing back the rest of his drink. Mingyu manages a tight-lipped smile that pains you to look at. “If you really love her, you’ll respect whatever choice she’s come to make in the end. Even if that choice doesn’t involve you anymore. Even if it hurts to see her walk away after everything you’ve built together.”
When Mingyu turns to look at you, you feel like there’s cotton sticking to the roof of your mouth.
“It’s a good thing I never have to experience that with your sister, though. She loves me too much to let me go.”
Haneul huffs from across the table before rising to his feet. “You two are so in love it’s actually disgusting. You know what, let’s just go to sleep.”
Half an hour later, you find yourself standing in the middle of your bedroom as Mingyu gets ready to sleep. He seems to be talking to someone on the phone inside your bathroom, but you purposely decide not to listen in. It was probably his manager or one of the other boys checking in on him.
You don’t wait for him to finish when you climb under the sheets, leaving enough space for him to occupy on the mattress, should he decide to share it with you tonight. There’s also an extra blanket folded on his side of the bed, since Mingyu’s a notorious blanket hogger, and you’d rather not wrestle that six-foot hunk of muscle for warmth. 
Mingyu takes so long on that phone call of his that by the time he finishes, you’re already fast asleep, curled up while facing the wall so you wouldn’t have to face him. He chuckles, lingering just a few seconds longer by the doorframe of the bathroom. How long has it been since he’s last seen your face under the peaceful guise of slumber? 
It’s been too long, and he isn’t about to pass up on the opportunity to commit the sight into memory.
…
Sometime in the middle of the night, you’re rudely roused by the sudden drop in temperature.
It’s only the beginning of autumn, but you noticed that it’s a lot colder than usual. Even if you already have a cozy blanket draped right on top of you. You sigh, shifting on the bed to get more comfortable before realizing that you’re not exactly alone. 
Much like yourself, Mingyu is blinking out the drowsiness in his eyes as he turns to look at you with a question in his sleepy gaze. You shake your head in a wordless attempt to tell him not to worry. 
“You’ve been tossing and turning for thirty minutes now,” he says, and hearing his throaty voice in person doesn’t even compare to that phone call you shared a week ago. “What’s wrong?”
You sigh. “It’s cold, and it isn’t even winter yet.”
He looks at you for a while, as if thinking of what to say before he reaches out for you and tugs you into his arms. Even if you’re practically half-asleep, the sudden action kickstarts your brain into motion, and you struggle against his grip all while whispering, “What the hell are you doing?!”
“You told me back then I’m as good as a furnace on cold days,” he mumbles as he tucks you into his chest—making you hyper aware of every ridge of his toned chest through his shirt. “If it bothers you so much, just think of it as a favor from one friend to another. How’s that sound?”
Friend. You know that’s all that Mingyu is to you these days, and all you are to him, but even in this drowsy haze you’re in, the word still feels like an insult. A word meant to scorn the time you’ve spent as lovers. 
Just thinking about Mingyu as a friend leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, so instead of answering him, you cave and burrow yourself into his warmth—something that he seems pleased with, if the satisfied sound that rumbles in his chest is anything to go by. 
He holds you in his arms the same way he did last Christmas, but there’s an unfamiliar sense of possessiveness sinking uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. You know you shouldn’t think of what he’s doing as anything but a favor between friends. You’re perfectly aware that, as the person who officially ended things between the both of you, you have no right to yearn for something you already gave up on.
But when Mingyu tilts your head up so you can meet his sleepy eyes, you don’t even put up a fight when he presses his lips to yours.
It doesn’t seem like he planned on doing anything beyond that. In fact, you don’t think he meant to do it at all. Just a heat-of-the-moment decision that the two of you could just forget about come morning. 
However, the moment he starts to pull away, you force a hand across the back of his head, crushing your lips back together as you hook one of your thighs across his hips. Mingyu groans into the kiss, large hands migrating to your waist as he reciprocates your newfound hunger like you knew he would. His touch leaves trails of fire tingling across your skin, and every time his canines graze your bottom lip, you quietly moan into his mouth.
This is stupid. You’re both being incredibly stupid. The walls are anything but soundproof, and your parents are sleeping just across the hall.
Yet you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when Mingyu is making your body remember what it feels like to have him all over you like this.
You missed him. His heat. His touch. His kiss. Everything. You missed him so much that it hurts. You missed him so much that when Mingyu’s fingers start to glide along the exposed flesh of your thighs, you detach your lips from his before pushing him away.
You missed Kim Mingyu with the intensity of a dying star collapsing in on itself, of black holes tearing through reality, but this isn’t how you should go about it.
“Let’s…” you whisper, not quite trusting your voice to carry out your message. “Let’s just sleep.”
Mingyu doesn’t argue. He rarely does. But neither do you when he tugs you back in the caging embrace of his warmth. 
For the first time in weeks, you find yourself drifting off into undisturbed slumber.
…
The next morning, you’re set to go back to Seoul, and by some stroke of luck, so is Mingyu. Still, the two of you decide to stick around until lunch time—neither of you breathing a word about what just happened last night.
But while Mingyu starts to load both of your things into the trunk of his car, your mother asks you for a favor at the last minute.
“Can you bring Namja along with you back to the city?” she asks. “He’s been really listless before you and Mingyu arrived. Your father and I were starting to get worried, and figured you might have to do a check up first.”
You raise an eyebrow at her claim, not really noticing anything amiss about your retriever’s health, aside from the usual signs of age. He’s ten years old, turning eleven this year, so it isn’t such a mystery to see that Namja isn’t as hyperactive as he was as a puppy. But then again, your mother has spot-on intuition about all the strangest things, so you indulge her request in the end. 
Besides, having a pet of your own to keep you company doesn’t sound so bad.
Fortunately, Mingyu is more than hospitable when you ask if you could bring Namja along for the ride—promising that he’s car-trained, and won’t make a mess as long as you pull over from time to time. In fact, your ex seems more elated with the idea of your goldie joining the road trip than you are.
“I can come visit Namja in Seoul whenever I want now, right?” he asks with a soft laugh, and you wanted to reply with, Yeah, if you aren’t always so far away, that is, but choose not to. 
The two of you take shifts in driving as usual. Whoever isn’t behind the wheel is in charge of entertaining Namja in the backseat so he wouldn’t end up whining for attention the whole drive back. It’s a setup that you’re pretty okay with, since it minimizes any sort of window for you and Mingyu to have a conversation. God knows you’re not exactly ready to talk about…whatever happened last night. 
So instead, you ask him about a bunch of trivial things so he doesn’t get any ideas.
“You sure your manager is okay with you returning the car while it reeks of Namja?” you laugh before switching lanes on the freeway. “He might not take the news that he sheds very lightly.” 
Mingyu chuckles before scratching behind Namja’s ears. “I promised I’d have it cleaned before I returned it to the office building. Don’t worry about it.”
“Hm. Whatever you say.”
By your third stop-over, you decide to give Namja some food and water while Mingyu gets takeout for the both of you at a nearby fast food chain. You stretch out your limbs while your retriever happily laps from his water bowl, wondering how much longer it’s going to take before you reach Seoul. 
Before you have to part ways with Mingyu again.
You’re startled out of your train of thought when you see Mingyu practically sprinting back to the car, his sunglasses nearly falling off the bridge of his nose. Namja glances up at him quizzically, and you have to stifle a laugh.
“Yeah, a bunch of fans spotted me in line, so we might have to get food back in the city instead,” he explains hurriedly as he helps tidy up Namja’s food and water bowls. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
After his meal, Namja is sated and sleepy—content with resting his head on your thigh as you watch the streetlights blur past the windows. Mingyu is a much faster driver than you are, so he’s able to cut the travel time shorter than it would have been had it been you behind the wheel. But the lack of anything to do has you quietly staring at Mingyu from the backseat while his eyes are glued to the road.
You can’t help but let your gaze linger on his strong arms, and the fact that you were tucked safely between them the night prior. But that’s your first mistake because now, you’re thinking about those desperate kisses you shared in the privacy of your room. Touching each other like you both feared the other would disappear if you didn’t pull them close enough.
You shake your head. No. This isn’t how friends should think about each other. 
Whatever happened back in Haenam, you’re just going to have to leave it there.
It’s already past eight in the evening when Mingyu eases the car into your neighborhood, and you try not to think much of the fact that he still knows where you live. 
“Guess that concludes our weekend getaway,” Mingyu says the moment he finishes helping you carry your stuff back inside your apartment. “Though it seems that someone’s getting pretty cozy really quickly.”
Namja is already familiarizing himself with his new home, wandering around the living room all while sniffing everything in his path. You stifle a soft laugh.
“Yeah. I guess it is,” you murmur before managing a kind smile. “Thanks for having my back, Mingyu. It…means a lot. Really, it does.”
He laughs softly, eyes trailing around the living room with a curiosity that isn’t so different from Namja’s. “You have your first boyfriend with you now. I can rest easy knowing you’re in good company.”
Your face flushes at the thought that Mingyu still remembers the reasoning behind Namja’s namesake. Namjachingu. When he was still a puppy, you said Namja was your first boyfriend, and that you didn’t need anyone else. 
He lived up to his title for years, too—always acting hostile around past boyfriends that you did end up bringing to your parents’ house despite coming from a friendly breed. The only boyfriend that your first boyfriend seemed to approve of is the man standing right in front of you, just when you thought you would never see him again within the four corners of your house.
“You know,” Mingyu begins, hesitation crossing his face for a split second before he meets your eyes. “My family’s in Seoul for Chuseok, too. I told Minseo to bring Bobpul and Baptori, and you might want to schedule a little playdate between my kids and yours.” 
You raise an eyebrow. “Where’s Aji?”
“Too old to travel around,” he chuckles. “But I’m sure the other two can keep Namja company just fine. Join us tomorrow for dinner. What do you say?” 
You hesitate. This should’ve been where you drew the line. Mingyu has already helped you out of your initial predicament. You really shouldn’t create any more problems for yourself by joining his family for a late Chuseok dinner. In fact…
“What, you haven’t told your family that we split either?” you ask, half-jokingly, half-seriously.
“No, they know.” Mingyu shakes his head. “But they’ve always liked you too, so I see no harm in getting everyone to hang out in one place.”
You shoot him a pointed look. “You know this is just going to make things more complicated, right?”
When he flashes you that toothy grin, you already know that this is a losing battle. 
“It does, but it’s still going to be fun,” he says. “So, are you coming?” 
Sometimes, you wish you never met Mingyu at all. Maybe your life wouldn’t be so fucking difficult.
“Fine.”
…
The next day, you bring Namja to the clinic, and Chae is more than happy to see the brand new addition to the workforce. But while she’s giving your goldie more pets than he probably deserves, you ask if you have any clients coming this morning that called in advance.
“Oh, there’s this one guy who’s bringing in a maltese today,” she says, laughing a little when Namja whines at the fact that her attention is divided. “I think his name was… Seungkwan? Something like that. He has some records from last year, but he hasn’t been back since.”
Seungkwan’s coming today? Huh. Talk about coincidence.
You tell Chae about how Seungkwan and Mingyu belong to the same group, and your receptionist is adept enough to catch on to what you’re trying to say. She’s all too quick to suggest plans on how to mitigate the fans from flocking the entrance to the clinic, like that one time when Mingyu was too lax in disguising himself from anyone who could recognize him. 
But when Seungkwan arrives at your door, you remember that he’s one of the members that doesn’t particularly like being crowded by people, even if they are his fans.
He’s dressed discreetly—dark shades, a beanie, and a black face mask—while carrying an adorable pet carrier that’s probably worth half your monthly salary. Seungkwan is so straight-to-the-point with carrying out his business with you, that it’s hard to believe you and him used to joke around like old friends a year ago. 
But for some reason, when Chae excuses herself to answer a phone call, the façade he puts up falls apart in seconds.
“Noona, you have no idea how much I missed you!” he wails before throwing his arms around you. “Other vets just don’t cut it for Bookkeu! They’re always either too mean or too lax with her. You handled her just right today. Can’t believe Mingyu-hyung always calls you her worst enemy.”
You chuckle before patting his back, and Seungkwan pulls away with a pout on his face. “Hey, you guys are the ones who ghosted me after Mingyu and I broke up. You’re always welcome to come back to have your pets checked—non-showbiz girlfriend or not.” 
“That hyung of mine is stupid,” Seungkwan scoffs as he scoops Bookkeu into his arms. “Well, you’re kind of the same way, but I can’t exactly call you stupid or you might take it out on Bookkeu—”
“I would do no such thing, Seungkwan-ah,” you complain. 
“Okay, it’s just my personal opinion that maybe you two didn’t have to split up at all,” he huffs. “Mingyu-hyung has become more and more listless since you broke up with him. He might look like his usual self on camera, but when we’re not recording anything? He’s always so lost in thought! It gets on Coups-hyung’s nerves sometimes.”
Listless, huh… 
Your mother said the exact same thing about Namja. Speaking of, your gaze drifts over to your goldie who’s staring outside the door to your clinic, like he’s waiting for Chae to come back and shower him with attention again. 
Is Seungkwan insinuating that he and Mingyu aren’t so different?
“Maybe he’s just going through a blue period,” you suggest before writing up a prescription for the vitamins that Bookkeu will have to take for the next two weeks. “It’s been so long since we broke up. I doubt he’s acting that way because of me.”
Seungkwan breathes in deeply, like he’s just barely able to contain the urge to slap some sense into you. “Noona, listen to me. Kim Mingyu is catastrophically in love with you. When you called that night when we were sharing a hotel room in New York, it was the first time I saw him look so genuinely happy for reasons that aren’t related to our music. But that hyung of mine is too selfless for his own good.”
You startle a bit when he suddenly lifts Bookkeu closer to you and points her adorable face in your line of sight. 
“He wants you back, but he’ll never admit it, especially when you made your choice clear all those months ago,” Seungkwan says before pushing his maltese even closer to you. “But now, something tells me that you’re still hung up on him, just as much as he’s hung up on you—if all the things he told me about your trip to Haenam are true, that is.”
Huh. That time he took so long in the bathroom… He must’ve been talking to Seungkwan.
“Okay, but why does it feel like you’re using Bookkeu to threaten me into doing something?” You laugh softly. “Seungkwan, our time is up. And it’s not something we can just take back whenever we feel like it.”
“Wh—! Don’t you think things are only that way because both of you are making it more complicated than it should be?” He sighs, exasperated. “Also, yes I am using Bookkeu to threaten you. Promise that you’ll at least talk to Mingyu-hyung about this? We can’t stand seeing him so out of it anymore. Come on, you can’t resist those cute puppy eyes, right?”
You sigh, half-considering pointing out that Bookkeu is, by no means, a puppy anymore, but then again, you still call Namja that despite being more than a decade old.
“Alright, alright,” you relent. “I’m meeting his family tonight for dinner anyways. Might as well clear the air.”
Seungkwan gasps, a comical expression rooting itself on his face. “See! You’re having dinner with his family, too?! If you’re not back together by the time we fly back to the U.S., I'm never talking to either of you ever again.”
Now, it’s your turn to pout. “Who are you going to go to for Bookkeu’s check-ups then?”
He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again before letting out a petulant huff. You can’t help the snicker that bubbles in your chest as Seungkwan tilts his chin up with indignance. 
“Point taken,” he says before narrowing his eyes and pointing his index finger at you. “But I’m expecting Kim Mingyu to come back to the dorms later, happy and not heartbroken. Okay?” 
You raise your hands before handing him your written prescription. “No promises.”
When Chae returns inside the clinic, you physically have to hold Namja down just so she can give Seungkwan a receipt for today’s visit. Your mother was right, he definitely was growing lonely back in Haenam. You haven’t seen him this excited in years. 
Seungkwan bids you another, more formal goodbye, now that you're not alone anymore. He doesn’t need to reiterate what he asked of you out loud—the look in his eyes is already telling enough. 
Given that today is a bit of a slow day, you decide to run a few diagnostic tests on Namja just to confirm whether or not he’s silently carrying some sort of disease. But all his results came out normal, except for a clinically insignificant but still noticeable increase in his body sodium levels. Might have to cut down the treats for a few days. 
Otherwise, he’s happy and healthy ten—going eleven—years into his lifespan. The reason for his lethargy back home must have something to do with innate loneliness after all.
Then you remember what Seungkwan told you about Mingyu. How he hasn’t really been himself since the breakup. You never really felt that during your time together in your hometown. He’s still the effortless charmer that you once fell in love with. The big softie that can get along with anyone and everyone, given the right circumstances.
Mingyu has always been a people pleaser. The last thing he wants to do is inconvenience others. So it’s kind of hard to believe that he’s been so out of it that even Seungcheol is starting to get pissed with his behavior. 
The sound of Namja barking jolts you out of your thoughts before your goldie pads over to where you’re seated behind your desk, whining as he nuzzles your hands as if he knows you’re thinking a bit too hard about something distressful. You let out a quiet laugh, scratching behind his ears just like you know he likes.
“I wonder what I’m supposed to do,” you chuckle. “Maybe I should’ve been born as a dog instead. Thinking about all of this is giving me a headache.”
Namja growls before barking again. Like he doesn’t approve of the idea of not having you as his fur parent. You let out another laugh that’s a lot less quiet before you decide to pull out your phone and shoot Mingyu a text.
Are you picking me up later or not?
…
Dinner with Mingyu’s family is splendid
The outdoor restaurant his mother booked in advance probably serves the best songpyeon you’ve ever tasted in your life. Add that to the fact that they accommodate pets in their alfresco area, this could easily be one of the next places you’ll take your own parents for a meal when you bring them to Seoul for a quick getaway. 
Namja is a bit shy around other animals—a result of being around no one but your family for so long. But when Minseo introduces him to both Bobpul and Baptori at the same time, the two little rascals easily coaxed your senior citizen goldie out of his shell. Next thing you know, they’re running around the outdoor dining area like a bunch of energetic pups.
“Unnie, are you back together with this guy?” Minseo asks in the middle of dessert, pointing her spoon accusingly at Mingyu. “You can do so much better than him, though.”
Their father laughs at their youngest’s comment, and their mother rubs Mingyu’s back as if she agrees, yet still wishes to console her son regardless. Mingyu is simply scowling at his family for how quick they are to throw him under the bus.
“Shut up, you sound just like Seungkwan,” he whines. 
“Well, we’re both right.”
You let out a laugh of your own before scooping some ice cream into your mouth. Then, tentatively, you say, “Don’t say that. Gyu wasn’t that terrible of a boyfriend, you know?” 
“He’s always so busy though. Doesn’t even have time to come visit Bobpul and our other dogs anymore,” Minseo sulks. “He even missed my graduation! Can you believe it?”
Mingyu pouts. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” 
She huffs. “Not sorry enough!”
“Well, for starters, even if he is ridiculously busy, he still makes sure to call me before he goes to bed after a particularly tough schedule,” you say. “He also answers my calls even if our time zones are different, and it’s an ungodly hour where he currently is. Then when he finally comes back to Korea, he’ll give a bunch of gifts that reminded him of me on his trip overseas.”
You don’t know what compelled you to do so, but the words just gush out naturally. It was a little difficult the first time Mingyu had to hop on a plane to some other country to film some content with the boys, but you eventually got used to it, and managed to make a couple work-arounds.
Now that you think about it, if you were so used to it, why’d you decide it was best for you to part ways when he got back from tour? It’s been so long that you don’t even know the logic behind the reasoning anymore. You just remember feeling like it was the best decision at the time. And you were right—your careers have definitely thrived even after the breakup.
As you continue telling Minseo and their parents about how much of a catch the eldest son of the Kim family really is, you fail to notice the way Mingyu’s eyes never leave you the entire time. Soft, with just a hint of yearning that you’ll only be able to notice if you knew what you were looking for. 
“Ugh, fine,” Minseo huffs, and you don’t think she and Seungkwan are all that different from each other. “This is the first time I’ve seen a couple that’s broken up months ago talk about each other so fondly, still. You sure you two aren’t secretly dating again?”
“Minseo,” their mother scolds before flashing you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about her. Minseo’s just been really snappy lately. Must be because she missed Mingyu here very much.”
She rolls her eyes. “As if I’ll miss that credit-grabbing punk. He didn’t even acknowledge me in his latest Instagram post!”
“Speaking of dating again,” their father interjects before taking a sip of his wine. “Minseo’s right about one thing at least. You and Mingyu still have chemistry after so long. What’s stopping you from getting back together again?”
At your side, Mingyu flashes his father a cautionary look. “Dad, that’s a really inappropriate question, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes, of course. My apologies. This old man is really just…curious, so to speak.” 
He bows his head slightly, and you make a little gesture that insists you took no offense. But the inquiry definitely made you think for a moment.
It’s like everyone you know completely supports the idea of you and Mingyu just burying the hatchet and rekindling your relationship. But didn’t they consider the logistics of it? You’re a full-time vet and Mingyu’s a full-time idol that travels out of Korea at least once a month. Though you’re a bit unsure of it now, that still played a part in why you called it quits in the first place.
Even when Mingyu took it upon himself to drive you and Namja back to your apartment, his father’s question still lingers in the back of your mind. 
What’s stopping you from getting back together again? 
The answer is pretty simple, but it’s not something you’re ready to face just yet.
It’s you. You’re the only one keeping yourselves from reigniting what you once thought was already lost. Your guilt. Your regrets. Your fears. You didn’t need a verbal confirmation to know that Mingyu would drop everything in a heartbeat if it meant you’ll take him back again. But as much as your friends joke about how you deserve better than Mingyu, you’re convinced it’s the other way around.
Mingyu deserves someone who can reciprocate the love he’s so willing to give tenfold. Someone who doesn’t flake out when he needs them most. 
Someone who isn’t you.
When he pulls over a red light, he lets out a sigh as he checks the text messages that popped up on his phone. After a few scrolls he says, “Oh. Jeonghan-hyung texted about some party in Gangnam. Do you want to—”
“Gyu,” you whisper, eyes riveted on the busy street. “What are we doing?”
He blinks. “Celebrating Chuseok together?”
“But we’re friends right?” You laugh somewhat bitterly. “Friends don’t normally celebrate the entirety of their Chuseok weekend bonding with each other’s families. Friends don’t make out with each other in the middle of the night. And…”
You let out a shuddering sigh before adding, “Friends don’t look at each other the way you look at me.”
You can clearly hear the sound of his breath hitching even if you don’t turn to look at him. It seems like he was about to say something in return, but the stoplight turns green, and he’s back to pulling his focus on the road instead of you.
In the backseat, you can hear Namja whining—ever the empath, that one. You immediately feel him pawing against your seat, as if silently asking what’s wrong. Turning around, you give him a few reassuring pats, not wanting to get claw marks all over Mingyu’s borrowed car.
The two of you are completely silent as he walks you back to the front door of your apartment. You know he didn’t have to, yet he did anyway. How Mingyu of him.
When you finally muster the courage to look up at him and bid him good night, Mingyu grabs your wrist—forcing you to meet his desperate gaze. 
“If I told you I wanted you back, would anything change? No, right?” he whispers, voice tinged with so much emotion, you can feel your own heart ache at the sound of it. “So I’m sorry if I’m being selfish for inviting you to every place I could think of. If I want to spend as much time with you as I can because I know I won’t ever get the chance to do so if I let this pass.”
When he presses your foreheads together, the look in his eyes is so smoldering, you can’t bear to look away. This is what a man that’s been yearning for you for months looks like, it seems. 
And you don’t think you can keep resisting him for long.
“Before I get thrown back into that haywire of a schedule again,” he whispers, and you feel every breath fan across your skin, “can’t you at least let me have this? Let me have you?” 
You don’t even know who it is that lunges in for the kiss. The next thing you know, Mingyu has you pressed up against your front door, devouring your lips where all your neighbors can see. But you don’t care. Not when he’s desperately holding your body flush against his as you reclaim what’s always been yours.
He whispers a bunch of things along the column of your neck as he loosens the strings holding your dress together from behind. Some sweet, some endearing, and others a touch too filthy for others to hear aloud. You stifle your little gasps when he wraps a strong arm around your waist, nudging your thighs apart with his knees so you can feel the hardness straining against his middle.
“It’s you,” he murmurs against your feverish skin, teeth grazing across your flesh ever-so lightly. “It’s always been you. And it will always be you.” 
You know Mingyu is a good actor. But it’s so earth-shatteringly different to hear the raw desperation in his voice. How earnest he is in telling you just how much he still loves you without saying the words outright. You can only dream of being as honest with your true feelings as he is. 
But tonight, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with letting yourself fall.
In the midst of your mounting desire for each other, though, a lone whine in the night snaps both you and Mingyu out of your newfound vigor. You nearly forgot about Namja, who’s impatiently waiting for either of you to open the front door so he can finally take a nap. You glance at Mingyu, and he glances right back, before the two of you burst out laughing like a couple of teenagers without a care in the world.
Once you’ve gotten your needy retriever settled outside, Mingyu practically tosses you on the bed the moment the door to your room clicks shut—all too eager to cage you between his arms as he continues where you left off. 
The suit he wore tonight looked a bit too good on his frame, but now you want nothing more than to claw it off him. He chuckles, sensing your desperation as he shrugs off his coat and unbuttons his dress shirt along the way.
“I don’t remember you being this desperate for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning down to grasp your face as he strokes your heated skin with his thumb. “I can’t say I hate the development though.”
“Mingyu,” you whimper as you guide his thumb to your lips, suckling on it in a way that you know makes him lose his mind every time. “Please. I want you.” 
It’s so easy to be honest with yourself. You wonder why you’ve struggled with doing that for so long, but then you remember that your brain is fogged with desire for the man that’s currently staring you down like he’s doing everything in his power not to fuck you into the mattress right away. 
But at that moment, you throw all logic and caution in the wind in exchange for taking even more of Mingyu’s thick fingers into your mouth.
“So good for me,” he whispers when he sees you inch your knees apart to welcome him in between. The hand that’s not being fellated by your tongue finds its way to the apex of your thighs—cupping your clothed heat in a way that makes you moan around his fingers. “How badly do you want me, sweet thing?”
“So, so badly,” you manage to wrench out despite your mouth being full, rutting your hips to introduce some friction between your aching pussy and his hand. “Please, Gyu…”
When he’s satisfied, his free hand migrates to your thighs, spreading you further apart as he brings his lubricated fingers to your sopping core. There’s something so fucking hot in the way he just nudges your panties to the side—groaning when he finds you already soaked for him. 
“You need something to stretch out this pretty little pussy, don’t you?” he murmurs into your ear, nipping at the lobe just the way you like it. “You want my fingers or my cock, babygirl? Better choose wisely.”
You want to say that you’re too fucking horny for foreplay, but also remember that each time you had sex with Mingyu in the past, the stretch of his massive cock can be quite uncomfortable if he doesn’t prep you. With how long it’s been since you’ve laid in bed together, you don’t want to rush into it without thinking of the consequences after.
So, you mewl, “Fingers first. Then your cock.”
Mingyu laughs—a deep, sexy sound—before planting a kiss on your nose. “That’s my girl.”
He carefully eases one digit into your hole, eyes never leaving your face as he gauges your reactions. Part of you wishes to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry so much. That you still trust him with your own body even after all this time. You don’t say anything aloud, but Mingyu seems to get the gist from the look in your eyes either way, surging forward so he can press his lips back onto yours as he loosens you up.
“You’re always so quick to get wet for me, baby,” he sighs, stifling the noise that escapes you when he slides in a second finger to test the resistance of your walls. “You’ve no idea how much I missed this. Missed you .”
“Gyu, I—” Your breath hitches once he curls his fingers just so, making your legs rise involuntarily off the mattress, but Mingyu pins one of your thighs down with his free hand. 
“What was that?”
He’s teasing. He rarely ever does that. You shoot him a petulant look before taking his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging hard enough to coax a groan out of him. 
“I missed you, too,” you whisper. “You’re the only one who can make me feel this good.”
A dozen emotions flit through Mingyu’s face in the span of a millisecond, but the one that remains is something not so different from longing. You hear him sigh a couple of words that you don’t quite catch before he’s taking his fingers out of your sopping cunt and pulling away from you. Just when you’re about to voice out a complaint, he starts undoing his trousers, kicking them away to some uncharted part of your bedroom before working on the rest of his dress shirt.
Not-so-newsflash: your ex-boyfriend is still fucking hot. 
But he doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re reacting to the sultry way in which he peels his clothes off—dark eyes still trained on your pliant form on the bed. As Mingyu palms himself through his boxers, you can’t help but press your thighs together in anticipation of what’s to come. 
There was a time when he railed you so good, you legitimately couldn’t walk straight the next day. You wonder if he plans on reenacting the whole thing tonight.
“Let’s get you out of that dress, sweetheart,” he breathes before gently guiding you back into a seated position, tugging at the hem of your dress before tossing it to the side. 
You feel your cheeks warm when he stares at the underwear set you have on tonight. Plain cotton panties and plain cotton bra. In your defense, you really didn’t expect to get laid tonight. 
“Doesn’t matter,” Mingyu chuckles. It’s either he can read minds or he still knows you well enough to figure out what you’re thinking. “I’m taking everything off anyways.”
As he makes quick work of what’s left of your clothing, you distantly remember the last conversation you had with Seungkwan. How you told him you’d ‘clear the air’ with Mingyu right after having dinner with his family.
You’re pretty sure what you’re doing right now is only blurring the lines even more, but you don’t really fucking care right now.
You let out a hushed moan when Mingyu latches his mouth onto your nipple, massaging your other breast as he swirls the appendage across your sensitive skin. His free arm snakes itself behind the curve of your waist, pressing you against his firm body while rutting his hips against the bed. 
He’s just as desperate for you as you are for him, and it fills you with a heady sort of hunger that only Mingyu can alleviate.
“Can I?” he whispers.
You feel his teeth graze across the skin of your chest, making your toes curl with anticipation. It’s been a while, but you can’t easily forget how much of a biter Mingyu is in bed. He loves leaving his marks on your body, and even if you always complain about how hard it is to cover them up, you let him do as he pleases every single time.
“Yes,” you whimper, rubbing your bare pussy against the ridge of his abs. “Do whatever you want with me, Gyu.”
The sound you let out once he finally bites down is caught between a yelp and a moan, your fingers threading across his hair as he suckles on your skin. He’s such a talker in bed, too—whispering all sorts of endearments that are too soft for you to hear, but add fuel to your growing desire regardless.
“So fucking pretty,” he says once he detaches himself from your breasts and marvels at his own work. The fruit of his effort is yet to become visible, but he’s left enough angry red marks on your skin to guarantee the lovebites they’ll turn into come morning. “And it’s all for me.”
Lacing your fingers around his nape, you mold your lips together in another kiss, tongues dancing to the rhythm of your erratic heartbeat as you grind yourself against his toned stomach. 
“Mingyu,” you whimper against his mouth—hot and heavy. “I need you inside me. Need to get stretched on your cock.”
He groans again, fisting your hair so that he can kiss you even deeper. As he busies you with his mind-numbing kisses, Mingyu gets rid of his boxers in a flash—positioning himself between your thighs. You nearly cry out when you feel the fat head of his cock sliding against your soaking slit. When he grazes your sensitive clit, you could’ve sworn tears started together in the corners of your eyes.
“Fuck, babygirl, so fucking wet for me,” he sighs as he lays you back down on the bed and eases your knees further apart. 
You bite your lip at the sight of his cock, still as long and girthy as you remember. Mingyu pumps his length all while sliding the head across your cunt, but you let out another desperate mewl to just fuck you already. 
“Shhh,” he says, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Let me take my time with you, sweetheart. I want you to commit all of this to memory. Gonna have you feeling me inside you for days.”
And you don’t doubt that. Kim Mingyu has a knack for making it hard for people to forget about him, and if he plans to fuck the shape of his cock into your pussy, who are you to complain?
When you feel his cock catch across your entrance, you genuinely wonder if it’s going to hurt. Mingyu’s attempt at foreplay was cut halfway through because he got distracted by his sudden desire to leave a trail of love bites all over your breasts. But the thing about having sex with Mingyu is that your comfort is his top priority. 
He would never do anything that he knows can hurt you.
“I’ll go slow, alright?” he whispers, and all you can manage is a nod. “Words, baby. You have to talk to me so I’ll know if you really want it.”
“Gyu,” you whine, arching your hips in a feeble attempt to get him to fuck into you. “I’m alright. Anything you do is alright with me, just— Please. Please fuck me full.”
He sighs, staring down like he doesn’t know what to do with you before finally, finally, you feel his dick breach your entrance—pushing inch by delicious inch inside you with restrained hunger. You fist the sheets at the familiar stretch, but it’s not so uncomfortable that the sensation burns. You’ve taken Mingyu’s cock dozens of times before, and it seems that your body still knows how to accommodate his ridiculous size.
“Pretty pussy’s happy to see me again,” he chuckles, his grip on your thighs tightening ever-so slightly. “Still made to fit me so snuggly. Did you miss my cock, sweet thing? I can feel you pulsing around me.”
“Yes,” you drawl. “Missed your cock so fucking much, Gyu. Fuck—”
You feel so hot, so full. It’s like Mingyu’s the only thing you’ve ever known—surrounding you in every direction until all that floats in your lust-addled mind are the letters of his name. Once he buries himself to the hilt, Mingyu doesn’t move right away, still so attentive to your reactions that even if you want nothing more than for him to rail you into the mattress, he won’t press forward until he’s sure you’re ready.
“Is it too much?” he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Do you need more time to get used to me?”
Something similar to a growl reverberates in your chest as you stare at Mingyu hard. “What I need is…for you to fuck me until I black out.”
Mingyu’s lips turn up into a grin as he shakes his head. “Baby, the last thing I want to be is some sex-deprived savage after we’ve been apart for so long. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Then, he leans forward on the bed again, bringing his lips right next to your ear.
“But I can still make you feel good.”
He prefaces the words with a powerful thrust that you don’t expect, splaying your thighs further until they’re flat against the mattress. The slide of his cock still feels so unbelievably good that even if the sudden stretch should’ve been uncomfortable, you’re too blindsided by the pleasure to notice. 
Your eyes trail across the beautiful man above you as he fucks you in his favorite position. Mingyu has always had a thing for missionary—something about wanting to see your face as he wrecks you. You think you’re starting to share the same sentiment because not only do you get to see his fat cock slide in and out of your sopping cunt, but you can admire all of him at once, as well.
The exertion in those toned arms with every forward thrust. The conspicuous outline of his pecs. That toned fucking stomach. That gorgeous fucking face, so lost in the velvet heat of your pussy—
Why did you ever think letting someone like this go was a good idea?
“You’re going to laugh at me for this but,” Mingyu breathes, chuckling to himself. “I think I’m kinda close.” 
You do laugh, but it’s quickly silenced when one of his fingers finds your clit, rubbing it in quick, precise circles like he hasn’t forgotten how to get you off after all this time.
“I am, too,” you tell him. “Cock so fucking good, you can make me come in minutes.”
Mingyu lets out another guttural noise as he presses your knees to your chest, throwing your legs over his shoulder with a look in his eyes that promises nothing but pleasure. Though his fingers have departed your puffy clit, the angle he has you bent in has his cock easily grazing your g-spot with every thrust—reducing you into a pathetic, mewling mess underneath him.
“Your pussy’s a fucking drug, babygirl,” he sighs. “Haven’t wanted anyone else after you.”
Even in your cock-drunk haze, those words bring forth some semblance of clarity within you. But it’s immediately snuffed out when Mingyu amps up the cadence of his thrusts, fucking into you with the intention of bringing you to completion at the same time he achieves it. Your eyes are screwed shut, fingers finding purchase across the ripping muscles of his back as you babble an incoherent mantra of yes, yes, so close, so fucking close, love how you fuck me, love how you make me feel full—
And then, it’s over—a white hot flash like stars bursting behind your eyelids. You curl into Mingyu’s embrace as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, and he’s all too glad to help you ride it out, pistoning inside your spasming walls with a rhythm that’s starting to stagger. 
“So goddamn tight,” he growls. “Where do you want my cum, sweetheart?”
You’re still too blissed out to give him a proper response, but from the way your legs tighten themselves around his waist, Mingyu figures that that’s the green light he needs to make a mess out of you. Mingyu sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck before biting down—his cock twitching in the heat of your cunt as his release gushes into you in thick globs.
He comes so much that when Mingyu does pull out of your abused pussy, his essence trickles out of your hole as you do your best to catch your breath. The world is just starting to return to its normal axis in your vision, and the first thing that your eyes focus on is the sight of Mingyu smiling at you so fondly, it makes your heart hurt.
The look scares you. Like he’s about to say something that you don’t know how to respond to. 
So instead of giving him any leeway for conversation, you tug him back down into a tongue-filled kiss, rubbing your ruined pussy across his still hard length as you mewl against his lips.
“More,” you whimper. “I need more, Gyu.”
And he’s all too happy to oblige.
Mingyu slides himself back inside you with an ease that wasn’t present earlier—your mixed arousal acting as a good enough lubricant to accommodate him. His erratic breathing as he fucks his cum deeper inside you only serves to turn you on even more, making another orgasm creep ever-so slightly beneath your skin. 
“Babygirl can’t get enough of this cock, can you?” he sighs. “Seems to me like your pussy never wants me to leave.”
“Yes!” you hiss, moving your hips in time with his as you desperately claw at his back. “Love your cock so much, please—”
“Come for me again, sweet thing, I know you can do it.”
It’s unbelievable how a few choice words can get your body to submit to his whims without much thought. Unlike your first orgasm, the second one that Mingyu coaxes out of you singes through every functional nerve-ending in your body—sending you into a flurry of overstimulation that has you twitching under his touch. 
Just when you thought Mingyu’s finally done with you, however, he suddenly flips you onto your stomach—pressing your chest against the mattress while your ass is high in the air. The sudden change in positions makes your head spin, but you’re too dazed to protest.
When you glance over your shoulder, he’s showing you that same smile you fell in love with a lifetime ago.
“You can give me a few more orgasms, right, baby?” 
When he slides his still hard cock along your swollen cunt, you groan into the sheets—having momentarily forgotten that Mingyu’s stamina can go until morning. If you don’t stop him now, he might actually fuck you until you black out, despite his earlier refutal.
But honestly? You’re not against the idea. Not one bit.
…
When you wake up the following day, it’s to cold sheets and the startling clarity of Mingyu’s absence.
You never minded living alone. You’ve been doing it since your first year of college here in Seoul. You’re used to waking up with nothing but the silence of your room to keep you company.
Even when you eventually got together with Mingyu, lonely mornings have always been a staple, especially on days where he has early schedules. It fills you with a sinking feeling to see that he isn’t with you, but you’ve learned to take it in stride. 
Besides…it’s not like you’re together anymore now.
This is what you wanted, right? For him to not treat…whatever this is as if it’s a relationship thing. The two of you were just heavily pent up, and caved into your mutual desires last night. There’s nothing more to it.
However, when you pad outside the bedroom after shrugging on a flimsy oversized shirt, the scent of pancakes and frying eggs fills your nose. When you see Namja sitting right next to a tall figure hunched over your stove, you can hardly believe your eyes.
He doesn’t notice you right away—too preoccupied with making the perfect breakfast to pick up on your presence. Namja, however, is more perceptive, glancing behind and perking up at the sight of you. He lets out an excited bark before skidding over to where you’re standing, and you crouch down to the floor so you can give him a tight hug.
“Oh, you’re awake!”
Mingyu faces you with a smile that’s nearly blinding in the morning light, a spatula in one hand and a kitchen mitt in the other. It’s the exact same scene that you’re greeted with during lazy weekends where he doesn’t have any work to do, and your chest twists yet again at the memory.
“Yeah, I am.” You smile, rubbing Namja’s belly when he sprawls himself on the floor. “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have to go back to New York tonight?”
“Yes, but it’s still morning,” he points out, and you roll your eyes.
A few minutes later, Mingyu starts to set the table while you wash your hands. He tells you about how Seungkwan doesn’t want to room with him anymore over breakfast because Mingyu takes so long to close the lights when he’s binging a new drama. You tell him to be more considerate of his roommates or they might just dropkick him off the hotel room balcony in his sleep.
When you help him put away the dishes, the sight is so…domestic, it gives you whiplash. Bumping shoulders, splashing water, stifling mutual laughter... Being with him like this, tucked in your own little pocket of happiness makes your heart soar in ways that not even mind-blowing sex can help you attain.
You pray that Mingyu doesn’t breathe a word about it, but of course things don’t always go your way.
Just when you’re about to turn around to give Namja her morning fix of dog food, you find yourself trapped between the sink and Mingyu’s arms—unable to escape the fondness in his eyes even if you tried.
“I think,” he whispers, “we can still make this work. You and me.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “Gyu…”
You think so, too. With someone as understanding and compassionate as Mingyu, you know nothing’s impossible if you just quit being so stubborn. You were so afraid of him attempting to bring your relationship back to life last night, but…
Seeing him bathing under the sunlight in your kitchen after months of getting used to being alone again… 
Maybe it isn’t so bad to let him back inside your heart.
“O-Of course, you don’t have to answer right away,” he says, turning red in the face. Cute. “You can tell me when I get back from New York. How’s that sound?”
You’re about to open your mouth to respond, but the moment is quickly shattered by the sound of Mingyu’s phone going off. He sighs, releasing you from the figurative cage of his arms as he leans against the sink right next to you—fishing his phone from his pocket before answering it in loudspeaker.
“Kim Mingyu, where the hell are you?!”
“Good morning to you, too, Seungkwan-ah,” he chuckles. “Why? What’s wrong? I told Jeonghan-hyung I won’t be coming back to the dorms until noon.”
“Well, Jeonghan-hyung must’ve forgotten to tell everyone else because the entire dorm panicked when we realized you didn’t make it home!” the younger man squawks. “We thought something bad happened! You weren’t answering your phone last night either!” 
You and Mingyu exchanged knowing looks, and you have to stifle your laughter if you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Seungkwan’s rage, too.
“Sorry about that, I was a little…busy,” Mingyu supplies. 
“Well, whatever you’ve been ‘busy’ with, you better get your ass back here! Manager-hyung is looking for the car you borrowed, and if you don’t bring it back soon, he’s going to give all of us an earful.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll be back in thirty. Bye, Seungkwan.”
“Hey—!” 
Mingyu ends the call with little remorse before letting out a long sigh. When his eyes dart back to yours, they flicker momentarily to your lips before he leans forward. You meet him halfway this time, pressing your mouths together in a firm kiss.
“I’ll be back,” he murmurs. “I hope you’ll still be willing to accommodate me when I do.”
Though it pains you, he peels himself away from your touch, leaning down to kiss Namja’s head as he gathers his coat in his arms. It just occurred to you that he’s been eating breakfast with you donned with the outfit he wore last night while you’re dressed in nothing but a loose, oversized shirt. The knowledge makes you blush a little.
When you hear Mingyu’s car drive away, you sigh, running your hands through your messy hair. Namja pads over to you, tail wagging as he anticipates another round of petting. Of course you indulge him.
“Kim Mingyu is such an idiot, isn’t he?” you tell your goldie, and you like to think the small huff he lets out means he’s agreeing with you. “Why wait until he comes back when I already have an answer for him?”
This time, Namja actually barks out loud, making you shake your head with a laugh.
You don’t mind waiting for Mingyu, really. He obviously doesn’t mind waiting for you. At this point, you’re at peace with the fact that you might still love him. Maybe, you never stopped loving him at all. Once he lands back in Korea and comes home to you, you promise yourself that you’ll definitely show him.
Again and again.
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this is part of the doting on you! series.
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jonnywaistcoat ¡ 10 months ago
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Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.
To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.
On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.
But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.
At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.
As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.
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a-kaash-me-outside ¡ 10 months ago
Text
˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚
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♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡
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- ᥣ�� time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᥣ𐭊 -
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]
on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto. 
after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.
fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good
he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.
in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.
the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”
the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you. 
when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.
the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”
you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”
the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”
you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.
he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.” 
you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”
he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”
you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back. 
when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in. 
but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.
your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs. 
“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable. 
he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest. 
“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.
you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.
“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”
his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin. 
you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.
there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you. 
when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”
in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?” 
he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.
“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]
you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.
you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-
you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door. 
but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient. 
you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself. 
toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.
now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.
“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body. 
you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait. 
“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure. 
“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”
“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration. 
you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence. 
“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now. 
you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”
“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils. 
“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question. 
one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope. 
one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think. 
but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less. 
“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view. 
“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.
“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates. 
you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.
“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes. 
you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.
“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”
you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”
he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”
“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.
“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.
“clearly,” you interject.
“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.
“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer. 
“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?
“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest. 
“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.
“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.
the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left. 
his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”
“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me. 
“whatever you want,” he answers instead.
you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.
“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated. 
“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”
and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?
“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along. 
“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now. 
“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”
“and do you?” you ask.
his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.
“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.
“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?” 
“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that. 
“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.
you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)
“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”
“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want. 
“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever. 
“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”
“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”
you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it. 
“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]
being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee. 
like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.
but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.
so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee. 
but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee. 
yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee. 
you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee. 
and it works for a while.
but not forever.
three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt. 
you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.
“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.
“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.
“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.
“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead. 
you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful. 
“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”
it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”
“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either. 
you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession. 
“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.
“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.
“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”
“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”
he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.
“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.
“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.
“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.
“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”
“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too. 
he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”
“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too. 
“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too. 
“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again. 
he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.
“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.
he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says. 
“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.
“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”
even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips. 
he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body. 
why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]
you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme. 
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs. 
you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?
he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.
you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat. 
when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”
“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act. 
he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”
you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”
“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall. 
“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.
the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?” 
you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”
he nearly comes inside of you right there.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out. 
you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure. 
but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this. 
it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out. 
you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.
and then one night you can’t find your keys. 
you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen. 
when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”
you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”
he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes. 
you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”
“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere. 
you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”
from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”
“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.
he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”
“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked. 
15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?” 
your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs. 
you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.
“how do you know?” he asks.
“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”
“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.
you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face. 
eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.
“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering. 
he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”
you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”
it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost. 
it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.
in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.
you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs. 
you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together. 
you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”
you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur. 
“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”
“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree. 
he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?” 
and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.
you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow. 
nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.
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ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]
“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence. 
you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump. 
nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)
he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask. 
he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”
you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”
“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”
“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”
it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not. 
now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”
“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement. 
he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.
“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”
he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”
you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”
“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before. 
“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”
“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile. 
he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak. 
you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about. 
“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”
you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree. 
“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response. 
“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap. 
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅
you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:
>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby
<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)
>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????
<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!
>> nami <3 >> google tbh. 
<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(
>> nami <3 >> goodbye.
<< read << :(
>> nami <3 >> i love you
<< read << :)
you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy. 
arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case. 
he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”
if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop. 
he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word. 
by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky. 
“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too. 
he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are. 
“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles. 
everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time. 
it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you. 
when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop. 
you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back. 
the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety. 
“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur. 
he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter. 
“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates. 
sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder. 
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♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP
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ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)
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moonlightspencie ¡ 2 years ago
Text
This Ain’t for the Best
Description: Mutual pining. Classic hunting scenarios. Sharing a bed. Wearing the other’s clothes. Confessions. Friends to lovers. Tswizzle title. Need I say more?
Pairing: Dean Winchester x gn!Reader
Warnings: a little bit of violence, me cramming in every clichĂŠ i can because i love the classic fanfiction tropes more than i love breathing
Word Count: 5.9k
A/N: i was kicking my feet and giggling as i wrote this, especially when i snuck in criminal minds AND taylor swift references. i love writing and never beta-reading or editing what i’ve written. catharsis.
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Crashing at Bobby’s had its benefits.
First, we had the comfort of knowing where we were going to sleep at night. It was good to have a bed waiting that wasn’t in a motel room.
Second, there was almost always good food around. I had a knack for home-cooked meals, and it was much easier to be appreciated for it when I actually had a stove to cook on.
Third, there were boundless opportunities for Sam, Dean, and I to kick back and actually relax.
That’s how I ended up in the kitchen, laughing with Dean over old stories we’d told a million times before. He reached in the fridge, pulling out two bottles after we’d come down from the most recent remembrance of an old case. He cracked open the top of his beer, then my drink, sliding it towards me on the counter. Sam and Bobby strolled in st that moment, pausing when they saw us.
“You both woke up like an hour ago,” Sam said, unamused.
“6pm somewhere,” Dean and I said in unison.
We looked at each other with a small laugh, leaving Bobby and Sam rolling their eyes. I took my drink and stood a few steps away.
“We should really get going, though, Dean,” Sam stated.
“Where?” Bobby asked.
“We were planning on doing a run to the grocery story. I don’t want us to eat up all your food without repaying you, and we’re almost out of beer,” Sam said, pointedly looking at his brother.
“This one needs more of those little fruity drinks, too,” Dean teased, nodding at the bottle in my hand.
“Hey, it’s still a malt liquor. Just one that I like,” I said with a laugh.
They said their goodbyes, and I started walking into the front room. Bobby watched the door for a few moment after the boys left, then turned in the archway and locked his gaze on me as I sat on the couch.
I looked at the bottle in my hand. “I know y’all are all about beer, but I can’t help if I prefer something with a little flavor.”
“That’s not why I’m looking at you,” he grumbled, fed up with me already. “What in the world is goin’ on with you and Dean?”
“Huh?”
He furrowed his brow. “Don’t act all shy, now. You two have been flirting nonstop lately.”
“What’s new? We’re both pretty flirtatious in general.”
“Not like this,” he said with a shake of his head. “I don’t know the last time I saw that boy blushing, or you getting all flustered like a teenager.”
“I am not,” I scoffed. “Nothing’s happening, Bobby.”
“I’ve known your for five years, now, and I’ve known those boys since they were kids. You stayed in my house for a year, too. You can’t hide this kind of thing from me.”
“I’m not hiding anything. I’m an open book.”
Now, he scoffed. “Yeah, and I’m running for president.”
I rolled my eyes, taking another drink. He came closer, sitting down next to me.
“If you keep denying all this…”
I swallowed, finally resigning. “There’s nothing to do about it, Bobby.”
“Yes, there is. You could tell him.”
“It wouldn’t do any good. You know how he is, he doesn’t want to be tied down. If we don’t make any moves or promises or whatever, a lot less doesn’t get broken.”
He raised a brow. “I do know how he is. For you, he’d make an exception.”
“I don’t think so. Besides, it’s all just flirting for him. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Are you blind?”
I looked at him, brows raising. He shook his head, picking at the label on his bottle.
“Sorry. I just— I know what I’m seeing, and I really don’t think it’s just a little friendly flirting for him, either,” he said, looking at me again. “I really think you should speak up while you’ve got the chance to. We don’t often get good things with lives like ours.”
“I know. I just don’t want to screw things up.”
“You’re gonna end up screwed if you keep pushing it down, anyway.”
I sighed. He took that signal as a time to change the subject, and for that I was thankful.
“Well, let’s find you the next case, huh?”
The next one was an easy find, and it would’ve been great to break the news to the boys when they got back, if not for a very clumsy Sam walking in the door with a twisted ankle.
“You what?” Bobby asked, incredulous.
Sam sighed, pouting. “I rolled it when I stepped in a pothole.”
Dean shook his head, clearly hiding his amusement as he helped his brother hobble towards a kitchen chair.
“So, no case, then?” I asked.
Bobby perked up. “No, you and Dean can still go. I can take care of Sam.”
“Bobby…” I warned, seeing through him instantly.
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Dean said, cutting off my death stare. “When was the last time we went on a case, just you and me?”
I looked at him.
“Seriously, you guys can go without me,” Sam said. “It might be good for you, Y/N. You seem a little restless.”
“I am not,” I defended.
Bobby chuckled. “Sure, you’re not. But I’m not suggesting, I’m telling you. Get out of my house.”
I glanced at him, offended. “I am a delight.”
“You are, but I still want you out. You become much less delightful when you’re antsy.”
Dean laughed. “Come on, it’s only a state over, right? If we start driving now we can make it by sundown.”
I took a moment.
“Alright,” I nodded, heading towards the stairs to gather my things.
The case was a hot mess, to say the least. We couldn’t figure out what we were hunting to begin with, and the only true consistency is that the deaths were messy, leaving each victim with a missing liver. It wasn’t until we were at the most recent site of the death that things took a little bit of a turn.
“What do you think?” Dean asked, leaning in my direction.
I shrugged, looking around the house.
“It seems… clean.”
“I mean, I guess. We haven’t found hex bags or EMF readings—”
“No,” I cut him off, gesturing around the living room. “Like physically clean. Nothing is out of place. Look at the mantle.”
I walked over, using my gloved hand to wipe along the surface. I showed him my hand.
“Clean. Not even dust.”
He raised a brow. “And that matters because…”
“Because we’re supposed to be looking for some monster-unknown that never cleans up their messes. Every other scene we’ve been to has been a wreck, so why is the only thing out of place the blood stains on the floor? This is also the first time it’s been in the victims house.”
He paused. “You’ve been watching Criminal Minds again, haven’t you?”
I rolled my eyes, taking off the glove.
“That’s not important right now,” I shook my head, standing next to him again. “And, for the record, it’s helping our case.”
“Right,” he chuckled. “Well, profiler, why don’t you tell me more about what you’re gathering from the scene.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I said with a laugh.
He smirked, placing a hand on my back.
“Let’s get out of here and figure out why things changed.”
We followed dead-end leads all over town, until we hit a lucky streak.
“Check this out,” Dean said, calling me over to the table in our room. “Remember that dive bar our last vic was seen at? Look at this dude’s last social media post.”
I walked over, resting a hand against the table as I leaned in. I looked at the laptop, raising a brow.
“Same place.”
“Same place,” he confirmed. “Wanna check it out? See if anything suspicious is up?”
“You sure you don’t just want to hit the bar?”
He looked up at me with a quirked brow.
“What do you think I am? Drinking on the job. I’d never,” he feigned innocence.
I snorted. “Right. So not you.”
“Leave in ten?”
“Sounds good to me.”
We hit the road soon after, winding up at the bar with our eyes peeled for any suspicious activity. There was plenty for us to see in a seedy town like this, but there was only one interaction that truly piqued our interested. I nodded at the man who was paying a little too much special attention to a woman, drawing Dean’s gaze in that direction. He was equally skeeved out. We kept an eye out for another hour or so before the weird activity took another step into the creep category.
We followed out the man who we caught following the woman, all the way to a neighborhood just outside the city. We made our move as soon as the man walked up to her house.
I followed Dean up to the house, and we started to slink around, waiting for any sign of trouble. I first checked through a window near the front of the house.
“Nothing,” I said, motioning for us to move further.
He took the lead, and we came up on a window that looked into the dining room. He slowly looked inside.
“Oh, you’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me,” Dean mumbled, pulling his head back from the window.
“What?”
“Well, do you want the chance to play out your little crime show fantasies?”
I raised a brow. He sighed, shaking his head.
“That’s not— well, it is a monster in there, but not our kind of monster,” he said, tilting his head.
“It’s a human?”
He nodded. “Looks like it. Nothing supernatural that I can see. She’s passed out now, but let’s get a move on before he starts in on her.”
He started walking towards the back of the house, but I stopped him before we got to the door.
“Can— How do we do this?”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s a human. We can’t just chop his head off or exorcise him.”
“We could still stab him.”
“But should we?”
He gave me a very unamused look, waiting for me to make my point.
“Can we attempt to just— Kick his ass and leave him to deal with life in prison? Only go for the shot if it’s necessary.”
He softened. “He killed people, Y/N, does he really deserve mercy here?”
“Do you really think the prison system is mercy?” I asked, earning a slight chuckle. “I just feel weird about killing humans unless our lives are in immediate danger.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. But if anything goes sideways—”
“Then you feel free to shoot him.”
He nodded curtly, then we continued to the door. He opened it carefully, and we stepped inside, checking our surroundings before we headed towards the woman in the dining room. We saw the man first, his back to us as he sat across the table from her.
“Playing house? Really?” Dean quipped, causing the man to whip around.
My gun was pulled before the man had a chance to stand up and react. He looked between us, obvious annoyance on his face.
“You’re not cops,” he stated.
Dean smirked. “No, we are much worse news for scumbags like you.”
“Now,” I started, “you can try and fail to fight your way out of here, or you can sit still while my partner here makes sure you’re sitting nice and pretty for when the cops do show up.”
Dean moved before he had a chance to formulate a response, dragging him out of the chair. The man tried to put up a fight, but it was pretty quickly silenced by means of a fist to the face. Dean left him on the ground after a few minutes and a roll of duct tape.
“Nice,” I commented, then put away my gun.
I moved to the woman at the table who was still passed out. I checked for a pulse, and when I was sure she was still breathing, I started undoing the binding that kept her to the chair. Dean called in an anonymous tip to the police station as I finished up clearing her of everything. She started waking right as I was about to try and move her to the couch.
“Hey, hey,” I said quietly, trying to give a little comfort before her panic set in. “You’re safe now, alright? You’re fine.”
Her eyes opened, and she immediately clung to me when she saw the man on the ground incapacitated.
“What happened?” she asked with a quivering voice.
“Me and my friend Dean saw this guy creeping around your house. We wanted to make sure everything was okay, and when we found out it wasn’t, we found a way in. The cops are on the way now.”
She nodded. “Thank you. Both of you.”
I glanced back at Dean with the ghost of a smile on my face. He raised his brows at me.
“Why don’t we get you to the couch?”
“You’re not staying?” she asked, still in shock.
“No, we gotta leave,” I said, helping her to the couch. “We’ll stick around for a few minutes outside till the cops get here, though.”
“Okay,” she nodded along absentmindedly as she laid on the couch.
I walked back to Dean, motioning for us to go outside. He looked back down at the man for a moment who was still passed out, then followed behind me. We got back to the Impala and waited.
“Weird to be thanked,” I said, watching the house.
He hummed. “Doesn’t happen often, that’s for sure.”
“I can’t believe we were accidentally hunting a serial killer.”
He snorted. “I’m surprised there’s not more crossover when we hunt.”
I hummed in agreement. “I also wonder why things changed so much. From the murders messy and public to being more confined in the homes.”
“Who knows,” he said, shaking his head. “Monsters make a hell of a lot more sense than people do.”
“You got that right.”
Soon enough we saw flashing lights coming down the street. We watched some officers step out of the first car, and a few more get out of an SUV.
“Is that FBI?” Dean asked, looking intently.
“I mean, we just found them a serial killer. They’ve probably been on high alert,” I said.
He nodded, and we watched for another moment as they prepared to go inside.
“Man, those vests are cool as hell in real life, too,” I commented.
“Alright, that’s enough,” he wrapped up the conversation with a laugh.
He pulled off the sidewalk at that, and started driving in the opposite direction of the cops. We decided to stay the night at the motel, neither of us awake enough to get back to Sam and Bobby. He pulled into the parking lot, and we trudged inside.
“At least we aren’t covered in monster guts this time,” I said as I fell onto the mattress.
“Right?” He chuckled. “Cool if I take the first shower?”
“Of course. I’ll be here.”
He shut the door of the bathroom, and I let out a sigh. All of the teamwork bull crap we’d been doing certainly didn’t help my case, but I could at least be thankful he didn’t want to go the bars and find a hookup. I threw my arms over my eyes and sighed.
“Hey,” I heard Dean’s voice call out, his hand on my knee.
I uncovered my eyes. “Sorry. Must’ve dozed off.”
He smiled. “Go take a shower.”
“You sayin’ I need one?” I asked with a quirked brow.
“Yeah. You’re a mess,” he replied, a playful glint in his eye. “I don’t know how I sat in a car with you all day, to be honest.”
I scoffed, getting up. He moved enough for me to get by, but didn’t let me get far before he started talking again.
“Movie tonight?” he asked.
I rustled through my bag, pulling out my pajama shorts.
“Sure.”
“Any requests?”
“Uh,” I started, still looking for a clean top. “Maybe a comedy. We could use something funny.”
“Good point.” He stared for a moment as I kept digging. “You missing something?”
“I can’t find my t-shirt. I thought I packed three in here.”
“Do you want one of mine?”
I paused, considering the offer. One one hand, I wouldn’t have to wear a cami to bed and risk accidentally flashing him in my sleep. One the other, I’d be wearing his shirt and that would be a sure way to get me in my own head. The risks of the first definitely outweighed my lack of self control.
“That would be awesome.”
He walked to his own bag, pulling out a shirt that matched the one he wore and handing it to me.
“I still think wearing our outside clothes to bed worked just fine.”
“Did you ever feel rested doing that?” I asked.
He sighed dramatically. I laughed.
“Exactly my point,” I said. “Most of your well-being has to do with mindset, Dean.”
He grumbled to himself as he settled into bed, and I took that as my chance to get in the bathroom. My shower was quick, especially since Dean used up most of the hot water. I knew I should’ve gone first, but it forced me not to stay in forever. I pulled on his shirt and my shorts, trying not to let myself smile when I saw myself in the mirror wearing his clothes. I walked back into the room before I allowed myself to think too hard.
He looked at me as I walked out, a smile creeping on his face. I fought back my own to raise a brow as I lingered at the foot of my bed.
“What?”
He shrugged. “Funny seeing you in my shirt.”
“Looks better on me than it ever did on you,” I sassed with a smirk, crawling into bed.
“Can’t argue with that,” he noted, still watching me. He cleared his throat a moment later, looking at the TV screen. “Uh, I found something, I think. They had Step Brothers on demand.”
“Oh, perfect,” I said as he clicked play.
We settled into a comfortable silence for a while, and I cuddled into the duvet. After we were halfway through the movie, I gathered the blankets around me even more.
“Is it just me, or is it freezing in here?” I asked, looking over to see Dean still sitting above the covers.
“It’s a little cold,” he shrugged, then looked at me. “I can check the heater.”
I nodded as he got up and crossed the room. He held a hand out, a puzzled look on his face after a moment. He smacked it with his hand, and still felt nothing.
“Hm. Hang on,” he said, moving to the phone. “Hi, I think the heater in here’s broken.”
A pause.
“Ah, great. Okay, thanks.”
He hung up the phone, looking to me apologetically.
“They said the heating’s down in the whole place.”
I sighed. “That sucks.”
He sat back in his bed, looking at me for a moment before he spoke again.
“I know it’s been a while since we had to, but do you wanna come sleep in my bed tonight? I run hot, it might keep you warm.”
“I know. I had to sleep next to you in the summer, and it was like roasting in an oven,” I chuckled.
“See? It’ll work perfect when you’re cold,” he said, standing again.
He pulled the covers back, getting underneath and patting the mattress next to him. I cursed myself for finding this case in the first place.
“Just don’t complain if I kick you in my sleep,” I said, getting out of my bed.
He chuckled. “I’m not worried about it.”
I got into his bed, and he threw the covers over me. He then reached over top of me to grab the remote, pressing play and slinging an arm around my shoulders. I pulled the duvet up to my chin, leaning into his side.
This position put me in a delicate spot, and I found that to be true more and more with every passing minute. Every time he laughed, I felt it reverberate in his chest. Every time he talked to me, I’d look up to see his face inches from mine. Every time he moved, he held me a little tighter.
In short, Bobby was all too correct about me being screwed.
“Hey,” Dean said, voice soft. “You okay?”
“Mm?”
I looked at him, once again trying not to think about the proximity.
“You always laugh at this scene. You didn’t make a sound this time.”
“Oh,” I chuckled, looking towards the screen. “Sorry, I must be exhausted.”
“Is that all? Seems like there’s something on your mind.”
“Alright, Dr. Phil,” I joked.
“Seriously,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I think I just need some sleep,” I replied, glancing at him again with half a smile.
He quirked a brow, clearly not believing me, but willing to drop the subject.
“Okay. You know you can always talk to me?”
“I know.”
He smiled softly, then looked back at the TV as he shut it off. He settled into bed, still holding onto me. I snuggled into his side, using his chest as a pillow. I felt him breathe deep before he shut off the light.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, Dean.”
I woke up the next morning before he did, and decided there was little harm in remaining there. I shut my eyes, letting myself enjoy the fact that I was still snuggled against him. It gave me a moment to pretend he was mine, at least for the morning. I listened to his breathing, and wondered if he ever dreamt about me in the same way I did about him. As if on cue, his arm tightened around me a little as he stirred. His thumb brushed against my shoulder where his hand had snuck under the sleeve of the t-shirt, though I couldn’t tell if he was really awake until I felt a soft kiss against the top of my head.
At that moment, I decided it was probably best to continue pretending I was still asleep.
He stayed that way for a little while, his hand still against my shoulder, making little patterns with his thumb. It took everything in me not to move when I felt him brush a few stray pieces of hair away from my face, and even more when he let his hand linger against my cheek for when felt like a few seconds too long to be purely friendly.
I wondered if he was always like this when I wasn’t awake. Extra attentive, and sure not to wake me. Maybe that’s why I somehow remained asleep every time I fell asleep in the car that normally jostled me around like a rag doll with his driving. I wondered even more if Bobby was right about something else he’d said days ago: the unrequited feelings might not be so unrequited after all.
I nestled my head against his chest, trying to give him a warning that I was about to open my eyes, and he quickly pulled his hand away from my face. I took in a breath, blinking slowly as I let the light seep in for the second time that morning.
“Morning,” he greeted quietly, his voice still soft and raspy from tiredness.
I smiled. “Morning.”
“You hungry?” he asked, drawing my attention to him.
I nodded, leaning back a little to see him better.
“Very, and I saw a café on the way into town that looked good,” I said.
He smiled softly, shutting his eyes for a moment. Then, he yawned, finally sitting up. He turned and looked at me as I stayed laying.
“How’d you sleep? Warm enough?”
“Thanks to you, yeah,” I replied, stretching. “I’m scared to get out of bed, now, though.”
He patted my leg over the covers, “If you want food, that should be motivation enough.”
“Good point.”
I reluctantly climbed out of bed as he walked into the bathroom to get ready for the day. It was cold, but not unbearable. I decided to throw on some clothes in the room since he always took a while in the bathroom. By the time he was finished, all I needed to do was wash my face and brush my teeth, then we were off.
Breakfast was short and sweet, and we made it back to Bobby’s in record time. We strolled in the door, seeing Sam gimping around the kitchen as soon as we walked in.
“Still letting that ankle beat your ass?” I asked immediately.
He laughed. “Trust me, if I had any control over it, this wouldn’t have been a problem in the first place.”
“Maybe you just wanted out of the hunt,” I said in reply.
“Oh yeah, I loved hanging out and making Bobby bring me ice packs all day. Dream vacation, actually.”
Dean shook his head with a smirk. “You didn’t miss out on much anyway.”
“How’d it go?” Sam asked as he took a seat.
I looked to Dean who was already glancing in my direction. I shrugged.
“We stopped a serial killer, actually,” I noted.
Sam gaped. “And I ‘didn’t miss much’?”
“Just knocked him out and called the cops. Not much fun, anyways,” Dean shrugged. “Oh, we did find maybe the best pancakes I’ve ever had, though.”
I hummed in agreement enthusiastically, nodding.
“They were freaking incredible,” I said, then looked back at Sam. “And they had like, real, fresh maple syrup.”
“Unlimited stacks when you bought the platter, too,” Dean chimed in with a gleeful smile.
“You two sound like an old married couple,” Sam scoffed out with a laugh. “What, did you fall asleep together after reading the newspaper, too?”
“After watching a movie, actually,” Dean corrected, grabbing a beer from the fridge. Then, he looked at me. “Did you want anything?”
“I’m okay.”
Sam looked between us, a raised brow and an amused look on his face.
“You two actually fell asleep together?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you choose to focus on?”
He smiled mischievously, then looked at Dean.
“Making moves on her, now?”
Dean swallowed, glaring at his brother with wide eyes. I furrowed my brow, about to see if I could prod Sam for information, but Bobby walked in before I had the chance.
“Hey, you two. How was the hunt?”
Dean let out a breath. “Not real eventful. I could use some sleep.”
He started walking out of the room, all of us watching as he left. Bobby turned to me first, a questioning look on his face.
“Don’t look at me,” I said with my hands up in defense. “I think Sammy pissed him off.”
“Real smooth, Sam,” Bobby commented.
Sam scoffed, shaking his head. Bobby merely sighed, going to take a seat across from Sam. I looked at them both, hands on my hips.
“Why do I get the feeling you two know something I don’t?”
“Did Dean not talk to you?” Sam asked, looking at me.
“We talk plenty.”
“That’s not what I mean. He said he was gonna talk to you when the next case was over,” he stopped, then looked at Bobby. “Case came and went, and still nothing.”
Bobby shrugged. “Out of our hands, Sam. Told you not to meddle.”
I sighed in annoyance. “You two are children, you know that?”
“Hey,” Bobby said, offended.
“I’m gonna take a walk,” I said finally, turning for the door.
The second I was halfway out, they started talking again, but I couldn’t bring myself to care too much about what they said. Clearing my mind sounded like the best option, and I was determined to do it.
I started walking around the yard, music blaring from my phone to keep me preoccupied as I watched the sky light up with a million different colors. I found an old car with a relatively clean exterior and decided to climb onto the hood. I leaned back, watching the sky as it turned darker, the stars slowly peaking out.
“Room for one more?” Dean’s voice asked from behind me.
“Come on up,” I said, scooting over a bit.
He came and sat next to me, looking up at the sky. He let out a slow breath, then looked at me.
“Taylor Swift?”
“You know it,” I replied.
He smiled, turning his head back.
“Stars are coming out,” he commented.
“They are. You should’ve seen sunset, it was gorgeous.”
He scooted closer, leaning his head against mine silently. After a moment, I let myself lean against his shoulder a little more.
“You okay, Dean?” I asked after a beat.
“Of course. Why?”
“I dunno. You just seemed a little off when we got back today.”
He sighed. “Yeah. It’s— It’s nothing.”
“You sound like me, now.”
He chuckled. “Guess we’ve got the same bad habit, huh?”
“Yeah, guess so.”
We stayed there until it got dark enough to really see the stars come out, not moving even when the chill of the night started creeping in. I readjusted my head against his shoulder, preparing myself to speak again.
“Did you really follow me out here just to look at stars?”
I felt him still. Then, after a moment, I sat up a little straighter and looked at him. He glanced back at me, clearly feeling caught out.
“Thought you could use some company.”
I raised a brow, and he smirked, looking away.
“Alright, you got me,” he said, “What gave it away?”
“First off, I’ve known you for years,” I started, nudging him in the arm. “Second, Sam and Bobby were all uppity about the fact that you apparently told Sam you had something to talk to me about.”
“I swear, he can’t keep a secret to save his life when it comes to stuff like this,” he said, rubbing at his face.
“Well, try me,” I said, unable to keep my eyes off of him. He was extra cute all flustered. “I’m a good listener.”
He let out a breath, then looked at me, scanning my face for a moment.
“I know I’ve got a certain type of reputation—”
“You?! No way,” I exclaimed with a smile, my eyes wide.
He laughed. “Exactly my point.”
“You know I don’t care about that, though. Reputations are a one-sided story.”
He hummed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
He sighed, looking back at the sky for a moment.
“I just,” he started, giving a shrug, “I feel like it— Like it makes people feel like I never want anything but a hookup, you know?”
“It makes people feel that way?”
“I’m that easy to read, huh?” he asked, looking at me again with a faint smile. “You. I mean you.”
“I gathered that much.”
He laughed softly, as did I.
“How’d you know?”
“I had suspicions fueled by Bobby. Then you kissed me and started being all affectionate when you thought I was asleep this morning.”
His eyes widened. “You were pretending to be asleep? That’s so not fair!”
“Hey, I woke up snuggled into my own personal space heater, I didn’t exactly want to be up and at ‘em.”
He rolled his eyes, tugging me into his side with an arm around my shoulders once more.
“How long has it been for you?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t even know. I guess I started realizing it a year or so ago.”
“That’s embarrassing for me, then. I knew the second I met you,” he said with a laugh.
“Dean,” I said with surprise. “It’s been half a decade! No wonder Bobby got on my ass about it before we left.”
“Well, hey, Sammy’s been on mine for a couple years. You got off easy up till now.”
I laughed. “I guess so. To be fair, we were flying under the radar for quite a while, though. The incessant flirting the past few weeks is what got us in trouble.”
“Why did you start being extra flirty, anyway?” he asked, resting his cheek against the top of my head.
“I don’t know. I guess I was, like, subconsciously seeing a window. You haven’t been doing your normal bar hookups the past few months, so I thought maybe there was a reason for it,” I paused. “Though, finding out you’ve been crushing on me for five years kind of makes me question that.”
He snorted out a laugh. “Easier to keep my mind off you that way. That sounds terrible. I just— I never thought in a million years you’d think anything of me.”
“Well, when did you realize I might?”
He sighed. “You remember a couple weeks back when we were taking down that vamp nest? You easily could’ve died, and we hugged afterwards, but when I pulled back I… I saw that look in your eyes that seemed an awful lot like how I look at you when you’re not paying attention. I wanted to kiss you, and I didn’t doubt in that moment that you would’ve let me if I had.”
I paused. “Why didn’t you?”
“I was scared. We’ve been friends for so long, and we practically do everything together. I didn’t want to ruin anything on the off chance that I was reading those signs all wrong.”
“You weren’t.”
He fell quiet for a moment. I looked up at him, and he looked back at me as I did. He quickly wet his lips, drawing my gaze downward before my eyes flicked back up to his. His lips parted momentarily. Then…
“We should get back inside. It’s getting cold out here,” he said quickly.
I nodded curtly, pulling away to let him get off the hood first. He gave me a hand, helping me down next. We walked back to the house quietly, saying soft goodnights before we went to separate rooms.
I was all settled in for the night, cozy in my bed with a book in hand. Then, I heard a knock on the door. I grumbled as I got up, annoyed that I had to leave the comfort of a mattress that wasn’t a sure cesspool of germs I didn’t want to think about. I flung the door open.
“Someone better be dying or I’m gonna kick some ass for—”
Dean’s lips crashed into mine, effectively silencing me from my rant. I melted after a few seconds of mental delay, my hands gripping onto the material of his shirt as his cradled my face. I felt him smile into the kiss, drawing my closer with arms that snuck around my waist, holding me tight. He wasted no time in deepening the kiss once he was sure that the signs were all giving him a positive response.
We finally broke apart a few minutes later, breathing heavy with pounding hearts.
“I figured I should stop letting opportunities pass me up,” he said with a nervous chuckle.
I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, good thinking.”
His eyes scanned over me, his chest still heaving.
“You wouldn’t happen to need another space heater for the night, would you?”
“I run cold, what can I say?” I replied with a smirk, and a spark in my eye.
He smiled, walking me into the room with his lips on mine, kicking the door shut behind him.
(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)
FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE
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dearsnow ¡ 7 months ago
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SAY IT LIKE YOU MEAN IT (WITH YOUR FISTS FOR ONCE)
- you and bradley had always been attached at the hip until life pulled him away. when you’re finally living in the same place again, your unspoken feelings come to the surface during a san diego bonfire. (bradley “rooster” bradshaw x gn!reader, reader is characterized as someone who doesn’t like much attention, jealousyyyyyyyyy, pining & arguments but fluff at the end, ⚠️ mentions of alcohol / weed)
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word count: 2,500
a/n - it’s so entertaining to come up with synonyms for kissing 😭 anyways, enjoy this, and listen to american teenager by ethel cain. oh and i was also so tempted to make the girl mickey in a wig, but i held back.
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Bradley Bradshaw likes you. He’d go as far as to say he loves you, if he was being honest. He’s never said it, though, not in that way.
When you first met, he was pulled to you like a magnet. It was preschool, and he never left your side. He made macaroni portraits of you and you crafted tiny little friendship bracelets for him. Neither of you could speak well, or write well, but you stuck together anyways.
Your first written words were each other’s names.
Everything snowballed from there, but he couldn’t say he was mad at it.
You were so entirely different, but that’s what made it good, in his opinion. He always needed eyes on him, not for any pretentious ego-boosting reasons, but because it made him thrive. You tended to hide in the shadows. When you gave your eyes to him, and him to you, it was like the most natural thing in the world.
He was the classic class clown type all throughout middle and high school, with a football jersey and everything. When you came to his games, he swore he played a million times better, and you were happy to indulge in his superstition.
You like him, too. You’d go as far as to say you love him, if you’re being honest. You might’ve said it if he hadn’t been so clearly your platonic life partner. You would follow him, as toddlers, with his shirt edge balled in your small fist. You tried to draw him more times than you could count, but it always looked wrong, like you couldn’t really capture the life that he held so deeply in his eyes. You even considered joining the cheerleading squad for him, but you would’ve cringed under the gaze of the crowd.
When he left for the navy, and for college, and for anything after that, you wished you could bounce across the United States with him. Instead, you wrote him letters; copious amounts of them.
One thing that you both never dared to cross was the bounds of friendship. He would hold your hand, his thumb smoothing over the side of your fist, and there was nothing romantic about it. God, you wished it was, though.
Now that you’ve moved to San Diego, following him one last time, you beg whatever makes the rules to break them just once.
You walk up behind a broad-shouldered man you barely recognize and tap him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I seem to be lost. Could you direct me to a man named Bradley? I believe his call sign is something silly, like ‘duck’.”
He whips around, sunglasses and mustache entirely new to you. He speaks your name in a breathy whisper, like he’s afraid his words will break if he says them too loud. “You’re here? Like actually?”
You’ve barely replied before you’re wrapped in a hug, feet lifted off the ground and body spun around so many times you think you might be sick. “Geez, Brad, put me down!”
He sets you down gently, holding out an arm for stability as you collect your bearings. “Sorry, sorry. I just can’t believe I’m seeing your face after all this time.” You’re even more breathtaking than he remembers.
San Diego has done him well, you reckon. His gold-tinted skin holds a deeper sense of warmth, now, even though he has always run hot. “You better get used to it. I have a fancy new apartment now, so I’m here to stay.”
His face holds a beaming grin, and the whole world falls away. “Thank god, I was beginning to think I’d be stuck here with just my coworkers.” He doesn’t even notice how you look at him with lovesick eyes.
After two months of San Diego, you say the one thing you thought you would never say: “I’m so sick of the sun.”
It’s midday, and you’re prepping for a Fourth of July bonfire party on the beach. The sun is beating down on your back, forcing you to scamper into the ocean every once in a while. Bradley is right beside you, wheeling yet another cooler onto the sand. “If I wasn’t worried about our shit being stolen, I’d suggest we abandon it and let Jake do all the work.”
You laugh. Jake was the one who suggested the whole bonfire, but, of course, he was “too busy” to help set up. You don’t mind doing the work. If it was an opportunity for you to be beside Bradley, you’d do anything. You’d even brave the burning ball of gas in the sky.
As you work, the sun disappears quickly.
By this point, after over two decades of friendship, you’ve lost a bit of that hope that pushed you to follow Brad in the first place. You know he’s attractive, and every woman in the world seems to know it too. What you didn’t know is that you’re pretty damn attractive too. As you’ve told yourself, you prefer to keep the attention off of you.
So, as the sun’s last dying rays scatter over the cooling sand, you pretend not to notice the women ogling your best friend.
The bonfire is great. Amazing, even. The flames reach high into the sky and the smell of smoke permeates the air; everything is cast in this sort of hazy glow, highlighting tanned skin and bright swimsuits. There’s also a woman chatting up Bradley, touching his arm flirtatiously, but you push that to the back of your mind. Instead, you’re focused on the guy in front of you, even when her giggle sends a ball of spikes into your heart.
He’s tall, a little on the skinny side, with tousled black hair and a puka shell necklace. Sand clings to his sandaled feet. He hands you a beer, which you tell yourself you won’t drink much of. You’ve already had a bit too much.
“So, know anyone here?” He asks. He’s eyeing you with a certain ferocity that you don’t notice, his gaze raking up and down your body.
You pop the can open and take a small sip. “Yeah. I know Bradshaw, and the rest by association.” You gesture to Jake and Natasha, who are arguing over a beach volleyball. You almost smile at the way she jabs him in the ribs, making him double over just enough for her to steal what’s so carefully held in his hands. The guy nods.
“I don’t. I’m here for the vibes, y’know?” He takes a step closer, and you notice he smells like smoke and something deeper, like perfumed weed. “And the pretty people.”
You shift in your place. “Have you found what you’re looking for?” You’re almost teasing now, completely missing the hunger in the way he licks his lips. Maybe you’re a little drunk, or maybe you’re just enjoying how someone seems to be giving you the longing looks you so sorely crave. It’s one night, you figure. You won’t ever see him again. What’s wrong with a little good-natured flirting?
“Absolutely.” He murmurs, reaching forward. His hand connects with the back of your neck, his breath cascading over your face, and your eyes flutter shut— before you’re yanked backwards by an arm around your waist.
You stumble. “What the hell?” You curse, colliding with a hard, warm chest. You drop your beer in the sand as you fall back. It’s Bradley, and he looks furious. “Brad, are you kidding me?”
“Come here.” His voice is lethally quiet and sharp as a knife. Your mind is reeling as you follow him a few paces closer to the fire, but a hot pool of anger sits in your stomach.
“Are you being serious right now? What in the world were you thinking?” You hiss. You look up at his tight-lipped face, utterly stoic in the light behind him.
“I’m not letting you kiss that piece of shit.”
“Who are you to decide who I kiss?” You’re so, so mad. So mad you could punch someone, but that would probably hurt you more than the person your fist connects with. Bradley just intervened in the one thing you thought he would never intervene in. You’ve let him swap spit with girls you’ve never seen before, and now he’s over here acting like you kissing one guy is the epitome of nastiness?
He scoffs. “You didn’t even notice, did you? That he was eyeing you like a piece of meat? God, he reeks of weed and swamp ass, too. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I could have the once in a lifetime opportunity to make out with a perfectly attractive guy without someone interrupting.” Your arms are crossed, but you feel a lump forming in your throat. In your mind, that really was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It’s not like you go out of your way to meet people, and the people you’ve met have never even slyly complimented you. You’re not the type that gets dates or drinks sent your way or anything more than platonic. Currently, platonic is staring you in the face with the rage of a thousand suns behind his eyes.
“Make out with Bob or Nat, I don’t care. At least they won’t undress you with their fuckboy blue eyes. Even Bagman is a better choice.”
“You don’t get to decide those things— friends don’t get to decide those things. I mean, I didn’t throw a hissy fit when you were openly flirting with that girl.” In the back of your mind, you know he’s right. You know that your stomach dropped when the guy leaned closer to you, and that your kicked-down self esteem made him out to be a whole lot more attractive than he probably (definitely) was.
Bradley runs a hand through his already slightly messy hair, sighing like he’s regretting ever hitting you with a sand pail in preschool. “I at least get to decide when to save you from creeps and when to leave your love life alone. Trust me, you were in more danger than I ever was.”
“I reiterate, friends don’t get to decide those things.” He can see the insecurity swimming in your beautiful eyes. Yeah, you’re definitely at least somewhat drunk. You’d never argue with him like this if you weren’t. You’re also more than a little mad, and disgusted with yourself, and disappointed with your lack of charisma, and so jealous of the girl he probably tangled tongues with.
“What do I have to be, then, to get it through your thick skull? You know I love you. I’m just looking out for you.” His voice is softer, now, and sweeter, dripping from his mustache like honey.
He reaches out, and you cringe away. Love. It’s a word unspoken, one that’s been lingering on your mind since the day in seventh grade when he suddenly became attractive to you. Like most things, you assume it’s friendly. “Do you really love me if this is what you’re pulling? Say it like you mean it, Bradshaw.”
“I love you.” He states, taking your hands in his. This time, as you try to pull yourself from his grip, he holds on. “I love you.” He says again. It holds a certain weight that gets your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He’s firm but gentle, and he can feel the years of unspoken feelings bubbling on the tip of his tongue.
That’s when the guy from before decides to approach, sliding a hand uncomfortably down your waist. “I think you interrupted us, dude.”
Bradley drops your hands, and before the man can grab you even lower, he’s getting decked in the face.
He collapses to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose and cursing like a bitch. “Fuck you, what the fuck! Fuckin’ Navy piece of fucking shit.” You raise your hand to your mouth as he scrambles to get away. His blood leaves a scarlet trail of droplets in the sand.
“Bradley…”
“I just want you to be safe.” He mutters, like he didn’t just punch someone in the face for you. “I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way, romantically, but I can’t stand seeing you with guys that aren’t as smart or good-looking as one fraction of your pinky toe.”
You reach up to his jaw, carefully, gingerly, before pressing your lips to his.
Like a scene from a movie, Fourth of July fireworks explode behind you, not unlike the fireworks going off in your mind. He has one hand on your waist and one hand on the back of your head, and neither make you even the slightest bit uncomfortable. It’s Bradley, and he makes you feel like the safest person in the world.
Your lips are soft, so soft. Bradley can practically hear his heart pounding in his ears as his body finally takes in the moment he’s been dreaming about his entire life. When you pull away, he misses the feeling, like the lost puzzle piece of his heart was stolen as soon as it was put back.
“You think my pinky toe is smart and good-looking?” You place a hand on his bare chest, teasing. He gives you the grin you’ve come to adore.
“Every part of you is. That’s why I love you.”
“I love you too. For more than your pinky toe, of course.”
“Oh,” he says, suddenly conscious of the self-satisfied look you shoot her, “y’know that girl I was talking to?” You raise your eyebrows questioningly as he nods his head at her. She sends a little wave, in which you notice a sparkling ring on her finger. “That, my love, is Reuben’s wife.”
You feel your heart sink to your feet as the embarrassment sets in, your cheeks growing warmer than the fire. You mouth a quiet “sorry” at her and she laughs, shooing your apology away with a gentle sweep of her hand.
“Is that why you went after Mr. Broken nose?” Bradley whispers in your ear. “That’s one hell of a way to make me jealous.”
You crinkle your nose as your face flushes impossibly warmer. “Not everything has an ulterior motive, Bradshaw.”
He looks perfect in this lighting, and to him, so do you. You can hardly believe that decades of friendship and tension and wishing led to this slightly improbable moment. You’re honestly glad you almost kissed a stranger.
“Yeah, but you’d best believe I do.”
He takes your hand in his and drops to one knee. Everyone turns to look at him, but for once, the only eyes that matter are yours. “Will you do me the honor of letting me be your lawfully appointed boyfriend?” You smile so wide you think your cheeks might split. You join him in the sand, holding his face in your hands and kissing his cheek.
“You really did mean it, huh, Brad?”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Yes. It’s a definite, no-questions-asked, yes.”
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bimrwolf ¡ 7 months ago
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Sex with a Ghost
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stephen strange x reader words: 11,583 warnings: minors DNI, smut, will they wont they, commitment issues, sex sex sex summary: Stephen and you have a strange relationship. A casual friendship turned into a casual affair. Your heart takes a different turn concerning the superhero. You learn the hard way of his lack of emotional intelligence. a/n: this is an old fic i wrote..... decided to put it on my blog... pls ignore me. im trying to get over benedict i really am...this is 2 years old pls forgive me
His rough long fingers traced your bare skin as your back pressed against his stomach. Your hair was a tangled mess that fell in front of your eyes. A giggle escaped your lips when you felt him pull your hair out of the way so his warm cupid bow lips could find their way beneath your ear. You had just woken up after an… eventful night to say the least. 
You hadn’t seen Stephen Strange in a few weeks. You weren’t upset or anything. It was your arrangement the pair of you had. One of you had a bad day? You could call them. One of you had one of the best days ever? You would call them. If one of you was incredibly horny… well you get the picture. 
Last night, Stephen hadn’t called you for any of those things. You were a bit shocked to hear from him considering the last time you were together ended in an argument. But when you answered the phone he talked to you like nothing had happened. Like he had never told you he never wanted to see you again. You had to bite your lip when he sputtered out that he needed your help.
You were going to tell him to suck a fat one and fuck off, but when he sensed you were about to hang up the phone, “Y/n, please.” The begged tone that came out of his mouth made you shiver. It seemed like as soon as you hung up the phone you were at his door. It didn’t take long for his problem to be long forgotten and he had you bent over a desk, hands on your hips as he took long thrusts inside of you. 
You didn’t exactly remember how things began between you. You were roommates with Christine in University and introduced the pair to one another. You didn’t even have feelings for him until years after they had broken up; however, it was clear the two still had feelings for each other. It was when Stephen came back from the blip that things had been different. Christine had met someone, and they were serious. He had shown up to your apartment, asking you a million questions about Charlie until you had enough of it and kissed the former surgeon to make him shut-up. You found yourself sprawled on your couch with your sundress hiked up and hands clenching Stephen Strange’s hair as he devoured you. 
You flipped over so you could look at the dark haired blue eyed man. His hand returned to your torso, his thumb massaged into your skin. “I missed you.” 
A lump formed in your throat when he said this. He didn’t mean it. He never did or he would make more of an effort to see you.  You weren’t sure how to respond. You had missed him too, but you couldn’t help but still feel the wound he left in your heart the last time he saw you. You already felt weak enough that you slept with him. 
His eyebrows furrowed when he noticed the look on your face. “Y/n, about last time-”
You kissed his lips softly. “We don’t need to talk about it.” 
“But you should know-” 
“Stephen, it’s okay. We don’t have to bring it up.” You nipped at the soft spot of his neck. You smirked when you heard a pushed back groan from the back of his throat. You continued to trail nips and kisses down his body. You would occasionally look up to see his reaction but his face was stoic. You rolled your eyes at his stubbornness. It didn’t matter though, because his hard member told you that he was enjoying it. 
You climbed on top of the superhero and stretched so that he could get a good view of every curve before him. Stephen bit his lip as his hands trailed up and down your thighs. “Y/n.” He begged. You felt him twitch, as he tried not to devour every inch of you.
The sun started to bleed through his curtains. The beams shone on his face, his sharp cheekbones glowed. You couldn’t help but be in awe of the magnificent man underneath you. You loved him. Your eyes pricked with tears. Those words infiltrated your head again. It was unwanted like ants at a picnic. You took a deep breath as you pushed yourself off of him and got out of the bed. “I have to go.” 
Stephen was confused. He hoisted himself up with his elbow as he watched you try to find your clothes that were scattered around the room. 
“You said last night you didn’t have anything to do today. Hence why you stayed over.” 
“Um, yeah. I forgot. I have a thing.” 
“A thing?”
“Yeah.” You groaned. Where the hell was your shirt? 
“Y/n, does this have to do anything with-” 
“Oh my God, Stephen. Can we please just drop it? I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped. 
“But Y/n, you said you love me.” 
Right. It wasn’t a secret. The last time you were together, you were making coffee for both of you. He made a joke you have forgotten by now, because you only remember the embarrassment of letting those cursed words roll off your tongues as you laughed. 
He stared at you for a moment before standing up to walk away. You begged him to say something, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to acknowledge it. 
“Well, you didn’t say it back. ” Tired of looking for your shirt that you’re certain is now lost in another dimension, you grabbed one of his on the floor. You tried to remember if it was the one he wore last night.  “I’ll mail it back to you.”
Stephen had crawled out of bed by this time and put his boxers on. He walked towards you while you buttoned the shirt. Stephen grabbed your hands. “Y/n, stay.” 
You remembered asking him to do the same thing. Tears streamed down your puffy cheeks. You wanted him to stay and talk it out. You had finally had enough and told him that if his lack of response was because of Christine, he needed to get over it. You told him Christine and him were over and she didn’t love him anymore. 
You had never seen Stephen angry before. His nose flared, and his eyes narrowed. He didn’t yell, or curse you. He simply said he never wanted to see you again. But his words were like a venomous snake, striking you hard. 
You realized why had called you tonight. He was lonely and unhappy. What else was there to do than to call the only other lonely unhappy person that he knew. It always had to be him to make the shots. 
You snatched your hands out of his grasp.  “You know what your problem is, Stephen? You’re still so far up your own ass even after everything you’ve been through. I don’t know what was going through my head coming over. I don’t know what went through my head being involved with you. All of this has clearly been a mistake.” 
“You think our time together was a mistake? All of it?” Stephen crossed his arms. 
You pressed the bridge of your nose, unsure what to say. Of course you didn’t think it was a mistake. You enjoyed every moment of it, but you couldn’t help feeling resentment in his commitment issues. You hated that you allowed yourself to fall in the same trap he set up for Christine. You were a little mouse and he taunted you with cheese, hope and a future, but instead you were trapped and left to die with no rewards. 
“Stephen, I love you.” You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You couldn’t let him see that vulnerability like the last time you had confessed to him. 
“I know, but Y/n… you know I… I can’t.” 
“I’m not finished. I love you,” you repeated. You looked him in the eyes, and hoped to see that glimmer that maybe he would say it back. He opened his mouth; however, he shut it quickly. “But I love myself more. I can’t keep letting your stunted emotions hold me back.” 
You left the room before he could say anything more. You knew he could easily open a portal to catch up to you. He could get on his knees and show you he felt the same, but he didn’t. You wanted nothing to do with him ever again.
You went three months without hearing, seeing, or talking about Stephen Strange. You missed him. You thought about him every day and at least once a week… okay maybe more… you would draft a text message to him that you were thinking about him. You would delete it before the temptation of pressing that send button overtook your stubbornness. He would ignore it like other messages anyway. Always leaving you on read until he was ready to see you again on his time. 
Saturdays were always a lazy day for you. You hadn’t left your bed except to use the restroom. You mindlessly scrolled on different media platforms to waste time and avoid getting up. You jumped when your phone started to buzz and ring in your hand. You furrowed your brows when you saw who it was, but nevertheless answered. 
You felt a little grouchy that you had agreed to get lunch with Christine on your day you vow not to leave the apartment unless for emergencies. If it weren’t for the fact you had barely seen her this year, you would have rain checked. 
She was at the cafÊ first. Her strawberry hair was down in loose curls and she wore a yellow sundress. When she saw you, she smiled and stood up to hug you.  
“I’m so happy to see you!” 
“Same. We haven’t done one of these in a while,” you commented. She had already ordered your food, you noticed. You were grateful because you were starving and not sure if you could wait any longer before devouring a sandwich. 
“Between the hospital, Charlie… and the engagement. I guess I’ve been busy.” Christine took a bite of her pasta salad. 
“Yeah, It’s been busy for me too… wait engagement?”
Christine set down her fork and showed her right hand that you didn’t notice had been in her lap the entire time. An elegant diamond ring glimmered on her slender finger. “We’ve been keeping it hushed for a few months now. But since we have a venue and date ready I thought it was time to come clean!” You couldn’t help but feel envious. Christine looked so happy, her smile reached from ear to ear. You wondered if you would ever feel that one day. “Also, I have been trying to find the best time to ask if you would be my Maid of Honor.” 
“You want me?” 
“Of course! We wanted a small wedding party, and you’re the first person I could think of. ” 
The pang of guilt made your chest tighten. You realized all this time you hadn’t been honest with Christine. You had been sneaking behind her back with your casual affair. “Christine, I’m honored. I really am, but I don’t think I’m the right person.” 
“You’ve always been there for me, Y/n. I want to celebrate my happy day with you by my side.”
Your eyes made their way to the sandwich on your plate with only one bite. The hunger you felt earlier vanished but you felt it threaten to come up. “I haven’t been a good friend.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. If you tried to speak any louder you might croak. 
“Is this about you and Stephen?”
You snapped your head up eyebrows furrowed. You were confused how she could possibly guess that. “How?” 
“You didn’t think I’d notice you two sneaking off together at my Christmas party?” She didn’t look hurt or angry. Her lips were tugged into a smug look. She had been waiting for this moment to talk about you and Stephen. I guess you weren’t the only one holding secrets. 
“Well, it’s over anyway.” You poked at a pile of sliced pickles on your plate. 
“That dumbass.” 
“Who said it was his fault?” 
“It’s Stephen Strange we’re talking about.”
You two shared a fit of giggles. It felt good to laugh. She made you feel like you weren’t crazy or clingy or stupid. For the past few months you thought you had been alone. It was a bit narcissistic when you thought about it, because there was one person who understood— probably more than you. 
The next three months you were too busy helping plan Christine’s bridal and bachelorette party that you had no time to think about your love life. You had convinced yourself to forget about the arrogant superhero— until his name was on the list of invitations. 
You tried your best to ignore it. You skipped over his name numerous times when stamping and sealing envelopes. You contemplated if you should spray your perfume on the invitation, or add a message. You wanted to do something to make him miss you. Being the bigger person, however, sucked. 
Christine wanted to do one thing for her bachelorette. Get wasted. 
She didn’t have many other girl friends due to her busy schedule, but she insisted on inviting a few girls from work and her fiancé’s sister. You had to convince her co-worker free booze was involved and they were all in. 
It didn’t take long for everyone to be wasted. They were all middle-aged women and giggling over the dick shaped objects you had bought for the party. 
“How big is Charlie?” Cathy, one of Christine’s co-workers asked. 
“Ew, please don’t answer that.” Charlie’s sister, Moriah, fake gagged. 
Everyone burst into laughter while Christine blushed and covered her face. 
“My mother always told me, if the shoe doesn't fit just right, don’t buy it!” Cathy howled at her joke. 
“Mmm, I bet some of those surgeons at the hospital know exactly how to work their hands.” Another co-worker, Minnie, replied. “Spill the beans Christine, was Dr. Strange as wonderful in bed as everyone assumes?” 
You choked on your “Cumcoction” that you had made out of different alcoholic beverages and juices. You received curious glances as you tried to clean up a few drops on your chin. 
“I don’t think about him and our past anymore.” Christine was trying to be polite and considerate of your feelings. You gave her a look to tell her it’s okay. “Besides he seems to have his hands busy with other things.”
The girls didn’t seem to catch on what she was insinuating. “Ah, yes. He’s probably too busy saving the world to be worried about a relationship.” Cathy commented. “I bet he he has a pretty dick, though”
“He does.” 
Everyone’s eyes snapped towards you. You covered your mouth quickly, as if doing that wouldn’t make them suspicious of you. You tried to sputter out excuses that you meant you thought so too. But the girls weren’t buying it, and Christine wasn’t helping. She was too busy trying not to laugh at your confession. 
“Y/n, are you sleeping with Stephen Strange?” Minnie asked. 
“Not anymore!” You proclaimed. “We… it wasn’t anything serious.” 
“Yeah, right! She’s in love with him.” Christine rolled her eyes. 
“You’re okay with it?” Cathy questioned. 
“Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t own either him or Y/n.”
“Okay, girl, then why are we not with him anymore?” The question was directed at you this time. 
You racked your brain for a reply. But it felt like the words floating around were squiggles that you couldn’t decipher. “I… we’re different.” 
“How so?”
“This party is about Christine, we should talk about something else.” You coughed. When no one budged to change the subject you sighed. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t miss me or anything like that.” 
“Why do you say that?” By this time the alcohol is pumping in your bloodstream you don’t even know who’s the one talking. 
“Hee… hasn’t texted me to check on meee.”
“Girl, you have to do something to make him realize he misses you. This is your apartment right?” 
You nodded. 
“Come on!”
You believe it was Cathy who led everyone to your bedroom. She asked you where you kept your undergarments. You led her to your dresser and pulled out a drawer. She peeked inside and shook her head. “No. We need something revealing but not too much.” 
“What about this?” You asked, picking up a white button up shirt. 
“That is the opposite of what I meant.” 
You giggled. “It’s his. I stole it.” 
Everyone knew immediately what you needed to do. 
You found yourself laid on your bed in a pair of black bra, panties and Stephen’s shirt. Turns out, Charlie’s sister is a boudoir photographer and was in charge of setting up the scene. She undid most of the top buttons— enough to have your bra and breasts exposed. Moriah instructed you to arch your back and put your hands stretched above your head. If there wasn’t alcohol in you there would be no way you’d let strangers see you like this. 
The girls cooed and giggled. Christine kept repeating how hot you looked. You tried to keep a neutral facial expression like Moriah commanded, but it was hard not to blush at the drunken compliments.
When Moriah was done taking the photo she gave you the okay to relax. Your phone got passed around like it was show and tell. They kept squealing at the photo. You weren’t sure how a simple photograph could cause such a reaction. There wasn’t anything special about you. 
Minnie handed you the phone with an approved smile plastered on her face. 
Your eyes widened as soon as you saw the screen. You looked… sexy. Your sultry body language made your toes tingle. You looked up at the girls in front of you as they gave you a are-you-going-to-do-it look. You smirked and began to type out a message that you believed was well constructed enough to make Stephen Strange teleport into your room as soon as he saw it— he’s done it before. 
There was no need to ask if it was acceptable. After you pressed send you turned your phone to show them. They all gathered around to see that you sent the photo along with the message “I’m trying to give back this shirt to its rightful owner, could you help?” 
Their laughter almost covered the sound of your phone ringing. The sudden vibrations in your hand scared you, which caused you to throw it on your bed. “Oh my god.” You whispered. It was him. You looked at the girls, begging for help. You realized you weren’t being that serious. It was a joke, and now the joke went further than expected because he was responding. “Oh my god.” You cried out. You felt like you were going to throw up and it wasn’t because of the alcohol. 
“Answer it!” Christine encouraged. 
“What would I even say?” You put your hands on top of your head. 
Christine rolled her eyes, picked up the phone and handed it to you. “Start off by saying hello.” She looked at her friends and motioned her head towards the door to give you privacy. 
The phone rang again and you felt your lungs rip out of your chest for a moment. Your shaky thumb betrayed you and accepted the call. “H-hello?” 
“Y/n?” His cool voice made a shiver roll down your spine. You missed his voice, his soothing words that triggered the hairs on your arms to stand up. You missed his fingers when they trailed your goosebumps followed by those sweet kisses. 
“Yeah.”
“Er, I received your text.” 
“Right, that silly thing. I was joking.” 
“Joking.” He repeated out loud. 
“Yep.” 
“What a shame I really miss… that shirt.” 
You let out a breath of air. “I think this shirt misses you too.” Your finger trailed over a loose thread on your comforter. “Unfortunately, you would have to rip it off of me before I gave it up. I’ve grown quite attached to it.” 
You smirked when the sound of his breath hitched in his throat. 
“I can imagine it now. You have one hand wrapped around my neck so you can feel my pulse while the other hand tears the shirt off my naked body. I’m wet just thinking about it, Stephen.” 
“Y/n.” It sounded like a warning. If you said anything more he would come undone. 
“Sadly, I’m preoccupied with other endeavors. I guess the rest of this conversation can be left for the imagination. Talk to you later!” 
You heard him call out your name as you removed your phone from your ear. You felt so much power once you hung up. You had hoped he would send a stream of text messages or would try to call again. You even hoped he would be in your room by now, but after about five minutes of silence you came to terms none of those would happen. Disappointed, you got dressed back into your previous clothes and joined the party again. 
Everyone left about two in the morning. Cathy was so drunk that Minnie volunteered to let the woman stay with her. Christine thanked you for the exciting night— it made her feel like they were in University again.
You were practically sober when you closed the door to your apartment, but the inevitable pressure started to push against your skull. Luckily your apartment wasn’t that messy. It was nothing you couldn’t handle in the morning. 
You felt tired, but not enough to lay in your bed and go to sleep. You settled on trashy reality while you laid on your couch, an ice pack on your forehead. This was the consequence of drinking a lot tonight when you rarely drink at all. You were surprised you didn’t end up like Cathy, stumbling around sputtering nonsense. But you were drunk enough to send a risque photo to your ex-lover who will never love you back. 
You groaned and sputtered out curses. If you could, you would kick yourself. So much for holding your ground and never talking to him again. You would have to see him next weekend, but it was different because you didn’t initiate it and it would be easy to avoid him. If he tried to come towards you it would be just as easy to  turn the other way. 
Another example would be if he were to knock on your door at two-thirty in the morning, it would be easy to slam it in his face. But what if he was standing there, wearing a blue cotton t-shirt with grey sweatpants? His hair disheveled and fell in front of his eyes. He looked like he had been trying to sleep, but couldn’t. 
You should just slam the door. You should, but you didn’t. 
Stephen walked inside your apartment scanning the remnants of the party. “Ah.” He said. He seemed to acknowledge what you were doing tonight and there was no need to ask further questions. 
“What are you doing here?” You knew why he was here, and that’s probably why you closed your door, locking it. 
“I told you… I really missed my shirt.” 
You bit your lip. He wasn’t looking at you and it was making you mad. You wondered if he’d notice if you started making goofy faces at him. “It’s in my room. I can go get it for you.” 
When you came back out of your room, Stephen had made a spot on your couch. He sat upright hands in his lap. The only light came from the TV as the blue tint glowed on him. 
“Didn’t take you as a Kardashian fan.” Stephen called out, unaware of your presence. 
“It helps me sleep at night.”
“That’s what melatonin…” He looked over at you on the other side of the couch. His mouth fell agape. It was like the photo you had sent him came to life before his eyes. “I thought you said you were getting my shirt for me. Not wear it.” 
You strutted towards him. His eyes never left yours as you got closer. “I told you Dr. Strange,” you said. You were now in front of him. “You’ll have to tear it off of me if you’re wanting it back.” You wiggled his knees apart and slipped between him. Your fingers ran through his unkempt dark locks. You were always fascinated with the silver streak and found yourself twirling it around your finger.
His hands stayed on his thighs. They hadn’t budged at all as if he was forcing them down with weights. 
“You’re not touching me.” You stated. Your left hand left his hair and came to his cheek. “Why?” 
“I’m only granting your wishes.” 
“My wishes?” 
“You said this was over.”
You smirked and leaned over to his ear. “Stephen, if you were granting my wishes you wouldn’t have answered the phone.” You looked into his icy eyes polluted by darkness. “You can tell me to stop.” He wouldn’t tell you to. That’s why he let your fingers trail to his lips. Your thumb grazed from  top to bottom, allowing you to have an opening to place your own lips on his. 
Hot breaths exchanged between you like you both were trying to suck the oxygen out of one another. You needed to take a breath of air— as if you had been underwater and gasped for life. The only thing that told you were alive was the sound of your heart beating out of your chest and the blood pumping in your veins. 
You stole another deep kiss, nipping his bottom lip. He hissed, but you quickly shut him up by putting your thumb in his mouth letting his tongue graze the digit. Your other fingers placed underneath his jaw as you pressed down to open his mouth. 
You had never really taken control like this before. It had always been him bending you over, making you whimper, making you beg for him. 
He still refused to touch you. It was pissing you off, but you refused to say anything. Instead, you pushed his hands away and sat in his lap. You bucked your hip to force a soft moan to escape his lips. 
He shifted, allowing you to feel the hardness through his sweats. He placed his hands on your hips to pull you closer allowing more friction between him and you, the pressure relieving the ache trapped beneath. He grabbed the back of your neck to bring you into a passionate kiss. His other hand found itself wandering underneath your — his— shirt. That damn shirt. 
He had had enough. He picked you up slightly and threw you on the couch. He climbed on top of you, hungry kisses attacked your lips. You pushed the hem of his shirt up to help him take it off, throwing it on the ground. He came back down and started kissing your jaw down to your neck, nipping and sucking pink blooms all over.
You placed your hand on his chest. You loved the feeling of his muscles under your touch. You felt him shudder as they trailed down his body to the hem of his sweatpants. However he was quick to dodge her eager fingers from exploring further. “Patience.” He growled. 
“I haven’t been with you in months, can you blame me?” 
“And whose fault is that?” 
You had to bite your tongue. You were too incredibly horny to try to argue with him. He slid down, eyes never breaking yours as he pushed your thighs apart. His eyes broke away from yours and he was now focused on what he could see between your legs. You had gone ahead to do away with anything else besides his shirt. He wanted to say something witty, but he used his sharp tongue to lick you instead. A small quiet moan left your lips, making him work faster. You instinctively grabbed the first thing you could think of as you embraced the jolts of pleasure pumping through your body which was Stephen’s hair. He spread your legs a bit further to get a better angle. His tongue pressed a spot that made you gasp and back arch. If he went any longer you might not make it so you tugged his hair, a silent instruction to come back to you. 
He licked his lips that tasted only of you. You wanted him to come back and kiss you but instead he got off of you and the couche. You frowned and thought maybe he was done and wanted to leave. He realized it was another mistake that they were together again after months of silence. But rather than collecting his things, Stephen began to remove his sweatpants, throwing them to the designated clothes pile. Your eyes were wide when you discovered he was not wearing anything under his clothes either. He knew this would happen. Smartass. 
He returned on top of you. He looked at the shirt covering you. His impatient fingers began to pick at the buttons to free your body. He struggled to get them undone, a small vein popped at the top of his forehead from frustration. 
“Here let me help.” You offered, bringing your hands towards the buttons. 
Stephen pushed them away and hooked his fingers between the gaps, pulling the fabric. A few buttons flew across the room, but neither one of you cared. He began kissing your inner thigh, up your leg, your stomach. He relished the sight of your bare breasts before he took one in his mouth while the other was being massaged. The blue tones from the TV cast shadows on his face, exaggerating his cheekbones. 
“Stephen, I need you.” Your voice was shaky. It felt like you had forgotten how to speak. 
He looked up at you to see the plea in your eyes. Sitting up on his knees, he took your legs and wrapped them around his waist. You adjusted yourself to help him find your entrance. You moaned in unison as he entered inside of you, your walls welcoming him as they pulsated like a heartbeat. It was a mixture of relief and pleasure as he took long slow thrusts inside of you. He wanted your body to crave the feeling until it begged for more. 
Stephen placed his chest flush against your breasts. One hand rested on your hip as he nuzzled his face into your shoulder, his warm breaths tickled your bare skin. His pace began to pick up a low groan rattled in his throat that sent tiny vibrations into you. He slid out of you almost completely then sank back inside you, hitting a spot that made you cry out in satisfaction. 
“Stephen,” you called out. Your nails dug into his back. 
He moved his lips to your neck, running his tongue over your pulse as he buried himself inside you again. Each thrust harder and faster than the last, sending waves of electricity through your core and nerves. You closed your eyes, the pleasure seemed almost unbearable. You felt the heat in your core begin to bubble like a teapot boiling water, the steam begging to be released. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper. His hips snapped forward granting your body’s needs.
 “Fuck.” He groaned. 
His voice melted into you, pushing your climax over the edge. Heat pulsated through you hot, burning, blazing, tearing through you. Your walls hugged him as you released. “Keep going.” You sighed. 
He continued unrelentless thrusts in you. The only words exchanged were whimpers and grunts between stolen kisses as you felt him twitch. He drove himself into you, a final growl escaped his lips, releasing his climax. 
His pace steadied to a halt, his forehead on top of yours. You still felt him inside you, but neither of you moved. You studied each other’s breaths and how they once were erratic. Now, they were steady and back to normal, as if neither one of you were crying out in pleasure just moments ago. 
Every time you were with him you never knew if it would be the last. Each time you told yourself you’d relish and savour every touch, but like tonight, you got carried away. You brushed your fingers through his hair, scared he would disappear if you blinked. You knew nothing had changed, but maybe you were attempting to make a relationship out of nothing. Maybe this was all you’d have with him, and you needed to accept that.
The past few days felt odd. At work, Stephen would text you, asking if you wanted to get lunch or dinner. You didn’t mind, it wasn’t unusual for him to invite you out to eat; however, it had never been a daily occurrence. You didn’t want to question it so you accepted every time, not caring about his intentions. It was a bonus that a majority of the meals were free because the staff would recognize him as Dr. Strange, the superhero who helped defeat Thanos. 
What was even weirder was when he came to your work after you got off to walk you home. If you had already ate lunch, he would fuck you as soon as you got to your apartment, and if you had dinner plans he would fuck you before and fucked you after. You don’t recall having that much sex in a week but Stephen found a way to break your personal record. Not that you were complaining about the sex either. 
No, the sex was amazing as always, and the food delicious, but every day you couldn’t help but feel sick to your stomach. He would stay over at your apartment. You swore he put his toothbrush in your bathroom the second night. It was all you ever wanted out of him, a domestic relationship. But why did you feel unfulfilled every time you looked over at him sleeping peacefully in your bed? 
It was Thursday, two days before the wedding, tomorrow being the rehearsal dinner. You managed to decline lunch with Stephen, begging Christine to meet with you. You hadn’t seen her since the bachelorette party. You couldn’t make the next two days about you, but you needed advice. 
Christine’s schedule was busy to help tie up work at the hospital before her week-long honeymoon. She asked if you could have lunch at the hospital and if you hadn’t been under desperate measures you would have said never mind.
“I’m so happy you asked to meet. I needed a chance to catch my breath.” Christine told you, taking a sip of her tea. 
“Been a busy day, I guess?” 
“Working my ass off this week and the future in-laws are in town. I don’t think I’ve been able to relax or have fun on the week of my wedding.” She raised an eyebrow. “You on the other hand… look like you’ve been having fun.”
“What?” You asked. 
She scoffed, reaching over the table and pulling the collar of your shirt so it could reveal a bruised love bite. “I do hope you plan on covering that for Saturday.” 
You brushed her hand away, embarrassed. “I guess I’ve been a little carried away… this week.” 
“Wait, all week?” 
You put your face in your hands in shame. “Every. Single. Day. But it’s not the sex that’s bothering me. He’s treating me like we’re in a relationship.” 
“What’s wrong with that?” 
“Christine, we’re talking about Stephen Strange here. He doesn’t do relationships.”
“Well you don’t do just sex. Y/n, you’re in love with him and he’s using that to his advantage.”
You wanted to snap at her, because it was her who started this mess. If Christine hadn’t gotten her friends involved in your love life, then maybe that photo would had never been taken and then maybe he wouldn’t have come over and had sex with you on the couch and on the kitchen counter and the shower… it was definitely Christine’s fault. But then again, Christine knew Stephen maybe better than you did. You were only his booty call whenever something was bothering him. Except, you didn’t know anything that might be bothering him besides maybe your love confession. Your brain was hurting trying to figure it all out. 
“I can’t wait for this wedding to be over. I didn’t think monster-in-law was a real thing.” Christine said out loud, scrolling on her phone. 
Then it clicked. No wonder Stephen was acting like it was the end of the world. 
After your lunch with Christine you went back to work, but you couldn’t focus on anything. You had finished your reports earlier this week since you would have tomorrow off. Time seemed to drag. Every time you looked at the clock on your computer nothing seemed to change. 
You had two hours left of your shift before asking your boss if you could leave early. He wasn’t strict or high maintenance if you did your job right, and you always did. So, he had no issue with you leaving for the rest of the day. You were certain he probably wouldn’t notice you were gone tomorrow. 
You always felt nervous arriving at the sanctum, especially since it seemed like Wong was the one who always greeted you when you walked in. 
He always gave an all too knowing look when he would tell Stephen he had a guest. 
“Surprised to see you, Y/n.” Wong said as he walked through a portal, carrying a box. 
“Really?” 
“No. Strange, your girlfriend’s here!” Wong set the box down and walked back into the portal. 
“He’s not my boyfri-“
A voice interrupted you. “Y/n, I was just getting ready to come pick you up.” 
You didn’t question that he hadn’t corrected Wong. But you did raise an eyebrow. “Two hours early? I thought you just opened your portal thingy right before I got off.” 
“He does, it just takes him two hours to pick out an outfit.” Wong said, bringing in another box, grunting as he set it down. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to help.” He looked at Stephen, who rolled his eyes in return. 
“You’re the Sorcerer Supreme. Not my job.” 
You giggled. Wong and him always had to make jabs at one another when it came to the subject of Sorcerer Supreme. That was actually one of the many reasons Stephen would call you upset. Which reminded you why you were there. “Stephen, could we talk?” 
“Yes, of course. Want to talk over dinner? I’m starving. I know a great restaurant about two blocks from here.” 
“Actually, I was thinking we could talk somewhere… private.” You bit your lip. 
“Really? Strange, I’d rather not hear you and your girlfriend talk about engaging in coitus while I’m here.” 
“He’s not my boyfri-“
“I don’t think that’s what she meant, Wong.” Stephen moved his hands in a circle. There were a few sparks as he opened a portal. He held out his hand for you to take. You waved goodbye to Wong as the two of you walked through. You took in the salty air as Stephen closed the portal so it was just the two of you. He had brought you to a secluded beach. There seemed to not be any sign of inhabitants within miles. “Where are we?”
“A deserted island. One of my favorite places to come when I need to think.” 
You looked at the man beside you. Most of the time he was arrogant and unbearable to be around, and that’s probably why you enjoyed his mouth being preoccupied elsewhere. But there were moments he shared with you that maybe you could find hope being with him. 
You took off your shoes so your feet could sink in the sand, it was also much easier to walk alongside him.
“So, what was so important that you took work off early?” He asked. 
You felt your words lose their way when you tried to speak. “I… um… I think we should stop. For real this time.” 
He didn’t budge, nor was there a change in his expression. 
“You’re not going to say anything?” 
“What is there to say, Y/n?” 
“I don’t know. Just something.” Your voice was soft, covered by the sounds of waves crashing the sand bank. 
“We’ve done this a thousand times, Y/n. One of us tells the other we’re done, but the next day we’re back to how we were.” 
“Well, I’m tired of feeling trapped in that cycle. This week, I thought I finally made a breakthrough. But I realized nothing was different. I realized you were using me like you had before. You’re sad, Stephen. You’re sad that Christine is getting married on Saturday, and you’re trying to use my emotions as your outlet to avoid it. I always thought if I begged for you, and I had more sex with you, then maybe you would see how much I truly love you and you would give it back to me.” 
He finally stopped walking so he could look at you. You tried your best to not look him in the eyes. You knew if you saw his reaction, you would cry. “Y/n…” He tried to speak but words failed to come out. 
“I’m done feeling like I need you to make me happy.” You felt your words choke on the sob rolling up your throat. “I don’t think I’ll ever make you happy.”
“I’m not sure how to respond.” Stephen admitted. His hands were at sides, you could see them twitch as if he wanted to do something but restrained himself. 
You wiped a tear that finally escaped, turning your back to him you were unable to face him any longer. “Just take me home.” 
He let out a heavy sigh before a portal to your living room opened in front of you. Without another word or glancing back at him, you stepped through. In all honesty, you wanted to turn around and ask him to forget everything you had just said. But you couldn’t fall back into the pattern. You needed to break it for both of you. Turning your body slightly, you watched as the portal closed, a few sparks were left until it became nothing, and you were staring at your mundane apartment once again as if nothing had been there. 
You debated on telling Christine you had a stomach bug and you couldn’t do the wedding anymore. The thought of seeing Stephen on Saturday made you want to throw up. You knew you couldn’t let her down. So, at the wedding rehearsal, you made sure to leave all of your problems at the door— these past two days were not about you. You did pretty good avoiding all of your issues, grateful that Moriah didn’t acknowledge the other night when she spoke to you. 
The wedding on the other hand… you knew he would be there. You had mentally prepared yourself when you would inevitably see him. When it was your cue to walk down the aisle, the best man arm linked with yours, your eyes immediately scanned the many guests. Although it was the back of their heads you could identify his silver streak. You gulped as you passed him, feeling his eyes bore the back of your head. 
As soon as you took your place, the pianist began to play Christine’s entrance. Everyone stood and turned to look at her as she walked in. Your focus was on her and you couldn’t help but let the anxiety wash away with happiness, watching your closest friend look extraordinarily beautiful. You noticed Charlie, tearing up as the two looked at each. To them, they were the only people in the room. Your eyes flickered to Stephen as Christine made her way past him; however, he only looked at her momentarily with a half-hearted smile before looking back in your direction. You pretended not to notice, but the heat on your cheeks told you otherwise. 
This went on the entire ceremony. You could feel his gaze on you, watching every single thing you did. Every breath you took his eyes were on the rise and fall of your chest to your slightly opened lips you occasionally licked. You wished you had your own superhero power like mind control, then you could tell him to fuck off. 
You made sure not to make eye-contact with him as you followed Christine and Charlie after they kissed and ran down the aisle. You swore you could hear Stephen whisper your name, yet, you refused to turn your head. 
At the reception you saw multiple times he attempted to approach you but by the grace of God, someone would jump in front of him to bombard you with questions about the wedding. It seemed being on your feet constantly was the only thing you were able to do. One point you snuck off to a secluded hallway, a glass of wine in your hand and sat down on a red cushioned window seat. A long sigh escaped you looking out at the city through the window. Passersby made their way past the building. None of them knew they walked by two people who vowed their love to one another. None of them knew how happy you were for your best friend. Yet, you couldn’t help feel the tight pang in your chest that held the feeling of jealousy and yearning. They were blurred together where it was hard to distinguish which one was which. 
The room temperature wine tickled your tongue. The bittersweet liquid always made you pucker your lips the first sip. 
You had just finished your maid of honor speech about Christine. It had been the most difficult part of the entire wedding in your opinion. Trying to write about a subject you weren’t exactly a professional in made it hard to come up with words. Sure you knew how to love, but when writing you realized you never knew what it felt to be loved. You saw the way Christine tucked her hair behind her ear whenever she shyly spoke about Charlie. But there was a different reaction when he did something romantic or said something sweet. The twinkle in Christine’s eyes sparkled bright. 
You looked at yourself in the reflection of the glass. You tried to imagine anybody treating you that way— you tried to imagine Stephen. You hated to admit that him staring at you the entire wedding made your heart skip a beat in your chest. You guessed it wouldn’t have been that terrible if he had come over and talked to you. There was nothing said to him that the two of you couldn’t be friends… right? You took another sip. Time to go back to reality. 
The band started playing a slow song once you entered the reception hall. Couples, including Christine and Charlie, were dancing. Heads placed on shoulders as they swayed to the tranquil music. You told yourself not to do it but your eyes betrayed you as you searched for him. It didn’t take long to find the tall superhero standing near the balcony, his own eyes scanning the crowd. Your heart stopped beating momentarily when his blue irises locked with yours. You said curses under your breath when he began walking in your direction.  You turned sideways to pretend like you definitely had not just eye-fucked him and downed the rest of your wine. 
“Y/n.” His voice was loud and clear beside you, but he still managed to say it low enough that it sent a shiver down your spine. 
You turned to face him. “Stephen. I didn’t know you were still here.” He gave you an unimpressed look because you both knew you were lying; however, he didn’t correct you. “Beautiful wedding, wasn’t it?” 
His eyes drifted down and looked over at the newlyweds before focusing back on you. “Yeah, it was. I’m glad she’s happy,” 
“Are you happy?” The words came out of your mouth unexpectedly. You wished your wine glass wasn’t empty. 
Stephen’s lips pursed. “Christine asked me the same question.”
“Well, what did you say?”
“Dance with me.” He blurted. 
His hand reached towards you but you pulled away from him. “You didn’t answer my question.” 
“I didn’t have an answer.” He reached for you again, this time succeeding in taking your free hand. You felt the tingles of electricity move through your fingers, much like the first time you had held hands after a month of seeing each other. You subconsciously grazed your thumb over the scars on his knuckles. You remembered when he winced the first time you touched them, but now it was one of his favorite things you did to him. Stephen leaned over. His lips nearly touched your ear. “Dance with me, and I’ll have an answer.” 
You shook your head, slipping your hand from his. “You know I can’t.” 
“Y/n I…” Before he could continue a loud crash came from outside the building. A few people noticed and ran towards the balcony to see the commotion of screams. Stephen looked at you with an apologetic look before running that way himself. You watched as he leaned over the rails. His shoulders dropped from a long sigh. Without hesitation, he swiped his hand in the air changing into his infamous Doctor Strange attire. You swore his cape gave you a small wave before Stephen flew over the ledge. 
You probably had the worst date of your entire life. You were going to kill Christine once she came back from her honeymoon next week. Who even takes a three week long honeymoon? I guess someone who rarely gets a vacation. You needed a vacation after the events of tonight, that's for sure. 
Before the wedding was over, Christine pulled you aside and demanded you tell her what was wrong after watching your interaction with Stephen. She noticed something was up since the rehearsal. 
You tried to tell her not to worry about it, but she insisted. So you told her you made a declaration not to see Stephen Strange in any intimate setting ever again. Christine seemed upset, the first time you had seen her frown on her wedding day. A pang of guilt crept inside. That was precisely why you didn’t want to talk about it with her. 
“Y/n, I wish you saw the way he looks at you. He’s holding it back. He just needs a little push.” 
You bit your bottom lip, trying to prevent any tears. “I’m tired of carrying all the weight of pushing.” 
Christine gave you a sympathetic smile. Her hand placed on your shoulder. “I’m proud of you. You deserve only the best.” 
Apparently the best was Charlie's semi-attractive second cousin, Simon. You shuddered thinking about him. For one, he was twenty-three minutes and twelve seconds late to the movie— which you paid for everything. After the movie you went to a café and the entire time he talked. It wasn’t a bad thing, but you believe the only thing you were able to get out was how your day had been. Then his phone rang and rang and rang until you finally told him to answer it. Turns out, Charlie’s second cousin, Simon, is going through a divorce. Yet, he’s still sleeping with his future ex-wife. Information you had wished Christine had told you before you wasted five hours of your Saturday. 
You debated on taking Cathy’s advice last Tuesday when you had lunch with her and Minnie. “Girl, get Tinder!” 
You’ve had it before, and you had plenty of suitors, but there was always that queasy feeling of not knowing anyone’s true intentions. For nearly a year you’ve felt like an object of sexual desires and relief. All you wished for was something real. As pathetic as it sounded, you wanted a boyfriend. You wanted someone who would greet you with a kiss. Someone who would hold your hand as you walked down the street as you pointed at ridiculously priced objects in stores that you would buy if you were a millionaire. You wanted someone who would take you to gatherings with friends and let you sit on their lap as you talked. You wanted someone who would talk about the possibility of marriage and kids while sitting in your sunshine mimosa bubble bath. You wanted it all. Worst of all, you wanted it with Stephen Strange. 
You groaned at the large thunderclap followed by the pitter patter of rain splashing on you. Passersby put up their umbrellas. Guess you should look at the radar more often. Damn the New York mentality that it’s not far of a walk instead of taking a cab. The rain started to pick up and it was difficult to see. 
By the time you made it to your apartment, you were drenched head to toe. Your clothes clung to your body uncomfortably. A nice hot bubble bath sounded amazing. As soon as you closed and locked your front door you started to kick shoes off. You unbuttoned your blue jean shorts so you could shimmy out of them. You barely got the zipper down when you realized a figure stood outside your balcony. 
At first you were scared and ducked behind your couch to call 911, but the longer you looked at the person, the more you recognized them. Stephen slouched over the railing. A charcoal gray shirt clung to his body along with dark navy blue trousers. If it had been any other person you would yell at them to get out, yet you found yourself joining him outside, leaning over the railing and  avoiding eye contact. You were thankful the rain was blocked from the awning above you. 
“I heard how you saved the world, once again.” You bit your bottom lip, chewing it lightly. 
He grunted. “I wouldn’t really call it that.” 
“Then what would you call it?” You turned your head so you could see him. His hair was slicked back and face clean shaven. It kind of made you upset he didn’t look like shit. Maybe he didn’t miss you as much as you missed him. 
His eyes didn’t meet yours as he looked off. “It’s my job.” 
“One hell of a job, then. Do you get health insurance? Is there an underground superhero hospital?” 
Stephen let out a laugh. A real laugh that formed in the pit of his belly all the way up. He turned to you, leaning on his left arm against the railing. You couldn’t help your eyes that flickered to a sliver of his exposed skin as his shirt rode up. “Yes, I passed Thor Odinson getting a colonoscopy.” 
You snorted. “Do you miss it?” 
“Miss what?” His furrowed eyebrows unwrinkled when he realized what you meant. He glanced down at his right hand.  “It’s always hard to let go of something you love.” 
You didn’t answer him but you agreed.
“I guess that’s why it’s difficult to let go of you, Y/n.” His statement was casual and smooth like honey. You scoffed, turned away from him and shook your head to face him again. 
There was no hesitation as he looked you in the eyes, a serious look painted his face. Did he get closer? Or have your bodies only been inches apart this entire time? There was hope he wasn’t able to hear your heart pounding against your chest as if it were trying to escape your chest. “That’s not funny.” The words came out barely a whisper. 
He tilted his head, giving you a pointed look. “I didn’t tell you a joke.” 
“I think it’s time for you to go home, Stephen.” The prank he was trying to pull was the lowest of lows. He has used you for months and now he was trying to make awful attempts to toy with you. You wondered if he was a sociopath with no consideration of how his actions made you feel. Or maybe he was a psychopath and knew, and got off on it. Either way, you made a promise to yourself that you didn’t intend on breaking. 
“We have a kid.” This man sounded insane. You should probably run inside and block him from everything, but then again, he’s battled aliens. Him saying you have a child with him was not the craziest phrase that has come out of his mouth. “Technically two. A boy and girl. Also, technically in another multiverse.” He shrugged. 
“You really are testing the waters.” You turned around to go in. “Just go home. I don’t want to hear it.” 
“Their names are Adalina and Ben.” He called after you. Stopping dead in your tracks, hand hovering the doorknob you took a sharp breath in. There had only been one conversation about children between the two of you. It only contained two sentences. In one sentence you asked if he wanted to have children, and the second sentence he answered no. The subject was dropped and never brought up again, until now. So how the hell did Stephen Strange know two names you’ve always wanted to give your children if you had any? Turning around, you crossed your arms across your chest. Your face told him to continue but he was on thin ice. 
“I became a surgeon because I believed I loved saving people. But, an old friend of mine made me realize I never wanted to save them in good heart. I loved having life at the control of my fingertips and every move I made manipulated it into the outcome I wanted.
“It was easy because those people were only part of a game to me. It didn’t matter if they lived or died because it only meant I got better at my job. In a way it’s the same with having super powers. But, if I cared enough about a person… if I love them. What would I do if they were gone forever? I can’t stop death and it terrifies me. It terrifies me if I lose you, especially since I’m in love with you, Y/n.” 
A tear rolled down your cheek. Never in your time you’ve known him have you been able to crack his surface. There were a million questions racking your brain. “There’s another me in another universe?” 
He nodded. “Every single other me has made the mistake of not recognizing your value. I came here tonight, Y/n, to tell you that I need you.” His voice cracked. He stepped closer to you. “I wasn’t sure what loving someone felt like. How could I love when I don’t feel worthy of it myself? Yet, when I’m away from you my heart stops.” There was only enough room to put a ruler between the two of you… one of those bendy rulers you used to beg your mom to buy for school. 
“What does your heart do when I’m around?” You asked, batting your eyes ever so innocently. 
Stephen softly grabbed your hand, pulling you closer. He placed it on top of his chest. His heart greeted you as it thumped rapidly against his chest. “I’ve tried to ignore that for a year. I’m sorry.” He whispered. 
You slid your hand from his chest to his cheek, placing your lips tenderly onto his, letting him know you forgave him. 
“I love you.” He muttered onto your lips. It tingled like those words were laced with electricity and shocked you. He placed his hand at the back of your neck and pulled you into a long fervent kiss. Both your hands explored their way to his hair, which you tangled around your fingers, messing it up. Lightly tugging, he released a moan from the back of his throat. You bucked your hips, feeling the hard member forming. Quick feverish kisses trailed the side of your face to the nape of your neck. “You’re wet.” 
“Not yet, but I’m getting there.” You groaned. 
He chuckled. “No, I meant your clothes are drenched.” 
“Oh, right. I was going to change…” You tried to finish your sentence but he had pushed you against the door, his leg between your thighs allowing it to rub the right spot. His hand slipped under your drenched shirt and grabbed your breast, a gasp escaped your lips.
“I need you, Y/n.” He sighed. 
“Out here?” You moaned as his teeth latched your exposed collar bone, sprouting a rosy bloom.
“We’ve done it everywhere else, why not?” 
You rolled your eyes in disbelief. “You just proclaimed your love to me and now you believe you can show it to me on the balcony… where my neighbors could see us? Not exactly romantic.” 
“I plan on a lifetime of showing you.” He took both of his hands to your ass and picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, lips meeting once again. “But now, I need you right now.” With one arm wrapped around you, Stephen pulled your shirt off. He carried you to a reclining deck chair you had out there where he sat down so you could straddle him. Fortunately, the chair was all the way down from the last time you laid on it. 
Between kisses, you helped him take off his shirt. New fresh cuts were formed on his chest. You assumed it was from his recent adventure. He let you examine the wounds, carefully running your fingers over them. Your hand fell down and began palming him. In the meantime, Stephen leaned forward to nuzzle his face in your neck. His heavy hot breaths tickled you, giving you goosebumps. He unclasped your bra sometime because his fingers pinched your nipple. “Take your pants off.” The order came unexpectedly from you, nevertheless, you moved out of the way so you could help him pull his pants down and discard them. You frowned that he had decided to wear underwear this time. No time to pout. Your hands rushed to the waistband of his underwear. Stephen moved back out of your reach. “Why do you always do that?” 
“Why are you always impatient?”
“Usually guys don’t refuse blowjobs from me.” You crossed your arms to sulk. 
He ran his fingers through his hair. “My dear, only if you could imagine what you do to me.”
“I could say the same to you.” 
“Yes, but there’s a major difference between the two of us.” He began unbuttoning your shorts, shimmying them down your legs so you stood in your purple lace panties. He looked up at you, licking his lips. “You are able to come undone.” He thumbed you through the fabric, smiling as you let out a sharp breath. “And undone…” He leaned over to kiss your hip while still massaging you. “Your pretty mouth around me wouldn’t let me last twenty seconds.”
You reached for his boxers again. “Then give me nineteen.”
He allowed you to pull them off, springing free, throbbing at the sight of you. You gripped his bare thighs to allow your body to kneel in front of him. His eyes were dark and dangerous as he watched you grab his base, twitching under your fingers. Your lips tenderly kissed his shaft making your mouth to the head, carefully popping it in. Stephen hissed as your head bobbed up and down taking him in and out. Your mouth, hand and tongue worked together to explore every inch of him. By reflex, he bucked his hips from the relief, making him push further into your mouth. His hand gripped your shoulder, most likely will leave a mark for tomorrow. You took as much of him in as you could until you couldn’t breathe. Looking up, you saw his head thrown back as if he was begging God for mercy. Low rich moans escaped his cupid bow lips. They looked delicious. 
You released him from your mouth. He looked down to see why the sudden lack of warmth. However, he didn’t have to ask since your lips that were once around him now attacked his own in a deep heated kiss. He slowly pulled you down on top of him. “That was only seventeen seconds.” 
“Didn’t realize you were keeping count.” His fingers curled the band of your panties, helping you slip out of them. You straddled him, grinding your hips to revel in the satisfaction as you caused friction to your swollen clit. “Don’t worry, I plan on making up for the lost time.” You both knew you didn’t mean the two seconds. 
You reached down to grab him, guiding it to your entrance. From your soaking core and the slick salvia still on him, you slid onto his length with ease. Groans slipped both of your lips as you lifted yourself up and sank back down. Many times before, you’ve wanted to savour every thrust, kiss, touch. It always felt like there was no promise you two would be flush together the next day. This time, however, felt much different. Knowing he loves you sent a thrill of electricity into your core as you two worked together to bury himself as far as possible inside you. He pulled you in, leading a kiss with his tongue, sliding it in your open mouth. His moans as you ground your hips vibrated your body, digging your nails into his chest as you pushed yourself up to change the angle. 
Stephen propped himself up with his right hand and ran his hand up your thigh so he could grab hold of your hip. “Why were you dressed so nice today?” 
You angled forward— a small cry came from both of you. “Does it matter?” He narrowed his eyes, bucking his hips so he could hit the right spot when he thrusted into you. You whined when he slowed his pace, punishing you for not telling him what you did today. “I went… on a date. Don’t give me that look. It was terrible. He didn’t even buy dessert.” 
Stephen rolled his eyes, palming your breast as he picked the rhythm back to the way it was before. “I can get you dessert after this if you want.” 
“Are you really asking me on a date while inside of me?” He started to hit that spot again. Your eyes began to water as the overwhelming currents of pleasure and relief pumped through you. 
“Is that not what boyfriends do?” He was being arrogant, a smug look on his face that you wanted to smack off of him. 
“Since when did you become my boyfriend?” He directed you to turn around, and so you did. The new angle and direction gave him access to hit the spot in a new way. 
His arm wrapped around your chest and cupped your breast. You guided his other hand to rub the sensitive area between your folds. Your moans became louder. “When you became my girlfriend.” 
You were glad you faced away from him so he couldn’t see your bashful face. Yet, it didn’t matter, because he knew. He let out a small chuckle and placed a tender kiss on your shoulder. You reached behind to place your hand on his head, leaning your own in his neck. Your throat now exposed and vulnerable he nipped and licked a tender spot, over and over until you sighed his name. “Y’n, I’m…” His moans sounded agonizing. If he didn’t release himself now, he would die. 
You bit your lip, picking yourself and dropping onto him. “Fuck, Y/n.” He muttered into your ear.
Your walls tightened against him, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh my god…” One last thrust and your core swelled like a balloon and popped all over him. Your head fell further back as you cried out from the heated pressure you released. You panted as you felt him twitch, filling himself inside you. 
Stephen slipped out of you, but continued to hold your bare body, placing kisses up and down your arm. “I know a great frozen yogurt place a few blocks away.” 
“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk.” You flipped back around so you could drape your arms over his shoulders, soft playful pecks on his face. “Do they have toppings?” 
“Lots.” His hands ran up and down your back. 
“Do you think I have time to take a bath? I was going to take one when I got home, but I got sidetracked.” 
“Take all the time you need.” He hummed into your lips. 
You got up from your spot, trekking back into the apartment. You glanced over your shoulder, watching him put his underwear back on. A smile painted his face from ear to ear. You turned back around and looked at yourself in the reflection of the window. Your hair tousled and still wet from the rain, rosy blooms sprouted over your neck and breasts. Things you’ve seen before after a nice time with Stephen Strange, but there was something different. Now, there seemed to be a twinkle that shone in your eyes.
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777heavengirl ¡ 7 days ago
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the one with the walk home
sirius black x reader ! - 1,272 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: no one say anything about how this is a few hours late- also i am scoring close to what i need on my practice exams and i am ECSTATIC
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“I love you too,” Sirius looked up at you, as you answered his statement from hours ago. The walk from the hospital had been a silent one until now. After you bid your goodbyes to the new parents, the two of you decided to take the tube back to your flat, his hand finding yours as you walked under the mellow hue of the streetlights. His hand was enough to make you forget any embarrassment from wearing an oversized suit jacket on top of your pajamas through the streets. “just by the way-”
Sirius broke into laughter, brief and fleeting but it left a smile in its place. 
“D’you really?” He shoved you with his shoulder, your arms extending before he pulled you back to his side. “Couldn’t tell,”
“I bloody hope so Black, I’m walking in the middle of the night for you- we might even be too late for the tube by now,” 
“Oh please- Like I’d let anything happen to you,” He said with a wink, a smirk curling on his lips. He let go of your hand, his arm easily taking its place across your shoulders.
“Me and my wand would be just fine without you though-” 
“Ah yes- I forget, you’re quite the bright witch,” You hummed in agreement, a giggle breaking from your lips “Don’t know if Professor McCormack would agree- you nearly blew his head off in defense against the dark arts our last year-”
You tskd in annoyance at the mention of your… small, incident.
“That was an isolated incident- We both know I got better scores than you on all my NEWTs-”
“Only because I ditched like half of them-” You rolled your eyes at him, the only one he had bothered to even show up for was Transfiguration out of respect for McGonagall. Not that he’d ever admit such a thing. “How's mum by the way?”
 You smiled softly at the mention of your mom. Sirius loved the woman. She loved him too, maybe too much. You were thankful for it regardless.
“She’s alright- quite tired, I reckon my dad has been driving her a bit nuts these days-” He hummed in acknowledgment, you kicked a small rock on your bath “Not that he hasn't been driving all of us crazy for years…” you sighed “Sorry-”
“For what?” He looked down at you, and you kept looking forward, leaning your head against his side. 
“I really shouldn’t be complaining about him- It could be worse, he just wants what's best for me I guess-”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn't drive you nuts love- parents are tricky that way”
“It's more than just driving me crazy- nothing’s good enough for the man,” you sighed, rubbing your temple with the pads of your fingers. You went down the stairs onto the tube’s platform “It’s exhausting- I got a job like he wanted, not in magic like he asked me to” You shook your head, fighting the wobble of your lip and the hot tears behind your eyes. “I am trying so hard to please him, the other day he had the audacity to call and tell me that he-” The voice over the intercom announced the last train of the night as you both stopped right before the yellow line. You wrapped his suit jacket tighter around your shoulders. 
“He had the nerve to tell me that he thinks I should go back to school… go to some muggle Uni- to do something useful” you mocked his voice, annoyance ripping through you as your fingers air quoted his words. The train rushed through the platform, cutting you off. The doors opened and you instinctively grabbed a hold of his hand again. “I think- Well, I know- that he wishes I hadn't been a witch at all,” you said as you went inside.
The tube’s doors closed, and you went silent. Sirius wrapped his arm around you as you sat down, the emptiness and silence of the cart hanging over the both of you. 
You thought of your parents. Your mother who had been nothing short of ecstatic when you received your letter at age 11. She even wrote a letter back to Dumbledore, a million questions on the tip of her tongue- thrilled at how exciting everything sounded. He answered every one of her questions diligently. Her daughter was a witch. 
Who would’ve thought?
Your father was another story. You thought of him, the way he never answered your letters from school, it was only your mother. But, of course, he loved you.
You hoped. 
He always said he only wanted what was best for you because he loved you. 
You thought of Walburga Black. A woman who, despite the abuse, still had the audacity to say she loved her sons. 
It took Sirius years to stop saying her torture came from a place of love. 
The train car stopped briefly at the next stop. Neither of you stood to get off. You hoped Sirius was paying attention to the stops as you rested your head against his shoulder. He squeezed your shoulder. 
Your father had never been happy about the turn your life took. Wouldn’t let you do magic in the house even when you were of age. He hated it. He wanted you to go to University. Get a muggle career, a normal career. A normal life.
That wasn’t even mentioning how infuriated he was once he found out you were moving in with Sirius. You could still hear his words in your head, even years later. 
“He’s a good-for-nothing rich kid- he hasn’t lifted a finger in his life and you’re attaching yourself to him like this? With his stupid tattoos and his stupid bike- you’re going to get yourself killed- you’re not even bloody together” Sirius squeezed you tighter to him, you didn’t think he knew what you thought about. “What happens when he gets bored of you? Ditches you for some woman- you are so stupid-”
You didn’t know if you were stupid for it. Your mom was basically planning you and Sirius’s wedding while your father cursed his presence in your life.
You thought of his unpacked bags. 
Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at the map of the train lanes. 
3 More stops.
He tried ignoring the way you went silent, he tried for a second to forget the fact that you just implied you never wanted the job in the first place. Was he being crazy? No, well you just said it was what your father wanted. What about what you wanted? 
He knew the man wasn’t the fondest of him. He assumed it was the motorcycle and the tattoos, the pack of smokes in his pocket. Maybe even the smirk on his face. 
Maybe even the way his wife fawned over him.
But it was more than that, wasn’t it?
He hadn't even considered, that your non-magical father would hate the fact that you were magical. He thought of his mother, the brief flash of her words about how muggles were undesirables reverberating through his head. 
Who would’ve thought? 
So he held you tighter, in silence, because Sirius Black did not know what else to do but hold you tight in his arms and hope that you’d know. 
Hope that you’d know he loved you. Magic or not. Unconditionally, he thought. Jobless or employed. Sick or healthy. Young and stupid or old and wise. 
He loved you. 
He hoped you could hear his thoughts, so you’d know he was in love with you.
Because Godric knows he didn't dare to say out loud. 
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nmakii ¡ 4 days ago
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once upon a dream
— yukimiya’s been dreaming about a mysterious girl for a week and a half now. and, you haven’t been able to sleep. what happens when you finally talk? love at first sight.
stp i wrote this insane in like 7 hours icb this is 3.4k words!!! wtf i dont even like yukki that much 😭 this is j word vomit bro AHHAA
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you were familiar with the mortal god known as kenyu yukimiya. he was everything your friends wanted in a boyfriend. he was kind, charismatic, gentlemanly, not to mention extremely handsome.
his status as a teenage model and athlete didn’t help his popularity either. girls were always asking him to hang out (hint: ‘hang out’ means ‘date’), to which he always agreed, even offering to pay for them.
that’s just how he was.
and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t fallen under his siren spell too. not when his charming smile kept luring you closer to your death.
but, you could never pull him! not in a million years. with the status quo as it is, you two are in two different worlds.
at least, that’s what you think.
to yukimiya, you were familiar, perhaps even special. he saw you once in passing while you were leaving your classroom, and he suddenly had a sense of deja vu; it was as if he’s already lived this before. it could always just be nothing. it could just be stress since nationals is coming up soon.
but even so, you still catch his eye. he’s always wanted to talk to you, but he’s had the secret anxiety that you wouldn’t be too interested in talking to him. so, he enjoys the short times he see you pass him in the hallway, or coincidentally pick the lunch table beside his in the cafeteria.
but, he still feels as if there’s more to it than just a friend crush. the way you carry yourself, and the tone of your voice— it all makes him feel a familiar way.
his dreams as of late have revolved around a faceless girl. he can never recall her face after he wakes, but he always awakens with a sense that a part of him is missing.
it’s late in the day, 20 minutes before 6 PM. and, training has just finished. yukimiya catches his breath as he takes off his goggles, switching them out for his everyday glasses.
“…see you, guys!” he bids to the rest of his team, taking his leave with his school bag and training gear in hand.
the walk home is silent. before black spots begin to appear in his vision. ‘damn it…’ he thinks, ‘right now of all times..?’. he internally groans before hurrying his pace, quickly making it home.
he takes off his shoes and calls, “mom! i’m home!”.
his mother hums in acknowledgment and responds, “kenyu, we’re having katsu curry for dinner!” ah, that sounds delicious…
“alright..! i’m gonna go lie down for a bit though. my vision is a bit blurry again…” he comes into the kitchen, greeted with the salivating smell of his mother’s homemade curry.
“dear, if that’s the case, go rest for a while. i’ll save you a portion, alright?” his mother smiles. yukimiya frowns a bit but he nonetheless, obeys. “alright, mom. i’ll just take a nap.”
he sighs as he climbs the stairs up to his bedroom, and flops onto his bed. today was exhausting, he almost immediately falls asleep.
he looks around— he’s back at school. the sun outside looks as if it’s about to set, so classes must be over. but, he’s still in a classroom.
he leans on a desk, while the familiar faceless girl sits on one of the chairs. “…hm… so, blueberries improve your eyesight, huh..?” she hums. he’s not quite sure what got him in this moment, but he nods. “that’s right. they strengthen the blood vessels behind the eyes.”
something about her was ethereal, have it be the delicate way she presents herself, or the way her hair gracefully frames her blurred face. whatever it was, the only thing that could come to mind when he saw her painted orange and pink by the setting sun was, ‘divine’.
“hah, maybe you’d benefit better from chocolate-covered blueberries rather than chocolate-covered strawberries then.” she snickers.
“ahah, i wouldn’t hate that too much… why not?” he shrugs, laughing as well. there’s a scary tension in his shoulders, he feels pretty stiff. he feels pretty nervous— it feels like dread, but at the same time as if he has swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies, fluttering their way into his heart.
“really? maybe i’ll get you a box of chocolate-covered blueberries for valentines’ day then!” she innocuously proclaims this, unknown to the fact that yukimiya’s heart gets caught in his throat.
“i..is that so? i guess that just means i’ll have to return the favor on white day.” he hums, retrieving his school bag and training gear which had been thrown carelessly on a random desk.
his body was moving, but not to his mind’s command. why was he leaving?
he turned his back to face the mysterious girl again. a lithe hand moves to cover her mouth as she yawns, small pearlescent tears forming atop her lower eyelid.
her speech gets slurred. and his dream fades to black.
when yukimiya awakens, it’s 1:14 AM. talk about an after-school nap…
he scowls. his dream ended so suddenly, he has the desire for closure to give rest to the many ‘what if’ scenarios for what she could have said. ‘what was she going to say? was she asking why i was leaving?’ he wonders.
putting his disappointment aside, yukimiya decides to go and shower first. he leaves his room and goes into the bathroom beside the stairs to shower. all before changing into some clean clothes.
putting on a clean t-shirt, yukimiya sighs. clean clothes felt good. his stomach gurgles, and he groans at the sound. he did sleep for 7 hours. he shouldn’t be too shocked that he’s starved.
making his way down the stairway, he goes into the kitchen and finds a plate of katsu curry and rice being covered by one of his mother’s large baking bowls. there’s condensation of steam dripping from the metallic bowl from when the dish had been warm. the katsu by now has lost its’ crunch after absorbing the curry, and the rice isn’t quite as sticky anymore.
it’s not ideal, but yukimiya doesn’t have it in himself to complain. he can’t do anything about it anyways.
he throws the plate into the microwave to heat for two minutes. and as the dish spins on the microwave’s glass plate, his mind wanders back to his dream. now, he could only vaguely recall details, but he knew that it felt real. the sensation of his school bag’s rough fabric, and the sound of her melodic voice pouring into his ears— it all felt real.
the microwave beeps, and his train of thought is quickly stopped as he takes his food out of the microwave, and sits lonely at the dining table.
‘geez, this is depressing…’ he internally sighs. he might as well stay up until he has to get ready for school.
in another home however, you’ve only fallen asleep. you’d been closing your eyes, as well as tossing and turning in your bed for about 3 hours now, unable to fall asleep. you’ve tried everything— sleep ASMRs, melatonin candies… but, none of them have been able to help you sleep earlier.
it’s been like this for a week and a half now. you’ve noticed the dark circles under your eyes are much more pronounced now, making you resemble an undead creature, rather than a high school student.
your friends have been teasing you with a corny, deluded saying— “if you can’t sleep, then it’s probably because there’s someone dreaming about you.”, they say. what nonsense! it was more likely that it’s the stress of your projects, than someone dreaming about you.
nonetheless, you simply relish in the fact that you’re now asleep. not dreaming about anything in particular, just having a sort of good night’s sleep.
you groan when your alarm on your phone goes off. it sounds like an emergency alert system alarm. your father suggested after the first two times you were late last week due to oversleeping. your hand mindlessly moves, looking to turn off the irritating noise.
when it’s finally off, you lie in your bed for an extra minute or two. your body feels so stiff, everything hurts…
your heavy eyes open once again, and you turn your head far enough to see your phone and check the time. 6:18, did you oversleep for 20 minutes? you should get ready soon…
you reluctantly get out from your comfortable bed and stretch, cracking all the stiff bones in your body. you go about your daily routine and go on your way to school. you walk hurriedly, in hopes of taking a quick cat nap before classes start.
that hope is sadly not reached, as you only arrive just about a minute or two before the bell rings.
you manage to soldier through the day, staying up and diligently taking notes, as well as taking a very well-deserved nap during lunch. it really is a feat— for you, at least.
the day goes by horrifyingly slow, and having to stay late for club these days is a nightmare. as much as you want to say you’ve been putting all your effort into club activities, you really have been idling through until the time runs out.
sitting in one of the desks, you’re chatting with one of your club mates as your club president approaches you, “ah, sorry to bother you, but there’s a box on my desk in classroom 3-6, could you get it for me please..? i’m a bit busy to do it myself..” she explains.
“hm..? ah, sure. don’t worry.” you nod in response. she sighs, relieved that you aren’t too annoyed. “yay! thank you!” she hums, and you set on your way to classroom 3-6.
you climb your way up to the third floor, and let yourself inside the classroom. you quickly identify your president’s desk by the large box filled with goodies. “oh?” an airy yet warm voice hums. “what are you doing here?”
you turn your back and see yukimiya; bags in hand and everything..! “ah, hey..!” you awkwardly greet him. you’re not quite sure what you should say. “just… doing a favor. what about you?”
“i just forgot my lunchbox before i went down for training.” he hums, quickly grabbing his aforementioned lunchbox. at the mention of a lunchbox, you perk up. you hadn’t eaten at lunch, so you were awfully hungry. “ah..! you looked at me the second i mentioned my lunchbox!” he chuckled. “are you hungry? all i have is some packaged snacks.” he warns. he carelessly drops his school bag and training gear on another desk, and starts to move in your direction. all whilst opening the lunchbox, looking for something that you could to snack on.
you awkwardly laugh, embarrassed that he caught you. “honestly, i’ll take anything… thanks, yukimiya.” you graciously take the packaged rice cracker snack from his hands. yukimiya hums, “call me yukki; my friends call me that, and it’s much less formal too.”
your eyes go down, downcast to avoid eye contact.
a popular boy just told you to call him a nickname his friends call him..! is this what it’s like to have a love life..?!
as your eyes remain low, you catch a glimpse of a stained container, it looks as if barney the dinosaur had died in it. “what did you have for your recess? it looks messy…” you bluntly ask, not even thinking that it was probably a bit weird to ask.
“oh? i just had some blueberries. they were pretty lukewarm by the time break time came, though..! some of them got crushed. hence, the mess…” he laughs.
“blueberries? …i’ve never really liked the taste. or… it’s more like the lack of taste…” you place the box on a random desk and sit on a chair. you could kill some time, club was technically over anyways. he raises an eyebrow at your words, “really? i think they’re pretty good. plus, they help with my eyesight.”
“your eyesight? is it that bad? i feel like i only started seeing you wear glasses about two months ago.” yukimiya looks hesitant to answer, you probably crossed some sensitive territory…
“ah… not exactly… i guess, i just want to maintain my vision as it is. so it won’t get worse, is all.” he explains, and you nod. “ah, that makes sense.”
there’s an awkward moment of silence. where do you go from this..?
“…hm… so, blueberries improve your eyesight, huh..?” you clarify, hoping that he’d go into further detail. he pauses for a second. his muscles grow tense, as if he has realized something. but, he nods. “that’s right. they strengthen the blood vessels behind the eyes.”
he’s lived this before. his nails claw on the desk, itching to ground himself to reality.
this isn’t a dream.
this is real life.
and, he’s finally talking to the faceless girl.
like in his dream, he turns his head, and sees you painted orange and pink by the fading sunset. you look even more exquisite now that he can see and recognize your face. your eyes shine in contrast to the setting sun, and your lips quiver, as you try to think of something to say.
your hair is a bit more messier than in his dream. and your posture is quite stiff— no, awkward is a better word. your frame is awkward and anxious, he thinks. but, you still look just as divine as he dreamed you to be.
“hah, maybe you’d benefit better from chocolate-covered blueberries rather than chocolate-covered strawberries then.” you laugh.
“ahah, i wouldn’t hate that too much… so, why not?” he shrugs. again, that pesky nervousness in his shoulders is back. seeing the girl he has, quite literally, dreamed of for a week and a half now is something he’s wanted for a while now. his rose-tinted view of the mysterious girl is makes him feel nervous now that he’s met you.
“ah..!” you audibly gasp, “really? maybe i’ll get you a box of chocolate-covered blueberries for valentines’ day then!” you joke.
he’s heard those exact words before already, but it still flustered him.
i..is that so? heh, i guess that just means i’ll have to return the favor on white day.” he laughs. it’s getting late. the teachers are gonna lock the classroom doors soon, so the two of you should probably leave. he grabs his school bag and training gear, as well as his lunchbox.
you seem to get the hint, and stand up as well. you yawn, covering your mouth to save yourself some dignity, and small tears form in your eyes. “ahh… anyway, i have to take this down to my club room… i’ll see you, yukki.” you bid goodbye, trying on the new nickname for size.
but, yukimiya’s not ready to say goodbye just yet.
“ahh.. do you want me to carry that for you..? you seem pretty tired, so…” he wanders off, “are you okay?”
you reluctantly let him carry the box, and the two of you begin to walk down the stairs to your clubroom. “yeah, i’m alright… i just haven’t been sleeping well.” you hum, “i’ve tried basically everything… but, i can’t seem to sleep.”, you sigh.
“ah, seems annoying… but, i can’t do much to fix that. sorry…” he responds. his response seems a bit absent-minded though, as if he wasn’t focusing on what he said.
that was because his attention was directed to the lack of distance between the two of you. he’s been this close to other girls before… but, being close to you seems to make his heart pound right outside of his chest.
“eh, it’s not your fault. don’t worry to much about it.” you wave it off, as if it was a minor inconvenience.
the rest of the walk was uncomfortably silent but soon enough, you’re at your club room. you graciously open the door for yukimiya, which lets him get inside easily and place the box on a nearby table.
“heh… thanks, superman.” you smile. and yukimiya’s eyes move to avoid contact, embarrassed by the nickname. “oh, uhh… it really wasn’t a problem, so don’t worry about it.” he awkwardly laughs.
“i didn’t keep you too long, did i?” you ask. he’s not too sure what else he could’ve been busy with, but he’s touched by your concern. “nope, don’t worry too much.” he chides.
“just a habit, hehe…” you explain yourself as you move to grab your own school bag. “a—anyways, i’ll see you, yukki..!” you bid him goodbye for the second time today, waving your hand goodbye.
but again, yukimiya still isn’t quite ready to say goodbye.
“oh— do you want me to walk you home..?” he offers, quite forwardly, at that.
your face scrunches at his offer, anxious to be taking up so much of his time today, “n..no, that’s asking too much now… it’s fine, don’t worry too, okay?” you laugh, throwing back his own advice.
yukimiya scoffs, recognizing his own hypocrisy. he’s a bit saddened by the fact that you rejected his offer, but he has to respect your decision. “alright… then, maybe you wanna… hang out sometime..?” he sounds nervous. he’s never had to be the one asking someone out, so he doesn’t know how to ask someone to ‘hang out’.
“i..i can pay too if money’s a concern. i’m the one who’s asking you out after all, it’s only fair.” he rationalized. you mull it over for a quick minute, and you finally respond, “sure, but you really don’t have to do all that..! it’s not like this would be a date…” you reassure him.
for some reason, that last part hurt. he wishes that it was a date. his shoulders visually slum down in disappointment, but there’s still a sense of hope to his expression.
he’s willing to put time into this. he wants to know more about you; know why you’re appearing in his dreams. he nods, “yeah, that’s fair enough… are you free this saturday? we can just go around the city.”
“mhm. sounds like a plan.” you nod.
he grins, “great. i’ll see you—,” he pauses. he never asked about your name..! here he was disappointed about dates, and wanting to know more about you, but he doesn’t even know what your name is..! he should probably just disappear, this is too embarrassing. there’s no recovering from this—
“s/o.”
what?
“my name is s/o.” you inform him.
yukimiya snaps out of his humiliated state long enough to respond, “ah, i see..! my mistake for not ever asking for your name. heh, i guess i just got a bit too comfortable.” you laugh at his scatterbrainedness, and wave it off. “it’s fine, i got a bit comfortable too, so i forgot to tell you my name.”
he’s glad that you also felt comfortable with him, but he has a feeling that you have a different meaning for comfortable…
he felt as if he’s already known you. but, you simply thought of him as a schoolmate that you’re familiar with. it was his mistake for thinking of you as the faceless girl from his dreams, rather than the much more lifelike girl that stood before him.
“right… well, i’ll see you, s/o.” he smiles as he waves goodbye, his smile much wider than it had been before he met you in that classroom. you nod, waving goodbye as well. “yeah! bye, yukki!”
the two of you walk toward the school exit together before finally parting ways, leaving yukimiya feeling as if he’s separated with a part of him.
it was odd that he’s already this attached to you. but, maybe that was just because of the fact that the two of you just naturally clicked. or, the fact that he’s seen and talked with your faceless self in ephemeral periods when time stood still— all of it in romantic, rose-tinted glasses.
the moment he came home, he has just been a ticking time bomb, waiting for the moment he can see you again. he’s never felt quite as nervous as he does right now.
his heart feels like a heavy weight in his chest, making it difficult to breathe. he can’t have a crush on you already… can he?
it’s a question that haunts yukimiya as he lies in bed, anxious and unable to sleep.
and for the first time in a while, you have a good night’s rest.
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bqu1nns ¡ 26 days ago
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hello!!! my apologies i know someone requested a q fic that i posted an hour ago BUT i deleted it, not knowing that it would delete the inbox request (im dumb) BUT ITS HERE!!! whoever u are, this is for u lol!
the perspective of where i wrote this from is that you're sal’s youngest sister (maybe 6-7 years younger than him BUT you aren't a minor to brian dont worry!!!!) but he would've never ever imagined you and brian, his best friend, to ever hook up with one another. if he ever found out, he’d probably never talk to either one of you guys ever again. also this is set in 2008 maybe ?? peak tenderloins era. i think … 
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brian quinn ☠︎︎ daddy’s girl
1376 words ♡
you awoke from the sound of your doorbell ringing at an ungodly hour. 2:37 am read your clock in bright and blaring red lighting. it made you jump slightly but nonetheless, you took some time to orient yourself, your heart already racing from the sudden interruption. lazily, you got up and started to question… who the HELL could that even be at my door at this hour?
you didn't know anyone that would come up unannounced, hell, your apartment complex wasn't the kind of building to let in strangers to show up, especially in the middle of the night. you grabbed a spare hoodie (brian's hoodie…) throwing it over your tank top as you padded towards the door. 
then, all of a sudden, came a knock. three sharp taps, followed by a familiar, deep voice — one that you could always hear in the back of your mind.
“it’s me. baby please, open up”.
brian fucking quinn.
what was he doing here and why must it be at 2:40 in the morning? you unlock the door, opening it just enough to see him standing there, illuminated by the orange glow of your apartment's hallway. he looked… disheveled. like he woke up on the wrong side of his bed (he did). his hair was messy, like he’d been running it through his hands over and over, black hoodie with a jacket hanging open over it. 
but it was his face that really made you take a second look. his eyes – those stupid, downturnt eyes that were too expressive for his own good– were tired and red-rimmed, as if he hadn't slept for a day or two. 
something stinged in your heart but you broke the silence, “brian?”, you whispered softly, your voice still riddled with sleep and confusion. “what are you doing here?”. 
he let out a shaky breath, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked at you through the crack of the door, “m’sorry angel”, he spoke, low and rough. “i… i know it's late and you should probably be sleeping but i couldnt… i didn't know where else to go except here”. 
in that moment, you swung the door open, letting him in. he hesitated for a second, like he wasn't too sure if he should step inside but as he did, you caught the faint smell of his cologne, familiar and homely in a way that made your chest ache for him. 
“i couldn't stop thinking about you hon”, he said, words almost feeling too frantic and rushed, as if they’d been bottled in for too long. “every time i try to do the right thing and just stay away, it just… it never fuckin’ works. it never works and i never want it to work. but tonight, i just– i couldn't stay away. not in a million years”.
he seemed like he was on the verge of falling apart if you hadn't caught the tears gathering in his eyes. it was too much to take.
“ya think it's easy for me?”, he continued, voice breaking slightly. “i hate sneaking around to see you. i.. we cant even go on dates together and i just hate lying to sal. i hate feeling like im ruining everything. but not seeing you? pretending like you dont matter to me? pretending that the thing that we have is nothing? baby, that's worse. that's so much worse”.
“brian…” you start, but he shakes his head, stepping closer to you. 
“no”, he cuts you off gently. “just…please listen”, his hand at your hip, his thumb tracing a slow pattern against your skin. 
“you're so stubborn, you know that?”, he murmured, his voice soft. “you act like you don't want all this. like you don't need me or that you're fine keeping this… whatever this is… a complete secret. but trust me, i can see right through you baby”.
your breath hitches as he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, his gaze following the movement as if he was trying to memorize every second of it. “every time i touch you”, his voice deep, “you melt. you let me in, even though you're so scared of what might happen if someone found out. but right now? right now, it's just you and me”. 
it’s like you're under his spell. 
“still scared, baby?”, he asked, leaning down just enough that his lips were merely a breath away from yours. 
“no. no i’m not”, you whisper. you tried to sound confident but the tremble in your voice gave it away.
“but brian we shouldn't—”.
“i don’t care”, he says, voice making your heart ache. “you've been driving me insane, baby. do you even know how hard it is to hold back whenever i see you?”.
his lips find your neck, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses all over your skin, each one making it more and more difficult to think. “let me take care of you baby. just tonight. no one has to know, i swear”.
you knew you had to stop this that there were a billion reasons why this was a horrible idea but when his hands gripped your waist and his teeth grazed the sensitive spot on the right side of your neck, every reason just went away. 
your breath hitched, the air between you both feeling impossibly warm. his soft touch was just enough to make you whimper, his hands leading you to the bedroom like he was afraid you might slip away from him forever.
“you don't know how long i've been waiting for this, bri”, you murmured against his skin. “to have you like this— i've been thinking about it for so long and it just seemed impossible..”
“brian..” you managed to whisper, your voice shaky as he got into your bed. you begin to curl his hair with your fingers as he's on top of you. you tug him back up to kiss you but this time, it was so much more slower and deeper, his tongue teasing yours as he kissed you like he had all the time in the world.
“i love the way you say my name”, he said, soft and low. his fingers trailed your body up and down, leaving goosebumps in its wake. he leaned down and slid his hand between your thighs, his fingers teasing your slick folds. you gasped, your hips lifting off of the bed as you sought more of his touch. he wanted it too, slipping one finger inside of you, then two, curling them just right to hit that spot that made you see stars. 
you moaned, your head falling back against a pile of pillows as he worked quicker and quicker. his rings brushed against your inner thighs, the cold metal being a total opposite to the heat of his skin. each thrust sent shivers racing down your body. his fingers stretched you out deliciously, making you arch your back, pressing your hips against his hand 
he rubbed tight circles around your clit with his thumb, plunging it deeper than you ever felt before. the rough texture of his skin and the coolness of his rings made a maddening combination of sensations. your juices flowed freely, coating his fingers while making obscene wet sounds as he worked harder and harder towards your orgasm. 
“look at you, so desperate for my touch”, he growled, breathing heavily. “your pretty little pussy’s grippin’ my fingers so tightly, like she doesn't want to let them go”, he chuckles. 
he curled his fingers rougher inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your toes curl and your vision blur. at the same time, he pinched your clit between his thumb and forefinger, the cold metal of his rings making you scream out in pleasure. 
you cried out, your inner walls clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pure ecstasy washed over you. he helped you work through your climax, fingers never stopping until you collapsed back onto the bed, spent and trembling. 
he pulled out his fingers, bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean, “fuck, baby, you taste better than i remembered. i could finger this sweet pussy all night long”. 
and you let him show you how good he could make you feel. 
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wolvietxt ¡ 2 months ago
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𝓦INTER’S 𝓔DGE !
pairing : daryl dixon x reader warnings : enemies to lovers, mean!daryl, hurt / comfort, crying, flashbacks, shouting, injury, fluff wc : 3k a/n : sorry if this storyline is weird and incoherent i wrote this super quick and it’s completely unedited 😭
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the cold wind cut through your clothes, gnawing at the edges of your body like a thousand little knives. snow swirled, thick and heavy, clouding your vision as you trudged through the freezing wilderness. each breath you took stung your lungs, but the feeling of the storm engulfing you almost made you forget how cold your body had become.
you hadn’t spoken much to daryl. not that you ever did, but today felt different. there was a heaviness between you that made the silence uncomfortable. his posture was stiff, tense, and there was an air about him that made it feel like every word he spoke was wrapped in ice. the usually stoic man was colder than the storm itself, and it left an ache in your chest. but you didn’t let it show, only occasionally, when you thought too hard about it and your eyes pricked and filled with unshed tears. sometimes he did let his guard down, but only after breaking yours into a million pieces.
🌀 one week ago…
daryl stormed into the cabin, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the walls. he was out of breath, his clothes soaked from the harsh winter winds, his face set in a scowl. you weren’t sure whether it was from the cold or something else, but you had a feeling it was the latter.
he turned to you, eyes hard and narrowed, and you immediately knew something was wrong. his voice came out low, tight with anger. "what the hell were you thinkin'?"
you froze, the warmth from the fire doing nothing to ease the chill that had crept into your bones. "i was fine," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "just a quick run, i didn’t think - "
"didn’t think?" he cut you off, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "you could’ve gotten yourself killed, what if they - what if you hadn’t made it back?" his breath was coming in quick bursts now, his face red with frustration.
you swallowed hard, the words stinging more than you expected. "i didn’t - i didn’t mean to - "
"you always do this shit," daryl spat, his voice thick with bitterness. "put yourself at risk like it’s nothin’. you think i don’t care? you think i don’t worry about you every damn time you go off on your own? damn it, why do you gotta be so reckless?"
the tears you’d been holding back started to spill over, your face flushed with a mix of frustration and hurt. "i didn’t mean to - "
"well, you did," daryl shot back, voice sharp as a whip. "you always do." his chest heaved with the intensity of his anger, but there was a flicker of regret crossing his features, just for a moment. you barely had time to register it before his next words hit like a punch. "you think i’m just supposed to sit back and watch you make these stupid decisions? i’m not gonna let you get yourself killed, damn it."
you took a step back, the sting of his words sinking in deep. you wanted to argue, to tell him you could take care of yourself, but the tears kept coming. the anger, the frustration, it all mixed up with the sharp ache in your chest. you couldn’t stop them.
"don’t just stand there crying," daryl muttered, clearly uncomfortable but still angry. "you should know better by now."
you turned away, trying to hide your tears, but daryl’s words had hit harder than you expected. you wanted him to see how hurt you were, but there was no way to make him understand. not when his anger was so much louder than anything else.
the next day, rick had pulled daryl aside, and although you didn’t know exactly what had been said, you were sure that it had made daryl think twice. he came to you later that evening, standing in the doorway, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. his voice was low, rough around the edges, but there was a softness there that hadn’t been in his words before.
"i didn’t mean it," he said, the words almost grudging, like they were a struggle to get out. "i was just... worried. you got no idea how much i fuckin’ hate when you put yourself in danger like that."
you stayed silent, unsure what to say, but his eyes were sincere. it wasn’t a perfect apology, but it was something. "okay, daryl," you whispered, trying to push past the ache in your chest.
daryl nodded, looking down for a second, and you could see the frustration still there, lingering beneath the surface. "i won’t… be like that. i’ll try," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "just... stay safe, alright?"
it wasn’t the grand gesture you had been expecting, but in that moment, you understood. he wasn’t good with words, and he was terrible at handling his emotions, but in his own way, he was trying. and that was enough for now.
🌀 present day…
since then, you had grown used to his silence. used to his gruff exterior. the way he kept most people at arm’s length, especially you. you’d never done anything to him, no reason that he had to treat you as coldly as he often did, but nevertheless it was your reality now. none of the group has understood it, you’d been with them as long as carol had, but daryl acted as if you were a newcomer, not to be trusted. rick often paired you two up to go on runs to fix whatever animosity he held when it came to you, but they did nothing but foster that animosity into sharp responses and drawn out glares. but still, there was something about today. his refusal to speak, to acknowledge you in any real way, made your chest tight and your skin crawl.
"keep up," daryl muttered, his voice low and sharp as he glanced over his shoulder. you hadn’t realised you were lagging behind. maybe it was the storm slowing your steps, or maybe it was just you, lost in your own head. 
you nodded quickly, swallowing back the words that burned your tongue. "’m right here."
daryl didn’t reply. he just turned forward and kept walking. it wasn’t the first time he’d been distant, but something about it today cut deeper than usual. you hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that it had something to do with you. maybe you’d pushed him too far. maybe you had said something or done something that had irritated him.
but whatever it was, it left you feeling small and insignificant.
the storm grew worse. the winds picked up, the snow fell faster, and the trees around you groaned under the weight of the snow. your breath puffed in front of you in heavy clouds, but you kept moving forward, determined to make it through the blizzard, determined to get to the cabin daryl had promised.
it wasn’t long before the first growl of walkers hit your ears. daryl spun around, his hand already on his crossbow, aiming at the group of walkers. you froze, adrenaline rushing through your veins, but before you could really react, a walker lunged forward. its jagged fingernails sank into your arm, pulling you off balance.
your feet slipped on the icy ground, and you tumbled into the river that rushed nearby, the water shockingly cold as it enveloped you. your lungs screamed for air as you gasped and fought against the current, but it was useless. the ice-cold water dragged you further away from the bank.
daryl’s voice was sharp, filled with panic, though he tried to mask it with gritted teeth. "get the fuck outta there!" 
you tried to claw your way to the shore, but your limbs were frozen, heavy, and uncooperative. every time you managed to get a grip on the icy rocks, another wave of the current would knock you back. it felt like the world was closing in on you, the freezing cold, the rushing water, and daryl’s yelling mixing together in a blur. 
then, everything went black.
when you woke, the cold was still there, but you were no longer in the water. you were lying on the ground, drenched and shivering uncontrollably, your body numb from the cold. daryl was kneeling beside you, his rough hands pressing against your chest, trying to warm you up.
"you with me?" he growled, his voice harsh but not unkind.
you blinked up at him, feeling the warmth of his hand against your frozen skin. "yeah," you whispered, teeth chattering. "i'm... i'm fine."
"don’t lie," he muttered, his fingers gently brushing the water from your face. "you’re not fine."
you could see the concern flicker in his eyes for a brief moment, but then it was gone, replaced by that same guarded look he always wore around you. it stung, but you pushed the feeling away. you had known daryl for a while now, and you knew better than to expect anything more from him. 
"i’ll get you warm," he said, his voice firm, like he was ordering himself more than you. 
you tried to sit up, but the moment you shifted, your body went into shock, and you collapsed back to the ground with a quiet gasp.
"damn it," daryl muttered under his breath. he grabbed you by the shoulders, pulling you into his lap with surprising gentleness. it wasn’t like him to do something like this, and you felt your chest tighten at the way he cradled you, careful, almost tender.
he muttered something about getting you back to the cabin, but you were barely listening. the cold was overwhelming, and the exhaustion of the past few days - combined with the shock of nearly drowning - had you feeling like your body might give out at any moment.
"stay with me," daryl said quietly, his voice softer than it had been all day. his arms wrapped around you tighter, his rough fingers brushing the hair away from your face as his breath mingled with yours. "i’m not letting you go."
you felt the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, and you realised how desperately you needed this. you needed him. you needed someone to keep you safe. 
you didn’t speak. you just let him hold you, let him warm you, let him be the one thing that kept you grounded in this frozen world.
after what felt like an eternity, daryl shifted beneath you, his hands moving to rub your arms, trying to bring feeling back into your numb limbs. "i don’t know why you do this," he muttered. "act like you’re invincible when you’re not. you’re not some damn hero."
you frowned, confusion and worry swirling in your gut. "what does that mean?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
daryl hesitated. for a moment, he didn’t say anything, but you could feel the tension between you both, like he was fighting himself. finally, he sighed, a deep, heavy sound, and brushed his thumb across your cheek. "i don’t know how to do this," he admitted quietly. "how to be… with you. but damn it, i can’t stand the thought of losing you."
his words hit you like a wave, and your eyes filled with tears. "daryl..." you whispered, but the words caught in your throat as emotion swelled within you. you wanted to say something - anything - but your body trembled too much.
"i don’t need you cryin’ on me, okay?" he snapped, but there was no heat behind the words. instead, he gently wiped the tears from your face, his movements surprisingly soft.
"sorry," you whispered through sniffles, not sure why you were apologizing.
"don’t be, sweetheart" he said, his voice almost gentle. "i’m sorry... i never meant to make you feel like you had to do this alone." 
you didn’t respond. the rawness of his admission hit you hard, and you could feel the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. daryl gripped you tighter, and for the first time, you saw him as something other than the tough, cold man who kept his distance. 
"i need you," he muttered against your hair. "i’ve always needed you."
the words were enough to make your heart race, your body flush with heat despite the cold. you wanted to say something back, but the pressure in your chest wouldn’t allow it. so, instead, you just nodded, your eyes fluttering shut.
he shifted under you again, moving just slightly to get more comfortable, and you could feel his lips hover over yours for a long moment. he hesitated, like he was unsure if he was crossing a line. then, with a soft, almost desperate groan, he kissed you.
it wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t soft either. it was full of pent-up longing, slow, and deep. his lips moved over yours like he was claiming you, like he couldn’t stand being this close to you without making sure you knew how much you meant to him. it was messy, heated, and completely overwhelming.
when he pulled away, his breath was shaky, and his hands held your face gently. "don’t ever do something like that again," he said softly, his voice low and ragged. "you scared the shit outta me."
you smiled through your tears, nodding against him. "i won’t," you promised, your hands gently tracing the rough outline of his jaw. 
he pulled you closer again, his hand on the back of your head as he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you trying to breathe in the same air. in that moment, you knew you’d never be alone again.
🌀 one week later…
the night had been long, and the cabin was quiet except for the crackling fire. the warmth of the room, combined with the exhaustion from the day’s journey, made everything feel a little surreal. daryl was close beside you, his body heat a welcome comfort against the cold, as his hands cupped your face with that familiar gentleness that had slowly become more frequent.
you were both so absorbed in the moment, the world outside seeming distant, when you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. but neither of you moved, too wrapped up in the stolen moments between you.
creak. the door to the cabin slowly opened, and in walked glenn and maggie, chatting amongst themselves. they froze, their conversation cutting off abruptly as they caught sight of the scene in front of them.
the two of you were so close now, lips meeting in a slow, heated kiss, unaware that the group was standing right there. daryl’s hand was on your back, his thumb gently stroking the skin above your waistband. your own hands were gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer, as if there was nothing in the world that mattered more than this.
glenn was the first to react, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open. he let out an almost inaudible, "whoa." maggie, standing next to him, blinked twice, then burst out laughing, her hand over her mouth as she tried to stifle the sound.
daryl didn’t move, didn’t break the kiss, but there was a faint groan of frustration when he realised what had happened. his hands remained where they were, but his eyes flicked to glenn and maggie, the awkward realisation dawning.
you, on the other hand, pulled back quickly, your face flaming with embarrassment as you scrambled to push yourself away from daryl. you couldn’t even look at them, much less speak. the warmth of the cabin felt suffocating now, your whole body burning with the intensity of being caught in such an intimate moment.
"oh my god," maggie said, laughing harder now, unable to control herself. "this is too much, you two." she giggled at glenn, her bright eyes twinkling, tears threatening to form with how hard she was shaking. "glenn, should we leave them alone?"
glenn, still in shock, let out a small, awkward chuckle, looking anywhere but at the two of you. "yeah, uh, we should... probably go... leave them to... uh... their business." he cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable, but also clearly trying to suppress his grin.
you wanted to crawl under the floorboards. why was this happening? why did they  have to walk in on this?
"you guys," daryl muttered, finally breaking his silence. his voice was rough, but there was no denying the awkwardness in it. "just... just get the hell out, alright?" he uttered, remnants of your cherry flavoured lip balm still on his lips, making it very hard for anybody in their right mind to take him seriously, especially with the little grin forming on his face.
maggie barely stifled another laugh as she gave daryl a teasing look. "don’t worry, big guy, we’ll give you two some privacy." she winked, and then, with glenn awkwardly tugging at her arm, the two of them backed out of the cabin.
as the door clicked shut behind them, you could hear their muffled laughter outside, and the heat in your face was unbearable. you slowly turned to daryl, who was trying to keep his composure, but you could see the corner of his lips twitching upward.
"don’t say it," you warned him quietly, looking down at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his eyes.
but daryl couldn’t help it. "damn," he said with a smirk. "they just had to barge in, huh?"
"you’re not helping," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.
daryl chuckled, his usual gruffness softened by the amusement in his voice. "ain’t my fault you’re so damn cute when you’re all flustered," he teased, pulling you back into his arms, cupping your face and tilting your chin up to fuse your mouth with his once again.
the group would never let either of you live this down. but, somehow, as daryl held you close, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
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🌀 daryl dixon : @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid, @sunnykittyzz
@california-boys-and-sun, @cable-kenobi
taglist form linked in pinned post :3
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