#if I see their name I don’t even read the summary

[fireinmoonshot]

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquín loves referring to you as his wife after your wedding... even when it's driving Sam insane at work. Warnings: I don't think there are any. Word Count: 937 A/N: I had a request to write something about this and since the fic about Joaquín loving to be called husband has done so well, I thought this one would be a cute one. It's not very fluffy or romance based and Sam is in it a lot but I think it turned out pretty cute and funny and very Joaquín. Enjoy 💗

It’s uncharacteristically quiet inside Sam and Joaquin’s base. The two men are sat at their desks, eyes focused on their computer screens as they look up information about their next target, trying to memorise as much as possible before it’s inevitably time for them to save the world again. 

Sam leans back in his chair and stifles a yawn. “So, when’s your girl coming by?” He asks, looking across the room at Joaquin, who is sat at his own desk, staring blankly at his computer.

Joaquin blinks, sitting up a little straighter at the mention of you, and turns to look at Sam. Despite the fact that staring at a computer screen is part of his job, even he’s getting tired of it today. 

“Oh, my girl? You mean… my wife?”

Sam immediately regrets saying anything. Joaquin has been talking all morning about how you’re coming by to visit and take him out for lunch this afternoon. He’s been excited because you’ve never come to visit their base before and after marrying you last month, being apart from you is harder than ever. 

The thing is, every time Joaquin mentions you lately he never mentions you by name. It’s always ‘my wife’ or some variation of it. Sam has never heard of anyone liking a word so much.

“If you say one more word I’m sending you home and finishing off this mission plan alone,” Sam sighs, turning back towards his own computer where he’s been reading up on their target.

For a moment, Joaquin just stares at Sam. “Okay, what’s so wrong about me referring to her as my wife? Just cause you’re not married doesn’t mean I can’t talk about my marriage, Sam.”

If it were anyone else, Sam would’ve been surprised by their confidence in saying something so bold directly to him. But with Joaquin… well, this is really just a regular Tuesday.

“Cause she has a name, man, and I don’t need you trying to rub the fact that you’re married and I’m not in my face, Joaquin,” Sam shakes his head. He’s not as annoyed about it as he sounds – he’s really just trying to get Joaquin to use your name for once. It’s almost like a challenge to him at this point.

As if you’ve been summoned, there’s a knock on the door of the base. You push it open a little, just enough to poke your head through to make sure you’ve got the right room. When you see Sam and Joaquin, you smile. “Am I interrupting?”

Joaquin springs from his chair and is across the room, wrapping his arms around you like he hasn’t seen you for weeks. He moves so quickly Sam barely even registers him moving.

“How you doin’, Mrs Torres?” Sam asks, spinning around in his chair so he’s facing you. He feels like he’s the one interrupting based on the way Joaquin is hanging off you like a koala. 

You pull out of Joaquin’s arms, smiling a little at the way that he still keeps a hand on your waist. “I’m good, Sam. How has this one been today?” You point a finger towards Joaquin.

“The usual,” Sam grins. He knows that you immediately know what he means by that. His smile grows even bigger at the look on Joaquin’s face. “He’s talked about you so much that it’s felt like you’ve been in the office with us all day.”

Joaquin pouts a little but quickly removes the look from his face, not wanting Sam to notice and tease him about it later. “Hey, don’t talk about me like that to my wife, man.”

“Oh, here we go again,” Sam huffs out a laugh. He’s pretty sure Joaquin hadn’t even meant to say it that time, but he jokes with him anyway. “You can’t call her by her name just once?” 

“I am. It’s ‘my wife’,” Joaquin protests, looking proudly between you and Sam as he says the words. Then, his grin fades. “Wait. That did not sound as good out loud as it sounded in my head.”

Sam puts a hand over his face and tries not to laugh. 

Beside Joaquin, you’re also trying not to laugh. You hadn’t taken offence at his words – you knew what he meant by them. But his realisation was amusing.

“I’m sorry, angel. I know that’s not your actual name,” Joaquin apologises, his grip tightening on your waist a little. “It came out all wrong.”

You meet Joaquin’s eyes and smile at your husband. “I know what you meant, but you’re right. It did not sound good in the slightest.” You look over at Sam. “You mind if I steal him away for an hour or so?”

Sam shakes his head. “You can take him for the rest of the day as far as I’m concerned.”

“Hey,” Joaquin narrows his eyes at Sam. 

“Go on,” Sam waves his hand at Joaquin, ignoring the look he’s giving him. “Your wife wants to take you out to lunch and you’re wasting time, Joaquin.” He smiles a little as he speaks, knowing Joaquin will enjoy him giving in and referring to you as his wife.

Joaquin smiles a little – just as Sam had expected.

You reach down and take one of Joaquin’s hands in yours. “Come on, husband. We have an hour and I intend to make the most of it. I’m sure Sam feels the same way.”

At hearing the word husband come out of your mouth, Joaquin’s smile grows. He happily starts to lead you out of the office, hand holding yours tight. “I’ll lead the way, my wife…”

[chiara8104]

max x reader and they’re new parents and he has to leave reader for a triple header and when he gets back reader is real stressed and is on edge around him from the lack of sleep and he tries to comfort her and keep her at ease since she’s so reactive to everything.

Kinda hurt comfort fic☺️

sleep deprived - max verstappen x fem!reader

a/n: omg I love this idea!! it is so good!! anyway, my first ever fic!! I really hope u guys enjoy!! if u want to be on my tag list lmk!! requests are always open!!

summary: you hadn’t gotten sleep in a while, until your husband Max comes to help you out.

warnings: use of pet names, angst (turns into fluff in the end), some swearing (maybe like once) , NOT PROOFREAD, poorly translated Dutch (don’t come for me!)

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3:02am. You stare at your alarm clock, groaning when you hear the cries of your baby. You haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since you had your little girl, Violette. It’s been even more difficult when your husband, Max had a triple header this week. You slowly get out of bed, rubbing your tired eyes. Your body was tired, your eyes hurt from the sleep you haven’t gotten, closing desperately to get at least an hour of sleep.

You slump your way to your daughter’s room. She was getting louder, desperate for some type of connection from you. You grab her slowly and carefully, putting her in your arms. You pat her back slowly, shushing her from her screaming. “Why can’t you stay asleep,” you weep softly, you were drained. Your daughter had somewhat calmed down, her breathes becoming softer signalling she had fallen asleep. You breath out a sigh, putting her back into her crib and quickly going back to your bed. You finally had some time to yourself. You prayed Violette would stay asleep this time.

When you sat back on your bed, you hear the same cries you heard moments earlier. You let out a heavy sigh and swiftly went back to her room. Grabbing her and taking her to the rocking chair in the corner of her room. You shush her, but she wouldn’t budge, still screaming. You try everything you can but Violette wouldn’t stop crying. “Max please come home sooner,” you mumble. Slowly your eyes start to close, the rocking of the chair must’ve made you more tired than Violette.

This horrible routine continued throughout the week. You would wake up to Violette crying and screaming as she always would. You had given up on even getting a wink of sleep. You stressed about being a bad mother, not being able to get your daughter to sleep. You tried everything. At this point, it was rare for Violette not to cry.

———————————————————————————

When Max arrived home from the triple header, he was excited to finally see his wife and daughter. He fiddled with his keys and opened the front door. “I’m home!” He yelled excitedly. He couldn’t wait for his wife to jump in his arms, give him a kiss and prepare him for a night full of cuddles. But you were nowhere to be found. Max looked around the whole house until he found you cooped up in Violette’s room, hair a frizzled mess, it looked like it wasn’t washed in days and eye bags dark and defined.

You looked at Max, smiling. “Max, baby, you’re home. Why didn’t you say anything.” Max looked at you contently and sat down next to you. He noticed you were reading a book on parenting. “Baby, why do you need to read this? You’re the best mother a kid could ask for.” He held your shoulder contently. You flinched at his touch and shooed him away, “Max, I haven’t slept in days. Violette has been crying every night.” You look up at him. Your eyes welling up with tears. “No, no, don’t cry. It’s okay I promise.” He wiped your tears from your cheeks. “No, it’s not okay. I’m so fucking tired Max. I need to sleep.” You stand up abruptly and leave the room.

Max followed your body as it left the room looking puzzled. You’ve never been like this ever. The concern of your state was filling Max completely. Until it was interrupted by Violette’s sobbing. Max hears your loud groan and walking back into the room. Grabbing her and leaving. Max followed you out and noticed how you were crying again. “Why won’t you sleep?!” You weep in between tears. Max slowly approached you. “Y/n.” He was ignored. “Y/n!” “What Max? What do you need?” You snap at him. Max paused, breathing slowly. “Baby, you need sleep. Let me take Violette-“ “-no, I need to look after her.” You take a step back. “Y/n, please.” Max took a step forward. Max pauses. He slowly grabs Violette out of your grasp. You rub your now, red, tired eyes. “Y/n, please get some sleep. You need it.” Max says sternly.

You slowly meet his gaze, smiling when your eyes connect. “Thank you.” You slowly walk to your shared room and close the door. Max stares at Violette, “well, I guess it’s just you and me now, huh.” He tickles her stomach, earning a giggle out of the baby. Max slowly walks back to Violette’s room and grabs her little lion plushie. Violette makes grabby hands at the animal and smiles when she receives the small plushie. Max and Violette continue to play with her toys.

———————————————————————————

A few hours later, you wake up. Feeling… well rested? You let out a sigh of relief. You hadn’t slept that well since a few weeks ago. You hear silence. Something you had craved, it was rare when you heard the sound of your own footsteps. You walk to the bathroom, having a slower. Once you are done, you walk to Violette’s room to see Max and Violette sleeping together on the rocking chair. Their breaths slow, content. You smile at them and slowly walk over, shaking Max softly until his eyes flutter open, meeting yours. “Hey you, how are you feeling.” He croaks, voice hoarse from sleep. “So amazing,” you kiss him softly. “I love you so much Max” you pull back softly. He smiles against your lips “I love you too, liebe”

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authors note: this is my first ever fic! I hope you guys enjoyed!! my requests are always open!

[drtyelvisfantasy]

SAVE YOUR LOVE

LINEMAN!RAFE X STRIPPER!READER AU

note: this is my first one-shot for this AU so I hope you all enjoy it. please feel free to give any feedback. please reblog and like this post, I also suggest you read this post to get more information about Rafe and the reader. enjoy <3

summary: Rafe doesn't like it when you bring up his family

warnings: angst, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, mentions of domestic violence, infidelity, Rafe being an asshole, biggg age gap, manipulation, let me know if I am missing anything!!

the reader is 19 and Rafe is probably in his late 30s

Rafe let out a contented sigh from the comfort of the hotel bed, his shirt lying around the room, exposing his muscled chest for me to see. This was our routine every time Rafe came down to Las Vegas for "work." He would come to the club to watch me dance, we'd make love in the hotel room, and then we'd lay there in silence as shame and guilt ate us alive.

He watched me with his intense blue eyes as he sat against the headboard, lazily smoking a cigarette, never breaking eye contact. This time, he was in no rush to leave—he had already booked the hotel room for a couple more days.

"When are you leaving?" I asked, a touch of sadness in my voice.

Rafe took another drag of his cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke as he smirked—amused that I even had the nerve to ask, as if I wanted him gone.

"I booked the room for two more days," he replied, his Southern accent laced with irritation.

"Oh," I said, shocked. Usually, when Rafe came to visit, he only stayed for a day before leaving. It was rare for him to stay longer.

Rafe's eyes roamed over my body, appreciating the way my silk robe hugged my curves, the soft flesh that was left bare exposed. His fingers twitched, his patience thinning, and he took another deep puff from the cigarette to calm himself.

"Um… I have to ask you something," I said hesitantly.

"What is it?" Rafe replied, but this time, his tone carried a hint of annoyance.

"Are you ever gonna leave Sofia?"

Rafe's irritation was instant. This was a conversation he refused to have. He flicked the ash off his cigarette and took a long, deep drag before answering.

"This again? Damn it, I told you to stop bringing her up."

His voice was sharp, annoyed, yet somehow still calm. Rafe knew better than to raise his voice at me.

"I'm sorry—" I started, but he cut me off.

"Why do you always have to bring her up? You know I don’t wanna hear her name."

His tone grew harsher, his grip on the cigarette tightening. He avoided looking at me, staring up at the ceiling instead. He didn’t want to think about his wife and children—not while he was here with me.

"Well, you said you’d leave her for me, that we could have a family and—"

Rafe cut me off again, his irritation quickly turning into anger.

"Quit it. I never said anything about leaving her and starting a family with you. You're being delusional if you think that."

"You said it, Rafe. You told me—"

"No, I didn’t. You’re imagining things."

Rafe’s voice was low, his patience wearing thin. He stubbed out the cigarette with more force than necessary.

"I may have said that I love you. I may have whispered stupid, sentimental shit when we're in bed together, but I have never, ever said I’d leave my wife for you."

I sat there on the bed, looking stupid—helpless, even. I always felt bad for making Rafe upset like this. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face, frustration evident in his movements. He was growing tired of this conversation, and it was quickly killing his mood.

"Why do you keep bringing it up? Why can't you just be happy with what we have? I thought you loved me too, but here you are, getting all emotional and clingy."

Rafe was right. Why couldn’t I just be happy with the time we had together? But the thought of sharing him with another woman ate me alive. He got to go home to a beautiful house, a loving wife, and children—while I was left here, searching for happiness in any man who showed me the slightest bit of attention.

"I do love you, I really do. I just want us to be happy—" I pleaded, trying to ease the tension in the room.

Rage flared up inside Rafe, his fists clenching as though he wanted to punch a wall.

"Stop it! Just stop it, damn it! I don’t want to be reminded of my family when I’m here with you! They are irrelevant and have nothing to do with this—nothing to do with us!"

"I’m sorry," I whispered, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

Rafe ran a hand over his face, trying to calm himself. He took a deep breath and let out a frustrated sigh.

"You should be. You know how sick it makes me feel when you bring them up? I don’t want to remember them when I’m with you. I only want to think about you. Isn’t that enough?"

"Yes, Rafe. It is."

Rafe studied me closely, his gaze softening slightly. He hated when things got like this, hated the tension and hurt he saw in my eyes. With a sigh, he held out his hand, gesturing for me to come closer.

"Come here."

I eagerly crawled into Rafe’s lap and started to cry.

"You know I hate fighting with you, baby…" he whispered, his breath warm against my skin as his fingers traced lazy circles over my hip.

"I do too."

Rafe's grip tightened, his hand sliding up my body, his touch possessive. He brought his lips to my neck, placing soft kisses along my skin.

"Then promise me—promise me you’ll never bring up my wife and kids again. Just keep them out of your pretty little head when I’m here with you, yeah?"

"Okay… I promise," I murmured softly.

Rafe nipped at my neck, his teeth grazing my skin gently before sucking on the sensitive spot there, his hands roaming my body.

"Good girl…" he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with desire.

We made love that night.

This was the continuous cycle every time Rafe was with me. No matter how many times we argued, or when he left a handprint on my face, I always ran back to him—because the thought of being alone would forever haunt me.

[untitled-document-95]

Infatuated (jake seresin x reader)

Summary: A chance meeting turns into an unforgettable first date

Warnings: Alcohol, minor language

Requested: by Anonymous

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Cowboy Jake has my heart, that is all

*gif is not mine*

Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin met the love of his life in the most unlikely place for someone like him. He’d grown up hearing that the library is where the magic happens, but he didn’t believe it until that day. 

His hometown’s new library was vastly different from the musty building of his youth. This place was all glass and metal and had so many rooms, the directory on the wall resembled that of a doctor’s office. He followed its directives to the second floor, to the office of whomever he needed to turn his passport paperwork into. From down the hall drifted the sounds of a piano. A sign pointing that direction read, “Music Practice Rooms”. Libraries really do have everything these days, Jake thought. 

The door to the passport office was ajar, the office behind it temporarily vacant. A sign taped to the door had the words “Be back in 5” scrawled across it. Needing to kill time, Jake wandered in the direction of the music, if you could call it that. What he heard wasn’t exactly a song, but rather an attempt at a song being plunked on the keys. At times it flowed nicely before abruptly ending after the playing of a wrong note. Other times notes were played slowly and deliberately as the musician in question built muscle memory. 

The door labeled “Music Practice Room 5” was cracked open, which is how the music was floating down the hall instead of being trapped within the soundproofed walls. Expecting to see a teenager or even a child, given the amateur nature of the music, Jake was pleasantly surprised when instead he laid eyes upon a woman appearing to be about his age. 

If you ask Jake now, he cannot tell you what it was about her that immediately enamored him. Before he’d even caught a glimpse of her face, he was intrigued. Unfortunately, there was no way in which getting her attention ended any way except badly. He’d be the creep watching a literal stranger play piano. They may have been in public, but they were set apart from the rest of the library enough that his sudden presence there would seem threatening. 

For that reason, Jake meandered back to the passport office to wait. It wasn’t long until the ivory keys fell silent and the girl, now weighed down by a backpack with books clutched in her arms, waltzed down the hall. Jake didn’t notice her until she had passed by him. He wanted to call out to her, to say something - anything - that would direct her attention at him for just a moment. Nothing came to mind, so he refrained; that is, until a paper fell from the books clutched in her arms, but she didn’t notice. 

“Ma’am?” he called. She turned, noticed the paper in his hand, and gave an exasperated look, seemingly directed at herself. 

“Oh, gosh, thank you so much!” Retrieving the paper, she gave Jake a sweet smile. He smiled and nodded at her in return, quickly racking his brain for something witty to say. Jake had never had this much trouble conjuring up something to say to a pretty girl. Something about this girl was different to him. 

“Can’t have ya losing the secret to life,” he quipped. She smirked and raised one eyebrow. 

“Well, I don’t know about that…” Jake held out a hand to her, introducing himself as just “Jake”. She shakes his hand, telling him her name as well. 

“Are you from here?” he asks. 

“Sort of. I lived here as a kid, but I just moved back. What about you?”

“Sort of,” he teases, copying the tone she’d used and slight head tilt she’d done, which made her giggle. “I grew up here but I’ve been away for a while.” 

“Are you glad to be back?” she asks. Jake thinks of how his new apartment feels so lonely compared to base housing, of how none of his friends from high school are still around, and of how superfluous his whole presence feels here. What’s the point of being here when there isn’t a plane to fly, a mission to prepare for, or training to complete? 

“In some ways,” he replies. Life back home isn’t all bad, but it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, either.

“I get that,” she says. “I’m really not sure why I came back, I just…” she trails off, looking as though she knows how she wants to finish her sentence, but chooses not to. The moment is abruptly ended as a short, harried looking man hurries into the passport office. 

“I am so sorry, folks. There was a line down at the copier, and then it ran out of toner…” the man continues to prattle on about the trials and tribulations of his momentary venture from his office, but it’s clear that neither of the two just outside the door are paying him much attention. 

“You know, I’m not really sure why I’m back here either. Maybe we should grab a drink sometime and see if we can’t figure it out together,” Jake says as casually as possible. The girl’s cheeks flush with pleasure, 

“I’d like that,” she nods. 

__________________

“Damn it!” Jake shouts, smacking the steering wheel.

He’d screwed up. Extraordinarily. Monumentally. He’d made plans to meet up with the girl from the library at a local bar at 7 PM. What’s the saying? “We plan, God laughs?” Well God must be having a damn comedy special wherever He may be while He screws Jake over at every turn. 

As soon as he got back from the library, his mama called and asked him to haul some potting soil from her car to her garden, which turned into him spreading and tilling said soil as the afternoon sun bore down on the back of his neck. Finally, he got a chance to go home, shower, and change clothes. As he drove down his street, he saw a group of kids struggling to get their frisbee out of a tree. How can you not stop and help a group of kids who are actually outside playing instead of whatever it is kids do on screens these days? 

Then, it was the traffic. Traffic like this little Texas town had never seen, if you ask Jake. First, construction near his apartment complex. Then, a wreck on the state highway. Now? A damn cow in the road. Jake watches in annoyance as the farmer with the bastard bovine tries to persuade the animal to finish crossing the roadway. 

By the time the obstacle is cleared, Jake is over an hour late. She’s gonna be so pissed, he thinks. Who wouldn’t be?

Climbing out of his truck, Jake throws on his hand-me-down Stetson hat. When in Rome, and all that. When he finally pulls open the door to the bar, nothing could prepare him for what he saw next. 

He spotted her immediately. She’d traded her athleisure from the library for a sundress and cowboy boots. My, was she pretty, Jake thought. Instead of being seated at the bar, grudgingly wondering where the hell he is, she’s on the dance floor. She spins around and Jake watches in awe. She’s found some other girls to dance with, and they all laugh in a carefree way that brings a smile to Jake’s face. 

Arms swinging to the beat of the song, she spots him from across the room. When he expects her face to scowl, to unleash bitterness and resentment for his tardiness, it does the opposite. Her smile widens, her eyebrows raise, and she practically skips in his direction. When she gets close enough, she reaches up and grabs the hat from his head, depositing it on her own. 

“Excuse me, cowboy,” she says, wiggling a finger at him. “I got something to tell you.” Jake leans in and can smell the alcohol on her. Her happiness is certainly being influenced by someone with a “J” name - not Jake, but Jameson or Jack. 

“What would that be, darling?” he asks, soaking in her elation. She rises onto her toes, trying to whisper in his ear, but her intoxication prevents her from being too quiet.

“You look like you love me,” she drawls in an accent that hadn’t been present at the library. 

Jake blushes. The look she gives him says so much while remaining silent, for a moment anyway. 

“You’re late to the party. I’m already drunk and ready to go.” She continues to give him that look, telling him exactly where she wants him to take her. 

He knows he can’t take her home - not like this, not yet. Emboldened by her proclamation, Jake wraps his arms around her waist, keeping them a gentlemanly distance from anything improper. 

“Why don’t we take a walk outside, see if we can’t sober you up a bit and then see about getting out of here?”

“Whatever you say, cowboy.” 

[maskedcrawford]

Lips of an Angel

G-Dragon x Reader

Summary: After a fight with your current boyfriend, you call your ex.

Warnings: Angsttttt, cheating on both parts.

A/N: In NO way shape or form do I condone cheating. This is a FICTIONAL story, and doesn't represent GD in any way, he's just a character in the story. You can probably guess the song that sort of inspired the story.

Requests are OPEN

Jiyong is laying in bed next to his fiancé when his phone vibrates on the bedside table. He picks up the phone seeing your number splayed across the screen. His breath catches in his throat.

“Hello?” His voice is barely audible.

“Ji?” Your voice is soft spoken.

“Jagiya?” He slowly crawls out of bed, checking the clock to see that its just past midnight.

“Why are you calling me?” His voice is filled with concern. He can hear the sniffling on the other end of the phone.

“I missed you, Jiyong.” He involuntarily shutters at the way you say his name.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers, but doesn’t mean it.

“You don’t miss me?” you ask him innocently.

“Sometimes,” he breathes as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “Sometimes yeah. But we both moved on,” he tries to explain it.

“Did we?” you sniffle again.

“Why are you crying?” He can hear you move around, a door opening on the other side of the phone.

“We had a bad fight,” you sigh as you sit in the car in your drive way. He sits back in his chair, keeping an eye on his bedroom door.

“What happened?”

“It’s complicated, and I really don’t want to talk about him,” your voice drops to a level of seduction.

“Y/n,” he sighs.

“If you don’t want to talk, hang up,” You say simply, “I’m not forcing you to do anything.” You take your bottom lip between your teeth as you hear silence for a moment on the other end of the phone.

“Ji?”

“I’m here,” he sighs.

“Meet me at our old place?”

“I’ll be there in 10.” Jiyong says before grabbing the car keys. You two meet at the park, an old tree in the back of it, surrounded by others so its hidden and secret. You reach the tree first, seeing your initials carved into it with a heart. It's been there since the previous summer, when you swore Kwon Jiyong was the man you'd someday marry.

“Why are we here?” His voice is quiet as he walks up to you and, boy, was he a sight for sore eyes. His eyes automatically find the carving and he feels an ache in his chest.

“I dreamt of you,” you say quietly, “I dreamt of you and us and what it was like,” you trail off staring at the ground. He doesn’t say anything; he just stares at you trying to read the situation.

"I dreamt of what it could be," your voice cracks a bit at the end of your sentence.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers.

“But you came of your own volition.” You remind him.

“Do you ever think about me? Us?” you know it sounds desperate but that doesn’t make a difference to you right now.

“I’ve dreamt of you,” he admits. You slowly inch your way forward to him, both of your faces inches from one another.

“My girl’s at home, y/n.”

“And yet I know you wish it was me,” you say as you search his features in the moonlight. He doesn’t deny it. He can’t. He knows the passion the two of you shared isn’t the same as what he has now.

“She’s good for me,” he tries to reason. You nod, not moving away or forward.

“Does he even know we’re here or that you called me?” You shake your head no and Jiyong can feel the heart beat in his chest accelerate.

“We aren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Then why are we meeting in the middle of the night?” His brow is quirked at you.

“I just needed to see you,” you runs your hands up and down his arms, landing on the tops of his shoulders.

“I,” you sigh as his hands move to your waist.

“We never even properly said goodbye,” you pout with desperation in your voice.

“Y/n,” he says as if he’s warning you, or maybe himself, as he pulls your closer, your faces centimeters apart. He looks at your lips and you look at his, the two of you momentarily forgetting you're out in public, and your lips meet for a soft, deliberately slow kiss. Your hands fist his shirt as his arms wrap around you, pulling you just a little closer. You savor his taste, mint, whiskey and a slight hint of cigarette smoke. It’s been your kryptonite since that first kiss he planted on you after your first date.

“I love her,” he breathes against your lips, almost like an apology.

“I know,” you say before pulling him in for another kiss, this one rougher and more passionate, your teeth lightly knocking together, his hands roam your body, and goosebumps appear. His touch is like lightening, the way it pricks your skin.

“You love him,” he says after the two of you part.

“No, I don’t,” you admit sheepishly.

“You just had a fight, that’s,”

“I don’t, Jiyong,” you cut him off.

“I don’t love him. I can’t love him. Not after what he did.” You say quietly. His hands cup your cheeks and he moves your face so it’s facing his.

“What did he do?” His eyes hold a fire that you hadn’t seen in ages, a fierce protectiveness in them.

“He shook me when I tried to ask about a girl in his phone that sent him nude pictures. He said I was crazy, that weren’t any pictures even when I showed them to him. He accused me of getting nudes just to fight with him.” Jiyong sighs and pulls you in for a hug. His rests on yours as you embrace him back.

“God, you’re making this hard,” he sighs while closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper in his chest. You know this can’t end well. You know he loves his girlfriend, but part of you just needed him, even if it was just for a moment. The two of you sit down by the trunk of the tree in the silence of the night, resting against one another.

“Sometimes I wish she was you,” he admits suddenly. You look over at him and he’s staring at the moon, the night wind ruffling through his hair.

“We never really moved on,” you scoff shaking your head. The memory of that last fight playing through your head. It was over something so stupid, so small and petty.

“I still love her,” he tries to defend.

“Then why are you here with me, knowing damn well if she knew you were here she’d be crushed,” you ask honestly.

“You sounded like you needed help," his shoulders slump.

“You didn’t have to come,” he peers down at you, the way the moonlight catches your face makes you look innocent and small compared to him.

He withdrawals his arm from around your shoulder.

“I know,” he says as he stands up. You watch him, prepared for him to make his choice.

“I should get back, before she wakes up.” He scratches the back of his neck as you stand up.

“One last time?” you ask as you wrap your arms around his neck. He allows you to pull him down for one last kiss, one that says everything for the both of you.

“I love you, Jiyong,” you say when your foreheads rest together.

“I know,” he says before tearing himself away from you.

Comment if you want to be tagged in future fics❤️

Masterlist

[moni-logues]

Pairing: Changbin x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: Friends-to-lovers, fake dating

Summary: Your temper got the better of you and you lied to your sister. Rather than coming clean, you get your best friend playing pretend, too.

Word count: 21k

Content: discussion of sex toys, protected piv, fingering, multiple orgasms, ambiguous sexuality (both changbin and reader), reader lifts, changbin can and does pick her up,

A/N: re-read this fic for the first time in a long time and honestly this might actually be one of my favourite fics I've written? i liked it when i wrote it and i still like it now which is frankly a miracle in and of itself so here we are. originally beta'd by @minisugakoobies and very very minorly edited (the first half anyway lol ive run out of time) since then

A Simple Favour

“I need to ask you a favour.”  

“Yeah, ok, sure.”  

“No, no, I need you to hear what it is first.”  

“Ok...”  

You sat down next to Changbin on the sofa and it was only then that he started looking as if he was paying attention.  

“I need you to be my boyfriend.”  

Changbin was out of his seat before the word had come to an end.  

“What?!”  

“Not really!” you cried, immediately standing up again, hands raised, trying to placate him. “I just need you to pretend to be!”  

“What?!”  

You groaned loudly and tipped your head back to shout at the ceiling. Then you motioned for him to please return to his seat so you could explain.  

“I... may... have... toldmysisterthatwe’retogether.”  

He was on his feet again, roaring.  

“WHAT?!”  

“It’s not my fault, ok?! You know how annoying she is!!!! She won’t stop going on about how we act like a couple and how we’d be good together and why don’t we just get together and don’t I see and no one else wants to go out with me anyway, what, do I think I could do better and I just fucking snapped!” You gripped him hard on the arms and stared, wide-eyed and grimacing at him. “I couldn’t take it anymore,” you told him through gritted teeth. “I snapped. I told her we were already dating but trying to keep it quiet until we knew if it was going anywhere.”  

Changbin did exactly as you had not a minute before: looked skyward and groaned all too loudly at the ceiling of your apartment.   

“So you mean to say that your sister now thinks we’re a couple?”  

“Yeah... and I mean, Chan, too, obviously. He was there.”  

Changbin closed his eyes and took a deep breath.   

“You mean my best friend Chan?”  

“Hey! I’m your best friend!”  

“Not anymore!”  

He took a few steps away from you and shook his head, shook out his arms, rolled his shoulders. You did not know if you would be able to convince him to go along with your charade. It wouldn’t have to be forever, not even for long; you just had to find a way to back out of it that left both your names untarnished. Couldn't be that hard, right?  

“Please, Binnie,” you began, tone softer now, sweeter, pleading just a little. “I know, I suck. But my sister sucks more and I really just want to get her off my back for a bit and I promise I will sort it out. I promise I’ll let us break-up quickly and you’ll come out smelling of roses! But please, please back me up on this.”  

He turned around, looking at you seriously.   

“What exactly is involved?”  

“Well, y’know, if Chan asks about it or something, just... go along with the lie. You don’t have to do anything really.”  

“Except for the lying and deceit and stuff.”  

“Yeah.”  

There was a pause in which Changbin stood, staring out of the window, hands on his hips, deliberating. Then he turned sharply to look at you.  

“I have a date tonight. Can we start tomorrow?”  

You inhaled sharply through your teeth, eyes shut tight.   

“Nope!”  

You winked an eye open to see how he’d react. There was outrage on his face.  

“What do you mean ‘no’?!”  

“You can’t go on a date with someone else if we’re together!! What if someone sees you?”  

He shouted again at the ceiling.  

“I was going to get laid tonight!”  

“Sorry!”  

You cowered, made yourself as small as possible, watching him as he nevertheless unlocked his phone and fired off a quick cancellation text.  

“I’m going to make you pay for this, you know,” he told you as he typed.  

“I know. I deserve it.”  

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll do it.” Then he flopped back onto the sofa and patted the seat next to him. “But to be absolutely clear, I am not going to your stupid family lunches.”  

“Actually...”  

*  

You were at your stupid family lunch. You had been going to Sunday lunch with your family for what felt like forever. At first, you and your sister schlepped way too far outside the city to your parents’ house, but now your sister hosted. Your sister and her husband, who just so happened to be best friends with your best friend. Why did the world have to be so small?  

This time, your boyfriend was here, too. Sorry, your ‘boyfriend.’ It had taken a thousand favours owed and promises of future gifts made, but Changbin finally agreed to come, and you had agreed the rules for this deception:  

You and Changbin had been dating for a ‘few weeks’ (since you got drunk at the river and decided to say ‘fuck it why not?’ to the whole thing). 

You made the first move.

When in public together, you would always be prepared to act like a couple, should you run into anyone you knew. 

Changbin would lead and you would ‘yes, and’ him, no questions asked.

Absolutely no dating other people, just in case. 

It was your job to find a way to end it that made both of you look good – or at the very least, made Changbin look good. 

No one—and that meant no one—else could know that it wasn’t real.

Just as you were walking up to your sister’s front door, Changbin added another: you would give him servings of everything first – including seconds and thirds, even if they came from your own plate. He knew your mum and sister cooked well and he was going to enjoy at least some part of this afternoon. You felt you had no choice but to agree.  

“Hello,” you called as you entered your sister’s house, without enthusiasm.   

You had been dreading this since the second the words had left your mouth the previous week. You could have just not lied; you didn’t have to have said that you and Changbin were dating; you could have controlled your temper even a little and not have got yourself in this predicament. You could even have swallowed your pride and embarrassment and told your sister it was a lie, that you had said it to try to shut her up. It wasn’t like it was the first time you’d told her how annoying she was.   

But you hadn’t. You had lied and now you were sticking to the lie and Changbin was fully involved (if not invested) and you were about to spend an afternoon pretending to like him.  

You liked him fine, as a friend–you liked him a lot, even, as a friend–but he wasn’t That Guy to you. He’d never elicited so much as a single butterfly in your stomach. Not a flitter of a wing or twitch of an antenna. He was just Binnie. And you knew he felt the very same about you.   

“Finally,” your sister said by way of a greeting as she came down the stairs. “You’re late-”  

“No, we aren’t,” you snapped back, fully prepared to argue further but the look on your sister’s face took you by surprise.  

She was surprised.   

“Oh, Changbin! I didn’t know you were coming.”   

There was a sly smile on her lips as if there was a joke you weren’t in on, but you didn’t have capacity to be annoyed by that; you were waiting with bated breath to see what Changbin would do.  

“Hi, Hanbyeol,” he said, as polite and charming as he might ever have been. “Miki said she told you I was coming. I hope it’s alright I’m here.”  

“Of course it is! The more the merrier, right?”  

She winked at you as she walked past into the kitchen, and you rolled your eyes.   

“Absolutely!” Changbin responded, following her, grabbing your hand and tugging you along, too.   

This was going to be a very long afternoon.   

*  

The very longest afternoon of your life. When Changbin had made you promise to ‘yes, and’ him, you had thought he meant go along with his concocted story of your first date or something.   

You hadn’t expected... whatever the hell it was he was doing.   

The first time he called you ‘baby,’ you literally, physically flinched and had to try very hard not to scowl. The second time, the only thing that might have given you away was the flare of your nostrils. The third time, you dragged him off away from everyone to hiss viciously at him.  

“What the fuck are you doing?”  

“What?” he asked, with as much innocence on his face as he could muster.  

“Calling me fucking ‘baby?’ Why? Why would you do that?”  

“Aren’t you my baby?”  

“For fuck’s sake, Changbin! NO, you know I am not! What are you doing?”  

“You said I could play this however I liked and you also said I wouldn’t have to do anything but here I am, in your sister’s house, performing my perfect little tush off to keep your lie intact! So suck it up, baby: this is how Changbinnie dates!”  

You rolled your eyes and swore under your breath once more.  

“So you mean to say that you’re going to make this as painfully cringe-worthy as possible and embarrass us both?”  

“Both? I’m not embarrassed!”  

He didn’t wait for your comeback to that one and strode back into the kitchen, leaving you quietly seething but not yet regretting sticking to your lie. You could cope with an afternoon of this.   

Which is what you thought until you actually sat down to eat and Changbin made you stick to your word and serve him first. It was almost impossible to do it with a smile on your face – you were sure you resembled some kind of grotesque, with a rictus grin and clenched teeth – but you did your best. You really tried to be sweet to him, to pretend to care that he got the best cuts and biggest pieces of meat, that you were happy for him to take the last dumpling from your plate.   

You were sweating from the effort of it. You had never wanted to leave your sister’s house more. You felt suffocated. Hot. Uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Your parents were there; they also had to think it was real and you hadn’t considered the implications of him meeting the parents until it was too late. Suddenly, this felt serious.   

You had thought it would be easy pretending that you and Changbin were together because... well, you did spend a lot of your time together as it was. You were close. You were so close that it was what got you into this mess in the first place! If you already acted enough like a couple for your sister (who barely ever saw past her own nose) to see it, then the job was already done – you had thought.  

You had underestimated Changbin. Of course you had. His mischief, his love of performance, his inability to not do something that he knew would stitch you up in some manner. They all combined into what was sure to become your absolute worst nightmare and there was no one to blame but yourself.   

You were just going to have to find a way out of it and quick.  

* * *  

“Changbin! How nice to see you again!” Hanbyeol crowed the next week when you dragged him along for a second time.   

“Of course! The food last week was so good, Hanbyeol, I had to come.”  

She actually blushed.  

“Please, Changbin, call me Hani.”  

You rolled your eyes; she was too easily flattered and Changbin was a little shit.   

You hadn’t planned to make him come again. You would have preferred that he didn’t. But... Well, your sister just knew how to press your buttons. She had expressed her surprise at your apparently real relationship with Changbin, even uttering the words ‘I didn’t really believe you.’ She had then proceeded to lecture you on how to behave in a relationship and warn you of all your ‘usual tricks’ that apparently kept romantic partners away. You had been so thoroughly goaded that you had hung up on her and immediately dialled Changbin, telling him, in no uncertain terms, that he was  ‘coming next week even if I have to kill you and drag you there.’  

He had put up a fight, but the food really had been that good (your sister had many flaws, but cooking was not one of them) and he let his arm be twisted in far less time than before.   

He behaved in much the same way as he had but you were prepared for it. You had braced yourself. You even managed a real smile at Changbin at the dinner table, despite the fact that he, once again, ate the last dumpling from your plate. He didn’t up his game or do anything more to try to embarrass you – perhaps he hadn’t expected your quick adjustment; he had overestimated your temper – but you were glad for this. You had to admit (for a microsecond only) that he might actually be a good boyfriend.   

Neither of you had had any serious relationships in the time you’d been friends. When you met, your relationship was in the middle of a breakdown, and your ex had moved out before you and Changbin had become firm friends. Changbin had dated, a lot, but none of them seemed to stick. Sometimes, he was sad about it; he would show up at your door with ice cream and his favourite blanket (yes, really) and you would coax the story out of him, trying not to press too hard on his bruised pride, his wounded heart. Sometimes, he chucked them before it got that far.   

You’d actually not really spoken about relationships all that much. You assumed Changbin didn’t want anything serious because he never had it. You assumed that he assumed you wanted to be single because you (mostly) were. You shared horror stories from occasional bad dates and Changbin sometimes made you pick out his outfits, but you didn’t talk about them. You didn’t talk about your fantasies and dreams, your ideal partners, ideal relationships; you didn’t talk about how much you really did want to have one. You weren’t single because you didn’t want a relationship; you were single because you didn’t know where to find one.   

You had burnt out on the apps in double-quick time and weren’t really sure where else to go. You would never take up your sister’s offer to set you up, which might honestly have been cutting your nose off to spite your face because you did like Chan and she was happily married to him, but there was simply no way you would ever have been able to live with her smug self-satisfaction if she had been the one to introduce you to a life partner. And that left you with very few other options.   

* * *  

Having a fake boyfriend—who was your best friend at that—turned out to be quite a lot of fun. You did all the same things you usually did, plus handholding when in public and tolerating whatever cutesy baby-talk Changbin threw at you during your family lunches. That was easy.   

Your friends were outraged when you told them. Not because they opposed the union but because you hadn’t told them before. They went back through your friendship with a fine-toothed comb, pointing out signs and hints that they had known ‘all along’ that you were into each other.  

There were no signs. There were no hints. Because you weren’t into each other. But you let them have their fun because it helped sell the lie you were trying to peddle.   

* * *   

“Sister,” your sister began, on the phone to you almost two weeks after your second lunch.  

“What, sister?” you replied, already unamused.  

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Hani. She just... rubbed you the wrong way. A lot.   

“You and Changbin should come on a double date with us.”  

“What?”  

“A double date. Me and Channie; you and Changbin.”  

“Ugh.”   

You didn’t have a much more articulate response than that. Really? Why? Why did she always have to suggest these things? Why did she need to be so nosy? So many of the thoughts that stuck in your brain when it came to your sister began with the word: why.  

“Why?” you asked, already trying to think of excuses not to go.   

“What do you mean why? It’d be perfect! Channie and Changbin are friends; you and I are sisters; we all already know each other! You’re always such a spoilsport!”  

“But Binn- Changbin and I have already been for lunch twice; that’s basically the same.”   

You had stopped referring to him as Binnie since you had started ‘dating’ him. You had deliberately not thought about why that was.  

“It’s not the same at all! Lunch is casual and boring! Our parents are there! We should go on a real date, have some fun!”  

“Maybe your relationship needs a fun injection but mine doesn’t.”  

You could see her rolling her eyes, hear the stomp of her foot on the floor.  

“Kim Mikyong,” your sister said and needed to say no more. When she full-named you, you knew it meant she wasn’t taking no for an answer, and you had given up fighting her on it because she showed surprising restraint in using it.   

You sighed.  

“When do you want to go?”  

“Ah! Perfect! I’ll ask Channie and get him and Changbin to set it up! It’s going to be so much fun!”  

She hung up without bothering to say goodbye and you looked at the phone in displeasure. You didn’t even know if Changbin would agree to it. It had taken so much coaxing to get him to lunch.   

And this was going to be so much worse.  

*  

But you’d been wrong before.   

Changbin lived two floors above you and, shortly before half-six, he was knocking at your door to pick you up for your date—your double date.  

You opened the door and surprise swallowed your greeting. He looked good. He looked like he’d put effort in. You remembered the outfit from one of the times he’d asked your advice; he’d worn this outfit on a date before. Your first instinct was to be peeved that he was recycling an outfit for your date. Then you remembered that you were only pretending to be together. And then you thought, actually, that maybe it was sweet he had put together a Date Outfit for the occasion.   

You’d put on a dress and everything, too.   

“You look nice,” he said, still standing in your doorway.  

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely. “So do you.”  

It was quiet in the lift as you descended, and you jumped a little when Changbin took your hand as you left the building. He looked at you, quizzical.  

“Sorry, just forgot what we were doing for a second.”  

“Hey, I’m happy not to hold your hand, but this was your rule.”  

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine; it’s good. I mean, we should. It’s safer. We should. I just- I just forgot; surprised me.”  

You squeezed his hand in yours, because it was there to squeeze, and you realised you felt nervous. Your sister had been right: this was different. Lunch was casual. This wasn’t. You tried to remember how your sister had previously acted on double dates, but she hadn’t been able to get you on one since you were with your ex and that was a long time ago now.   

You wondered how Changbin would act. He had been so keen to play the game and embarrass you up until now; would tonight be the same? He seemed normal so far, but he didn’t have his audience yet. And everyone was still sober.   

*  

Your sister cooed and stretched across the table to you and Changbin, grabbing your hand and his forearm and giving a squeeze.  

“Oh, I’m just so happy!” she exclaimed, and you could tell by the way she scrunched her nose as she smiled that she was in one drink too deep. “I want you two to be so happy! Aren’t they happy, Channie?”   

He grinned at his wife and nodded before turning towards you.   

“Are you happy?”  

You shrugged which was very clearly the wrong answer.  

“Mikyong!” Hani hit the table with her palm.   

You shrugged again.  

“What?! What do you want us to say? I’m not going to fucking rhapsodise about it at the dinner table!”  

That was a mistake. You’d have seen it coming one bottle of soju ago and you wouldn’t have set foot in that trap.  

“Then I will!” Changbin said, tossing back his drink, punctuating the end of his sentence with the thunk of the glass on the table.   

You groaned, inwardly and then out loud. Changbin turned to look at you, a sweet, shit-eating grin on his face.  

“I feel honestly amazed,” he began, his eyes widening in what you knew he hoped your sister would take for some kind of wonder or awe. “It seems so weird that we didn’t see it before.” He took your hand, and you clenched your teeth so hard your jaw hurt. “It feels so natural to be together, y’know? I’m more than happy! I’m comfortable and content; being with your best friend is the greatest thing in the world.”  

Hani cooed for so long, you worried she’d run out of breath. She held a hand to her heart, and you almost thought you saw tears in her eyes. She could give Changbin a run for her money in the dramatics department. You didn’t see Chan’s reaction because he hid his face taking a drink. Changbin had promised, as part of the rules, not to tell anyone else and you trusted him, but Chan would be the person he’d tell. Which worried you. Because you could fool your sister; your sister was a fool. Chan wasn’t.   

*  

You kicked Changbin as you got up from the table and made sure you walked behind your sister and brother-in-law so you could punch him in the arm for good measure.  

“What the fuck was that?” you hissed, face hot with alcohol and anger.  

“What was what?”  

“That disgusting little speech you gave! ‘Oh, it feels so natural! I’m so content!’. Are you fucking kidding me?”  

Changbin chuckled and nuzzled his nose into yours.  

“Oh, baby, don’t you feel the same? You’re going to break my heart!”  

“Shut the fuck up! How am I supposed to break us up when you say shit like that?”  

He shrugged.  

“I believe that is your problem. Besides which, you promised I’d come out smelling of roses so I can say as much saccharine, embarrassing crap as I like and you can just ditch me like the cruel and heartless being you are. Problem solved.”  

“And you want everyone to pity you for having your soft heart broken by me? Because that’s what’ll happen! They’ll ooh and ah and ‘poor Binnie’ you for weeks. And how are we supposed to continue being friends if you’re that heartbroken?”  

You knew by his silence that he was annoyed to not have a quick retort.  

“See? You’re trying to embarrass me and make me squirm and yeah, it fucking works, but you’re also prolonging this! You’re making it harder than it has to be!”  

“Oh, whatever!”   

*  

The four of you stood on the subway, going in the same direction for at least part of the way home. Hani and Chan only had eyes for each other; your sister claimed they were ‘still newlyweds!’ but you didn’t think that, after over a year of marriage, she had any right to do so. You were glad that they were busy being moony-eyed at each other; it meant you and Changbin could relax a little, finally out from underneath the scrutiny of the pair. You weren’t holding hands, but you leant a little against his solid body, letting him support you as the train twisted and jostled you.   

You wouldn’t have cared—wouldn't even have been looking—a few drinks ago but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the two of them. Envy grew like mould in your heart. You were happy for your sister, of course you were, but you wanted that. You wanted it for yourself. You wanted someone to look at you the way Chan was looking at Hani right now. You wanted marriage. You wanted that happily ever after shit that you knew didn’t really exist, at least not like in all the stories. But you wanted someone to believe it. Wanted someone to promise it to you even if it was beyond their power to enforce.   

It made you bristle, made you annoyed. At anyone. Everyone. Hani. Chan. Changbin. Yourself. You’d made this bed. It wasn’t as if you had been dating anyway, but now you had removed that as an option; you couldn’t even try to find what your sister had and it was all your own fucking fault. You watched as Hani took hold of the lapel of Chan’s jacket and lifted onto her tiptoes to press a giggly kiss to his mouth; you didn’t manage to hold back the scoff, didn’t manage not to roll your eyes.   

Your sister rolled hers in return and tutted.  

“What, Miki? I can’t kiss my husband?”  

“I didn’t say anything.”  

“Your face says it all. Kiss your own boyfriend, why don’t you? And stop looking at mine.”  

“He’s not your boyfriend.”  

“No, he’s my husband and you’ll never get one if you keep going around on dates with a face like that.”  

“Hey,” Changbin says, smiling beneficently, “I like her sour, ugly face.”  

You punched him hard on his left pec and he ‘oof’ed quietly but it didn’t stop him smiling.   

“Yeah?” Hanbyeol challenged. “That’s a face you want to kiss, huh? Really? Don’t believe you.”  

Changbin reflected her challenge in his eyes as he looked down at you.   

“Maybe I don’t want to kiss him,” you spat, glaring at your sister, ignoring Changbin’s offer.   

“Oh, Mikyong, you are a bitter old maid. Let your boyfriend kiss you if he wants!”   

Did he want?  

Your heart was beating faster than you’d have liked. Your mouth went dry when you finally turned to Changbin to acquiesce. This hadn’t been part of the deal. Did he really want to do this? You didn’t. This was weird. It would be weird! How could you pull this off? It was your first kiss! Changbin was about to kiss you for the first time! His face was leaning down! He was really going to do it! How could you let him get this close? How can you pull away without ruining everything? What should you-!  

His lips were soft and the kiss was gentle. Lasted no more than a second. It took longer for you to come around from it, your mouth pouting and open, looking at Changbin as if you were lost and he would show you where to go. He lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided grin and winked.  

That broke the spell.   

“Happy now?" you asked your sister, your ‘ugly, bitter old maid’ face back on-screen.  

She rolled her eyes, good-naturedly.   

“Whatever, Miki. You are so easy to tease.”   

She said it all looking dreamily at her husband and it made your stomach drop. She only had eyes for him. He only had eyes for her. You were desperately trying not to look at your ‘boyfriend.’ You didn’t know where he was looking.  

*  

You got off the train a few stops later, leaving Chan and Hani on it. You were itching to be by yourself. You had to process what had happened. Changbin had kissed you. Kissed you. Sure, he was goaded into it; he did it because your sister told him to. But he still did it. You didn’t know how you felt about it. After just ten minutes, you were starting to believe it hadn’t even happened, that you had somehow imagined it. Because you and Changbin didn’t kiss. Even though you were pretending to be together. You didn’t kiss. That didn’t happen.  

Changbin walked you to your door when you reached your floor and you turned in the doorway, looking at him as sour as you’d ever been.  

“Going to try to kiss me goodnight?” you asked, jeering and hating yourself for it.   

Changbin looked at you, a little hurt, a little annoyed, a little fucking tired of your prickly temper.   

“No,” was his simple reply.   

You didn't say anything back, but he didn’t leave, so you each stood in silence, one either side of your doorway. You knew he wanted to say something as mean-spirited as you had; you knew he was better than that so he wouldn’t.  

He turned his body slightly away, as if to leave, and then looked at you, mostly just sad, you thought.  

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. We haven’t talked about that; we haven’t agreed anything on that. I just thought you’d want to show your sister. Prove it or something. So I’m really sorry. I’ll see you later.”  

He was walking away and you could taste something bitter in your mouth: your own temper, your impatience with people, your totally unfair expectations of people that were better than you but liked you anyway.   

Steeling yourself and clenching your fists, you followed after him.  

“Changbin,” you called softly, prompting him to turn around.   

You took his hand in both of yours.  

“I’m sorry, too. Sorry I’m such a bitch. The kiss was fine. Thank you. It was good. Probably necessary; I don’t know. Thanks. I guess. Sorry.”  

Changbin just laughed and pulled you into a rib-squeezing hug.  

“You are so fucking stupid.”  

He was very, very right.  

* * *  

Changbin knocked at your door and entered your apartment with far less cheer than he might normally. You hadn’t spoken about the kiss since it happened and there had been no repeats of it. Things had fallen back into your new normal ‘friends who are pretending to be more than friends’ sham.  

“What’s wrong with you?”  

He sat on your sofa and looked up at you, still serious.  

“Remember how you asked me for a favour?”  

You asked him for lots of favours but you immediately knew which he was referring to.  

“Yes.”  

“Remember how you said it’d be over quickly?”  

“... Yes.”  

You did not like the direction this was heading in, but he was owed, you knew that, so you determined to meet your fate with grace.  

“Remember how the very night you asked I had a date?”  

“Yes.”  

“Remember how long ago that was?”  

“... A month?”  

He hummed and nodded.   

“I was going to have sex that night, but I didn’t get to. Why?”  

“Because I made you cancel so you could fake-date me.”  

“Exactly. Know what that means?”  

You couldn’t see where he was heading because- well, you could see, but you didn’t really know what the favour was going to be. You weren’t sure you wanted to find out.   

“Uh, I don’t know.”  

“It means it’s been well over a month since I last had sex. Because of you.”   

“I’m sorry?”  

He chuckled and his face brightened.  

“I don’t want you to be sorry, babe-”   

You had long stopped flinching at the terms of endearment as they leaked into your non-fake-dating time, too. If Changbin had noticed, he didn’t let on, but you were aware every time he called you anything other than your name.   

“-I’m just saying. Aren’t you bothered? It’s not like you’ve been getting any either.”  

You shrugged.  

“No. I guess I’m not that bothered? I don’t know; I’ve been longer without. A month isn’t exactly that long. And it’s not like there aren’t ways to entertain myself.”  

“Don’t you get bored of that though?”  

You laughed.  

“Did you really come here for masturbation tips?”  

The tightened curl of his lips and aversion of his eyes told you he was embarrassed and he was never embarrassed.  

“No,” he answered pointedly. “I actually came to suggest that we have sex.”  

“What?!”   

The shock brought you out of your chair. He could not be serious.  

“What?” he returned. “We’re already fake-dating! Why not make a bit of it real? It doesn’t have to mean anything. Except both of us getting some... release. Relief. Call it stress relief! From the stresses of pretending to be dating. It’ll make the pretence easier, too, since it doesn’t seem like you are going to actually break us up anytime so-”  

“I am! I am! I’m working on it...”   

You couldn’t help the whine that crept into your tone. You were working on it. Or at least, you had been. It was too difficult. How could you find a way for your relationship to end and for you to remain friends at the end of it? And with each day that passed, it got harder, because your ‘relationship’ had gone on longer and everyone was expecting it was getting more and more serious – especially as it was built on the foundation of your very solid, very real friendship.   

“Ok and while you work on it, we could be having sex.”  

“Changbin...”  

He regarded you carefully and you looked back, hoping you looked as pathetic as you felt.   

“You don’t have to say yes. I won’t take it personally. I just... I honestly just really want to get laid and you are the only person I’m allowed to have sex with at the moment. So you’ve really stitched me up here.”  

You sank down next to him on the sofa and laid your head on his shoulder.  

“I am sorry. I really didn’t mean for it to go on this long. I didn’t mean to stitch you up. It’s kind of got out of hand- I actually didn’t mean to create this mess at all. My sister sometimes just brings out the worst in me.”  

“Yeah,” Changbin replied, patting your knee. “Family can do that.”   

There was a brief lull and then Changbin slapped his own thighs and stood.  

“Well, if you don’t want to have sex, I’m out of here.”  

“I didn’t say that!”  

He raised an eyebrow at you, and you were furious that your cheeks had the audacity to warm. You were a grown woman; he was a grown man. You should at least be able to talk about sex. You did talk about it! You had discussed it!  

But it was different when it was this – the two of you having it. Together. There was a line there. And he may have made some good points (you weren’t getting any; as long as you were pretending to date each other, you couldn’t sleep with anyone else; it would make the pretence easier), but suggesting it didn’t have to mean anything? Surely it meant something. It had to mean something! Friends didn’t just fuck their friends. That never worked. It always made things weird.   

Weirder than they already were? Wasn’t it already weird that you pretended to be together whenever you saw any of your friends, any of your family? Wasn’t it already weird that Changbin was so used to calling you ‘babe’ and ‘baby’ and god knew what else that he said even when you were alone? Wasn’t it already weird that you didn’t hesitate anymore, that the words ‘I have a boyfriend’ fell from your lips without your even having to try? Wasn’t it already weird that you were... getting used to this? Enjoying it even?   

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I also didn’t say I did. I don’t know. Don’t you feel like it would be weird?”  

He shrugged.  

“Maybe. Kind of too horny to care.”  

“Seo Changbin!”  

“What?! I'm being honest!”  

“I’ll think about it, ok?”  

“Sure. No pressure. I mean it.”  

“I know.”  

You did know. You would trust him with your life, and he was the softest little goober you’d ever met. That he might pressure you was not your concern at all.   

*  

You were true to your word: you thought about it. On and off over the next couple of days you thought about it. How much further over the line was it, really? You held hands. You had already kissed, a little. Ok, once. Was sex really such a leap? It would lend a lot of credence to this stupid lie you were both living. And you would get to have sex.   

But it would be with Changbin. What if he was bad at it? What if you discovered you were bad? What if his dick was weird? What if he liked stuff you hated? Or vice versa? You didn’t know if you believed that sex could be Just Sex, but, even if it could, that didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated. There were factors. A lot of them.   

A week and a half later, you thought you were experiencing déjà vu when Changbin entered your apartment again, asking for a favour.  

“Sex again?” you asked as you shut the door behind him.  

“Not exactly. It’s more embarrassing.”  

You did not attempt to hide your glee.  

“I love it; please ask immediately.”  

“Last time I asked about sex, you implied that you didn’t get bored getting yourself off. I’m asking, how? ‘Cause I’m looking at my hand like it’s my fucking enemy at this point.”  

You laughed.  

“Do not laugh!” he shouted. “I’m in actual need. I’m in agony. Please. Tell me how to make it more interesting for myself.”  

“I mean... Firstly, we have different parts, so my experience is not directly applicable to you. Secondly, how can you be that bored? Have you seriously never gone this long without sex in your adult life?”  

He shrugged but you recognised the look on his face: the one where he tried to hide a smug, gloating, little grin.   

“Are you seriously telling me you haven’t gone more than two months without sex?”  

“I haven’t had to!”  

“Oh my god.”  

You were in half a mind not to help, feeling like it might somehow expose you as undesirable, because you had been more than two months without; two months was currently very much in your rear-view mirror at that point.   

“Well,” you began, leading him into your bedroom, “for a start, if you’re only using your hand, then you are in for a treat. An entire world awaits you.”  

You knelt down next to your bedside cabinet and gathered all your toys, laying them out on the bed with a flourish. Changbin looked a little overawed.  

“That’s a lot of stuff.”  

“Yeah and you know you have to use them all at once?”  

For a second, he believed you and his eyes grew as wide as you had ever seen them before he scowled at you.  

“Shut the fuck up. I came to you for help. You owe me.”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m just teasing. Now, like I said, a lot of these won’t be applicable to you, or might be but I cannot vouch for any kind of pleasure or satisfaction because most were designed for vulvas and vaginas and not penises.”  

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”  

“Oh, now who’s teasing?! You want help or not?!”  

“I do! Sorry! Fine, carry on.”  

“Ok, well, this,” you held up a rather unwieldy, slightly inelegant thrusting toy, “is my favourite. It does not look sexy but it sure as shit feels it. The problem with the others-” you gave a sweep of your hand over a few other insertables on the bed- “is that I have short arms and sometimes I just can’t get the angle I need and keep a firm grip on them, right? Which is why this one is so good.”   

You stopped yourself just as you were about to- to what? Demonstrate? You put it back down on the bed in a hurry.  

“Ok, well, I don’t need anything like that.”  

“No?”  

“I top.”  

“Right. Ok.”  

You lifted another, much smaller toy.  

“That looks like something you’d use to clean your face.”  

“I cannot recommend it for that. If you want to get someone to squirt though, she’s your man.”  

Changbin looked surprised.  

“Ever made anyone squirt?” you asked, not sure if he would answer.  

He shook his head.  

“No, me neither... Except myself. With this. I’m not saying it’s guaranteed but she knows how to get the job done, y’know?”  

“Huh.”  

He took it from you, examining it as if he could learn its secrets from looks alone.   

“It’s a suction toy,” you clarified. “Works on the clit. Sucks. Hard. Not entirely sure what you might get out of it, but y’know, if you want to give it a try...”   

You laughed, feeling a little heat on your cheeks. It was both exceptionally weird and very not weird to be talking to Changbin like this.   

“Isn’t that weird?” he asked, looking at the toy in his hand like it was a live grenade. “To use your sex toys?”  

You shrugged.  

“They’re clean if that’s what you mean.”  

“Wasn’t suggesting they aren’t. It’s just... Isn’t that kind of intimate?”  

You hadn’t thought about it before, but he had a point. And the more you thought about it, the more intimate it seemed. These toys, all of them, had been used on you, had brought you to climax over and over again in the time you’d owned them. They knew your secrets; you were exposing your secrets to Changbin by even showing them to him. If he used them, too? A shiver like ice water slipped down your spine.   

But he was the one who had previously suggested you have sex. This was less intimate than that, right?  

You shrugged.  

“It’s just a thing, really,” you replied, even though it wasn’t at all what you thought. You moved the conversation on quickly. “I guess you’re not interested in butt plugs if you don-”  

“I didn’t say that.”  

You looked at his face but he was looking at the spread on your bed, his eyes roving across the row of plugs on the right.   

“Ever used one?” you ventured, a little tentatively, not sure if it would constitute a slight to suggest he had or hadn’t.   

He shook his head and you noticed the tips of his ears redden.  

“I probably don’t need to tell you to go careful,” you began, taking a few of the options away, the ones that were too big, a little too intimidating for a first-timer. “But you should go careful. Start small, start smooth. And never, ever insert anything without a ba-”  

“Yeah, I know!”  

His ears were redder now. He still had your suction toy in his hand and you could see how tightly his fist was clenched around it. It confused you because Changbin couldn’t possibly be that embarrassed. Could he?  

Silence fell and you weren’t sure what to say. Should you tell him which one to pick? Did you have to advise him how to use it? How could you do that when you had no idea the sort of things he liked? You wiggled your toes in your socks and tipped up lightly onto them before bringing your heels back down.  

“Ok,” you began slowly when it was clear he wasn’t going to speak. You picked up a little purple plug, soft silicone, bubbles of increasing size. You handed it to him and shrugged. “Give something like that a try. See how you like it.”  

Changbin didn’t look at you. He looked at the plug. He put the suction toy back down on the bed and continued to look at the small, beaded rod in his hand.  

“Uh,” you continued. “Ever used a cock ring?”   

He let out a comically enraged cry and stalked from your bedroom.  

“Bye!” he called, not looking back as he pulled open your front door and let it slam shut behind him.  

“Hey!” you shouted after him, catching his arm as it swung back to his side.   

He stopped and turned.  

“You know the internet exists, right? Wouldn’t that have been less embarrassing than coming here and asking me?”  

He scowled, let out another anguished shout and stalked off.  

You laughed because you had to laugh, because he could have just used the internet—it would have been quicker, easier, less embarrassing, and probably more helpful. But he didn’t. He came to you and asked for your secrets. You didn’t know what that meant.   

There were nerves fluttering in your stomach that made you feel awkward and self-conscious. It felt like a line had been crossed somewhere. Not a bad line? But a line nonetheless.   

You returned to your bedroom and surveyed your collection left on your bed and wondered if you might take a few for a spin yourself. You decided not to. Changbin was in your head and if there was one person in the world you did not want to be thinking about, it was him.   

* * *  

You tried not to think about it anymore. Sex. Changbin. Any thoughts that involved either sex or Changbin. Nothing that strayed into that territory. It was a hornet’s nest, you’d decided. Nothing good could come from opening that can of worms. He could use each and every single one of your toys if he wanted but not your body. No. No. Nope.  

But you were having trouble focusing your mind. You were ovulating and this month in particular was being a real fucker. Your body was punishing you for being single. It was sick and tired of preparing a baby house and having you not put a baby in it. It was doing its damnedest this month to make it happen.  

You were out of your mind horny.   

You were beginning to sympathise with Changbin. You were, unfortunately and no matter how much you tried not to, thinking about his offer. His request. You were thinking about doing him, and yourself, that favour he’d asked.   

It couldn’t be that bad, could it? It could be good. He’d made some fair points and you were curious now, you had to admit. You’d not, before this whole fake-dating thing, given much thought to how Changbin fucked, but your curiosity had been piqued. You hadn’t had your butt plug returned and you could only assume that meant he was enjoying it, though he hadn’t confirmed either way. You wondered if you could entice him to spice things up a little more. You wondered what he did. What he sounded like. What he-  

“Fuck!”   

You slammed your hands down on your desk and took a deep breath. You were not supposed to be thinking about this. You were supposed to be—you moved your mouse to wake your monitor—creating yet another tedious spreadsheet.   

You: you working rn?  

Bin: no. gym  

You: later?  

Bin: come over after work  

‘Oh good’, you thought to yourself sourly, ‘that gives me four more hours of this. I’ve got to stew on this for four fucking hours before I can even broach the topic.’  

The thought made you sick. You didn’t examine why. You worked for five more minutes, messaged your manager to say you weren’t feeling well and logged off.   

Then you left your apartment and went down to the gym.  

* * *  

You were having a great day. A fantastic day, in fact. That was what you were telling yourself. Because you were about to hit a new deadlift PR and that made it fantastic, as long as you ignored everything else going on in your life. Which was exactly what you were doing.  

You were looking down at the bar on the floor, heavily loaded, and you were talking to it nicely. You were a team: you, the bar, the weights on either end of it. You were a team, and you were going to do this thing together.   

You took a deep breath, taking no notice of the guy a few metres away who was watching you. You didn’t care about him. You never cared about men in the gym because the gym was yours and no two-bit, ’roided-out gym bro was ever going to put you off your stride. Certainly not today. Let him watch. You’d show him.   

You adjusted your feet and shook out your hands before placing them on the bar. You favoured a mixed grip. You got into position, took a breath in, braced your core, and lifted.   

It flew.  

This was not a weightlifting gym, or anything close to that; it was the gym in your apartment building that came ‘free’ with your exorbitant rent, so you had to carefully lower the weights back to the floor. Then you allowed yourself a loud, crowing whoop and a double fist-pump.  

You stood straight, victorious, not even trying to hide the grin on your face and, when you tuned back into the world, the man who had been watching you was clapping. You whipped around to face him, assuming the worst, assuming he was patronising you or mocking you, but he grinned brightly at you.  

“PR?” he asked.   

You nodded dumbly.   

“Nice one. Congrats. You made it look easy.”  

He smiled and nodded once at you and then turned back to his own workout: a push day, it looked like, as he sat down on an inclined bench and lifted two enormous dumbbells to his shoulders.  

Huh.  

That was nice. You didn’t have many nice interactions with men at the gym. Men like him anyway. He was big, hulking, probably bulking given the softness of his skin on his arms, the tight fit of his T-shirt. You’d noticed him before, once or twice; he must live in the building to be using the gym but there were hundreds of people living here so that didn’t help much. He lifted heavy and kept to himself. That was really all you knew.  

It distracted you somewhat from your victory, this guy. This nice guy who might actually have been normal. You turned back to the bar and tried to get back in the zone, remember just what you were doing. But that had been it. You were going to PR the fuck out of this lift and then stretch yourself into oblivion.   

It was only when you were moving to the free area, walking past him, that you realised you hadn’t responded when he congratulated you.  

“Thanks, by the way,” you said as you passed, timing it carefully so you wouldn’t take him by surprise with 20 kilos above his head.   

He smiled again.  

“You’re welcome. You’re not trying for more?”   

He nodded to the rack, where you’d put everything away. You shook your head.  

“Quitting while I’m ahead.”  

“Well, you really did make it look easy. I reckon you’ve got more in you.”  

He meant with regards to deadlifting. He meant he thought you could probably take another two kilos, maybe even five, but it was exactly the sort of thing you needed to hear at that moment and a lump formed in your throat. It took you off-guard and you felt your cheeks heat. You just nodded and moved quickly to the floor where you put yourself in child’s pose to hide your face.   

You focused on counting your breaths and moving slowly between stretches. You didn’t look his way again when you left. You returned home, sat heavily on your sofa and cried.  

*  

That had been your first interaction with Changbin. For a while it was your only interaction. Your workouts didn’t overlap and you didn’t see him in the corridors.  

Then you walked into the gym on a grey, cold November morning, barely awake and not looking forward to exercise. There were a few others there already: a much older man walking slowly on the treadmill, a very bendy woman working through some yoga on the mats, and that guy. The one from your deadlift PR.   

You were pleased to see him, though you couldn’t have said why. He had, technically, made you cry. Even though it wasn’t anything at all to do with him and everything to do with your relationship falling apart around you and your self-worth being at rock bottom and your absolute desperate need for a win, even a tiny win, anything.   

Still, it was nice to see him again.   

You took to a treadmill to try to shake off your sleep and then moved slowly through an upper body workout. Everyone always said they hated leg day but you? You hated arms; you hated chest; you hated back and shoulders; you hated pushing and pulling. What you wouldn’t have given for squats that frosty morning.   

You had just placed your dumbbell onto the floor with an unforgiving thud, setting your timer for a 30-second rest when he approached you.   

“I’m really sorry to interrupt,” he began, and he did sound it, “do you have just a minute to spot me?”  

You couldn’t answer immediately. You? He wanted you to spot him? He could probably bench you; how on earth would you be any good to him?  

“Me?” you asked. “Are you... sure?”  

He just looked towards the old man on the treadmill (yoga woman was already finished and out of the gym) and shrugged. You giggled and stood.  

“I’ll do my best.”  

“Thank you!”  

You followed him to the squat rack and tried to do your quickest maths to calculate the weight he was attempting. You grimaced internally; that would break your fucking back. But you didn’t want to make him feel nervous or to knock any of his confidence, so you pretended you were confident, too, offering up your arms as he lodged himself beneath the bar. You kept your hands hovering as he stepped back, as he lowered, as he pushed up.... It was shaky and slow and you were genuinely worried for a second that you would have to really do something, but he made it. He took two steps forward, dumped the bar on the rack and let out a cry that was far too loud for the hour.   

You laughed.  

“PR?”  

He grinned.  

“You know it.”  

“I wish I could say you made it look easy but...”  

He laughed, properly laughed, and shook his head.  

“Why are you trying to ruin this moment for me?”  

You laughed in return and introduced yourself.  

“I’m Miki.”  

“Changbin,” he offered in return, holding his hand out for you to shake.  

*  

And that had been that. Somehow, though you didn’t quite know how, your workouts began to coincide more and more; you began to chat between sets; he continued to ask you to spot him despite knowing that you could do no such thing. Then one day you asked him to hang out outside the gym.   

Now you couldn’t shake him. Even if you’d wanted to. Which you didn’t. Never had.   

* * *  

You could literally feel yourself salivate as you watched him lift and you could not believe yourself to be such a basic, animal being. Humans were supposed to be above all that ‘in heat’ stuff, but apparently you weren’t. You were watching him deadlift—leg day, beautiful leg day—watching him hinge, watching the tension on his face, the pump in his quads.... You had officially crossed the line into creepy, but you couldn’t help it.  

You were hot. Literally, physically too warm.   

“Binnie!” you shouted, striding across the room to him. It had slipped out, the first time in two months you’d referred to him as something other than ‘Changbin’. You didn’t even notice.  

He looked at you, confused.  

“What are you doing here?”  

“Couldn’t wait until tonight. I need to talk to you.”  

“Is everything ok?”  

You shrugged, as if this was casual. As if you were about to say something normal to him.  

“Everything’s fine, but...” You scanned the room to make sure it was empty. “Look, I’m here to take you up on your offer.”  

The confusion did not leave his face.  

“Offer?”  

You shrugged again.  

“Favour, request, whatever. I want to have sex.”  

His mouth dropped open and he blinked twice before his brows furrowed again.  

“What?”  

“You heard! I want to have sex!” You whispered it, hissed it even, despite the empty room. It was embarrassing to be asking.  

“Ok,” Changbin shrugged.  

You had been expecting a fight, you now realised. You had thought he would protest a little – not necessarily against the sex itself but the fact that he had already asked and you’d turned him down. You thought his ego might make him string it out a little, make you work for it.   

“Ok, so are you finished here?”  

“Now?!”

There was the surprise you were after.   

“Yes, now!”  

“I’m- I’m at the gym!”  

“So finish.”  

“Well, I...”  

“I’ll wait if you really haven’t finished your workout.”  

Taken aback by the turn of events, Changbin looked a little dazed and nodded.  

“I only have a couple of sets left,” he said and you nodded.  

“Cool, I’ll wait for you upstairs. My place?”  

He shrugged, looking as if he had no idea what the right answer was.   

But it had to be your place. It had to be on your ground, not for a home advantage but... something like that. Somewhere you felt in control. Somewhere you felt comfortable. Somewhere you knew exactly what your bed was like and where the condoms were.   

You decided to take the stairs, initially, because you had energy to burn. Then you realised that tiring yourself before the sex was an even stupider idea than the sex itself, so you opened the door at the top of the next flight of stairs and used the lift.   

Bin: gonna shower. Be there in 15?  

You: no come now.  

Bin: ???  

You: what?  

Bin: I'm sweaty  

You: so?  

When he didn’t reply again, you assumed he was ignoring you and showering anyway, but then you heard the beep of your keypad and the door opened.   

“Can I just ask,” he began, no greeting, “before we do this... What the fuck has got into you?”  

“What?”  

“You were not exactly up for it when I asked about it and now you’re skipping work to fuck me? You’re not even letting me shower?”  

Your face heated with embarrassment, but the mere fact that you were asking for this gave the game away anyway, so was there really any shame in it?  

“I’m ovulating,” you stated, as if that would explain it.   

It would, to you. Possibly to anyone else who menstruated. Changbin looked at you wild-eyed.  

“Uh...”  

You saw his hands just barely raise at his sides, his right foot stepping backwards as if he were trying to surreptitiously retreat.  

“I’m not trying to get pregnant, you moron! I’m ovulating and that means I am out of my fucking mind with- with wanting to get laid! I am desperate.”  

“Well, you sure know how to make a man feel desired.”  

“Oh, shut up. You know the situation we’re in and you said as much to me last time: there is no one else we can fuck right now, but if I don’t fuck someone, I’m going to lose my mind.”  

“What happened to your arsenal of toys?”  

“Not the same and you know it. I just need to be fucked right now. I am desperate! Don’t make me say it again!”   

You couldn’t help the impatience and frustration in your tone and you knew it wasn’t sexy, wasn’t encouraging, but there was nothing you could do about it. You were beyond help of any kind other than his cock stuffed inside you. It just happened to make you a little less nice.   

“Don’t shout at me! It’s no wonder you’re single if this is how you proposition men!”  

“This is not how I proposition men! You propositioned me first! I’m just taking you up on it!”  

“Well I’m not going to do it if you’re going to look that fucking angry the whole time!”  

“I’m not angry; I’m frustrated!”  

“Potayto, po-fucking-tah-to!”  

“Are we doing this or not?!”  

Changbin didn’t answer immediately and you swore to yourself that, if he said no, you would be fine with it. You would not explode and die right there on the floor of your living room. And you would not hate him forever.  

He jabbed a finger at you.  

“We’re doing this but you have to not be a total cunt to me the whole time.”  

You decided not to hesitate. You didn’t have the patience for taking it slow anyway but one of you had to be decisive; it would be awkward if there was hesitation and stumbling and embarrassment. He had just confirmed his agreement. He had said you were doing it. So you had to do it. Do the damn thing. You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him towards you, crashing your lips into his.   

It was nothing like the first kiss. That was gentle and short and chaste and this was everything but. Before you’d snaked your tongue into his mouth, he had hoisted you in the air. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he carried you to the sofa and laid you down. He moaned when you sucked at his tongue and you moaned back, your hands already pulling his shirt up his chest.   

His skin was damp and sticky with sweat, salty when you put your mouth on it. You didn’t care. You liked the soft animal of his body, liked its power, liked the way it was firm under your hands, unyielding. Liked the way he could so easily have his way with you if he wanted; it’s not like you were weak yourself but Changbin was stronger and you knew you couldn’t take him in a fight. You wanted that. You wanted all that used against you right now. Not to fight but to fuck. You wanted him to fuck you so hard, you couldn’t stand. You could already feel the intense ache in your core as it radiated heat. You needed to be touched. So badly. Now that it was actually happening, you couldn’t believe you had let yourself go so long without it.   

“Binnie,” you panted, clutching the waistband of your trousers, shuffling them down, trying to discard them. “Binnie, touch me, please.”  

He responded with a nip to the delicate skin of your neck and a hand sliding down your stomach.   

“Fucking hell,” he breathed when his fingers found your wet slit. “You weren’t kidding.”  

“What?”  

“You are desperate.”  

“Shut the fuck up, Changbin,” you spat, with perhaps too much bite.  

His fingers withdrew and he leant up on his hands, looking down at you with his brows raised.  

“You can’t ask me to touch you and then speak to me like that when I do.”   

You rolled your eyes and gave him a simpering smile.  

“Aw, does Binnie not like it when I’m not nice to him? Oh, poor Binnie,” you cooed in a baby voice. “Does Binnie like praise, huh? Want me to praise you?”  

His face hardened but he didn’t tell you it was over, that if you were going to behave like that, he’d change his mind. He didn’t say anything and you knew it was because you were right but he didn’t want to tell you. That was one benefit of sleeping with someone you knew so well: you could read him. You didn’t need him to confirm.   

But you also weren’t great at being nice. Praise was not a thing that came naturally to you. And he had said you weren’t allowed to be a total cunt to him. That was fair. You rolled your eyes.  

“Fine, I’ll be nice,” you huffed. “Promise.”   

It was Changbin who rolled his eyes then and looked as if he didn’t believe you but didn’t care either way. He lowered himself down and brought his lips to yours.   

His kiss swallowed the loud sound you made when his fingers found their way south and made their entrance. It had been too long since someone else had got you off. Way too long. You knew it from the way your walls were already spasming, your muscles tightening, your breath catching.  

“Harder,” you gasped when he let your mouth go. “Harder, faster, please.”   

There was a minute pause in which he registered your instruction and then he complied, but it wasn’t enough.  

“Seriously,” you continued. “You don’t have to be nice to me. I want more.”   

His eyes met yours and when he raised his brows this time, your stomach swooped; it was dark and promising and there was something in his eyes that said he was going to give you everything you wanted.  

He slid another finger inside you and drew back so he could focus his other hand on your swollen clit.   

You couldn’t speak. You whimpered and keened and nodded; you clutched at Changbin’s arm and the sofa cushion; you arched your back and drew your feet in. You came with a loud cry and your body flopped backwards, your chest heaving as you got your breath back, your body shaking just a little.  

“Thanks,” you panted.  

Changbin laughed.  

“You’re welcome.”  

You pulled him closer, slipping a hand around the back of his neck to bring your face to his, to kiss him, hard, deep, indulgent.   

“Where do you keep condoms?” he broke away to ask and your mind was still dazed enough that it took you a second. You shook your head, tried to clear it, and pointed into your bathroom. Changbin moved off you and you stumbled as you got to your feet. He was rising as if to go himself, but you waved him off, sat him back down.   

The few steps between him and the bathroom gave you a second to catch your breath, to anticipate what was about to happen with a buzzing kind of glee wailing in your head (and elsewhere). You felt greedy. Insatiable. You wanted to take an entire box of condoms out there and use them all. You wanted to break yourself on him, break him, until there was nothing left of you but dust.   

You took one foil packet from the box and returned to Changbin who was still standing next to the sofa, waiting for you. His black shorts hid the damp spots of pre-cum but couldn’t hide the tent of his erection. You felt your mouth water at the thought of it. An icy streak of doubt passed through you when you realised you’d never seen it before. Never had cause to give it any thought at all. What if it was disappointing?   

Then Changbin dropped his shorts and his boxers, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.   

“Thank god,” you muttered under your breath, not intending for him to hear, but he cocked his head at you.  

“For what?”  

You snorted.  

“Thank god you have a nice dick.”  

He laughed and you could almost see his pride swell in the way he tucked his shoulders back and raised his head a little, the ever so slightly bashful grin that nevertheless carried a certain smugness. You had never known how he did that: vulnerability and arrogance at the same time. But then again, he was a Leo.  

You wasted no more time. You pushed him back onto the sofa, tore open the condom packet, and rolled it down his length. You held his cock as you positioned yourself over him, making yourself sink slowly. Making yourself take him inch by inch not all at once, because you would never get this first time again and you wanted to savour it. You wanted to remember exactly how he felt, his girth stretching you in a way that bordered on but didn’t cause pain.   

When he was fully sheathed, you sat your full weight on him and took his face in your hands. You kissed him, sloppy and wet and full of tongue, then slowly began to roll your hips. He groaned, squeezed at your glutes, tipped his head back and sighed.  

“Fuck, you feel amazing.”   

You nodded, but he had his eyes closed, and you remembered just exactly who it was you were dealing with.   

“You, too,” you replied. You tucked your face into his neck and keened as you adjusted your angle. You didn’t really talk much, usually. Weren’t sure what to say. Knew you had to say something. You kissed his neck to buy some time, sucking a bruise into his soft skin, tasting the salty tang of his sweat. “Fuck, Binnie,” you whispered. “So good.”   

Lame. But you didn’t have the headspace to dwell on it because it was so good. He fit you just right; you were tight and wet and hot and your legs trembled every time the head of his cock squeezed past your g-spot.  

“I’m gonna flip you,” he grunted, having noticed it, feeling the clench in your walls with each pass.   

Then without another second’s delay, he did, and you were on your back and he was drilling into you with hard, precise thrusts of his hips. You let your head tip back and your mouth hang open, just as he had only moments earlier.   

“More,” you murmured as you lost yourself to it. To him. To the pleasure of it all, the pressure building, coiling like a spring. This was exactly what you had wanted. Needed. The relief of it was breath-taking and that was before the orgasm hit you.   

Then it slammed into you like a train on a track and you cried out. Your eyes squeezed shut and your muscles tensed hard and your cunt clenched tight around Changbin’s thick length. He grunted, he gasped, he cried out, too, spilling into the condom and letting the tension in his body go, just enough to relax, but not so much to crush you.   

When you opened your eyes, stars danced in front of them, the ceiling of your apartment temporarily transformed into a night-sky kaleidoscope. You brushed the hair from Changbin’s face.  

“Relax, Bin, you can’t crush me.”  

He snorted lightly and let himself put his weight onto you.   

Maybe he could crush you. But you could take it. For a moment at least.   

“Thank you,” he said, his breath coming in heavy gasps, his stomach pushing against yours with each inhale.   

You laughed breathily, your lungs buried under his weight, trapped.  

“You’re welcome.”  

He lifted his head and the look on his face was hesitant, possibly even a little shy, but you knew what he wanted because you wanted it too. You drew his face to yours and kissed him, soft and sweet, then a little less, then a little deeper, with a little more urgency, your tongue dancing with his, his teeth biting down on your lips, little moans escaping the both of you.   

It lasted longer than you had intended. So long that you wanted to go again, that you’d recovered enough to want him some more, to want seconds and even thirds. The box of condoms in your bathroom cabinet sprung into your mind and your heart quickened.   

“Hey,” you said quietly, holding his face back from yours so you could look in his eyes. “Do you want to do that again?”  

It took a second for your words to register and he didn’t reply except to bring his lips to yours once more. He twisted his body so he could rest on his forearms above you, then he put his weight onto his left side, his right hand trailing down your body as he kissed you.   

*  

“Ok, now I really have to shower,” Changbin said, standing from the sofa with a long, tired groan.   

“You can shower here if you want,” you said, twisting around to watch him get dressed.   

He smiled but shook his head.   

“No way. I’ve never known a single person who takes less care of their skin than you do. Your soap would strip me like paint thinner.”  

You snorted and rolled your eyes.  

“Whatever. My skin is just naturally soft.”  

Changbin chuckled.  

“You keep telling yourself that, babe.”   

You rose, too, as he reached the door and, without realising it was happening, he turned with his hand on the doorknob and you kissed goodbye. It wasn’t until the door was shutting after him that you realised it had happened. Was that weird?   

You didn’t have the energy for it. You showered quickly and flopped onto your sofa for an ill-advised, late-afternoon, post-coital nap.  

* * *  

The next morning, you woke late and rushed through your morning workout, your morning shower, your breakfast, and hurried out of the door to the office. You made yourself a coffee, logged into everything, and then sat staring blankly at your inbox.   

You had sex with Changbin. Twice. You hadn’t given it enough thought yesterday—not after and certainly not before. But that was crossing a line, right? Sex changed things. You had put him off the first time because you thought it would make things weird, that it would be weird.  

But it hadn’t been. It wasn’t awkward or embarrassing. It was good. So good you’d asked for it again. So good that you could still feel it in your body as you twisted vacantly from side to side on your chair. It had been good for him, too, right? He had been vocal (that much you had expected) but was that acting?  

He had been a very convincing fake boyfriend so far. Maybe it had just been a continuation of the act.  

Except it had been his idea. In the first place, anyway.   

You could feel yourself getting tangled up in knots, so you had a stern word with yourself and set up blocks on your phone so that you might be able to focus better.   

*  

The frustrating thing about it was that you couldn’t talk to anyone. You couldn’t go to any of your friends and say ‘oh my god, I slept with Changbin’ because, as far as they were concerned, you’d been sleeping together for weeks—months!—now. It couldn’t be new, couldn’t be news.   

You stopped at the shop on the way home for a bottle of wine, then you took it two floors beyond your apartment and let yourself in.  

Changbin was on his sofa, shaking a protein drink in a plastic bottle. He looked surprised to see you.  

“Look,” you began immediately, plonking the bottle onto the coffee table and retrieving two glasses from his kitchen cupboard. You placed these on the table and poured a generous glug of wine into each. “I have to talk to you and you are just going to have to go with it because I cannot talk to anyone else about this, alright?”  

“Ok.”  

You took a deep breath and blew it out sharply.  

“I slept with Changbin.”  

His eyes narrowed and he looked from side to side and back to you.  

“Uh... You know I’m Changbin, right? That’s me.”  

“Yes, I know!” you shouted, flinging your hands up, sloshing wine over the rim and onto your trousers. It was white at least. “But I can’t tell anyone else, can I? Because then they would know we haven’t been sleeping together! So you are the only person I can talk to! Just go with it.” Then, to let him know you actually really needed this, you added, “please.”  

“Ok.”  

“I slept with Changbin,” you repeated.  

“Right,” he started, and you could tell he still wasn’t quite sure which response was the right one. “Uh, how was it?”  

“Honestly, really fucking good.”  

He grinned, his proud ego shining through, and you slapped him hard on the arm.  

“Shut up!” you hissed, even though he hadn’t said anything. “I’m saying it was good.”  

“And that’s... bad?”  

“No! ... I don’t know! I don’t know anything! Isn’t it weird? Why did we do it? Why wasn’t it weird?! Aren’t you confused?!”  

Changbin looked away for a moment and thought it over.   

“I’m not confused.”   

“You aren’t?”   

He shrugged.   

“Should I be?”  

“It doesn’t affect you at all that we slept together?”  

“Does it affect you? Affect you how?”  

“I don’t know!” you wailed.   

“It’s like I said before, we’re pretending to be dating so we can’t sleep with anyone else. It’s, what did I call it? Stress relief.”  

“You also said you were too horny to care if it was weird, but now we’ve had sex, so the... the pressure is gone, right? As in... We’ve had relief... Does that change things?”  

He shrugged again and it lit a match of frustration within you.  

“Changbin! For fuck’s sake, stop shrugging! Stop being so unbothered by this!”  

“Why do you want me to be bothered?! It sounds like you want it to be weird, to come between us, or ruin our friendship or something!-”  

“-Of course I don’t!”  

“Then why are you here insisting things have to change?”  

“I don’t know!”   

A loud thumping from the apartment next door broke the tension and you both slumped back on the sofa. You would have to stop shouting if you were going to continue this conversation because Changbin had lived here long enough for you to know that that was a polite warning call from his neighbour.   

“If it’s made you feel uncomfortable, we don’t have to do it again,” Changbin said, his voice softer now, quieter.  

“I’m not uncomfortable. I could never be uncomfortable with you. It just... I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it. You’re right. It was just sex. And we’re just friends.”  

“Right.”   

“Ok.”  

You drained your wine glass and re-filled it, putting your feet up on the table as Changbin switched on the TV. He took a minute selecting something to watch (opting for a youtube video on the best mechanics of the Romanian deadlift which was not as boring as it sounds) and, once it was playing, he picked up his wine glass and asked, without looking at you.  

“But where does that leave us, exactly? Re: sex. Is it off the table?”  

You took a minute to think about it. You didn’t want to say no. Because you knew what it was like now. You knew what you’d be missing. And, if he was right, then it wouldn’t change anything between you. You could have it all. But saying yes still felt like saying something. And you weren’t sure exactly what.   

“It’s not off the table,” you answered quietly, your glass perched on your lips so you could take a drink as soon as the sentence ended. You took a gulp larger than you’d intended and tried not to choke.   

“Ok, then.”   

* * *  

It was so not off the table. It was so on the table that it almost became a permanent fixture. It seemed silly not to. You couldn’t sleep with anyone else while you were pretending to date each other and the seal was well and truly broken. It didn’t feel as though you had anything to lose, not since it became clear that it didn’t change things between you.  

If anything, it made things better.   

It was as if a barrier that you hadn’t known existed between you had dissolved. Pretending to be his girlfriend was so much easier now. You’d always felt awkward about the physicality of it: having to hold his hand, make sure you were near him, the occasional jeering pressure to kiss in front of people as if you had something to prove to them. It was easy now because you’d touched far more than just his hands, kissed him in ways that would be indecent viewed by an audience.   

“You guys seem good,” Chaeyong commented lightly from across the table.   

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.  

“Uh, we do?”  

“When did we seem bad?” Changbin asked at the same time.  

“Honestly, no one had any hope of the two of you making it,” Seungmin added. “You were always so weird with each other. We thought you might have broken up but didn’t want to tell people or something.”  

You and Changbin exchanged a quick glance and you tried not to make it obvious when you gulped and found the inside of your lip between your teeth.   

“You mean you think we were pretending to date?” Changbin asked, thoroughly convincing in his bemused scorn.   

“Fuck knows! But something was going on, for sure.”  

“But you seem normal now.” Chaeyoung smiled sweetly and she looked innocent but, truthfully, she had been your biggest concern: nothing got past her and you were worried that she was still unconvinced.   

“Gee, thanks.”  

Thank god for Changbin, who was unflappable in the face of his own deceptions.   

“We’re saying we’re happy for you, idiots,” Seungmin offered with a withering glare before turning to his other side, where apparently the conversation was of greater interest.   

You turned to Changbin with a slyly triumphant smile on your face, which he returned exactly. You didn’t stop yourself leaning forward to kiss him and he didn’t stop you either.   

* * *  

For the first few weeks of your ‘relationship’, you had genuinely spent time and effort trying to think of a way for the two of you to end it. None seemed satisfactory. You weren���t really an experienced liar (not to this extent) and they all seemed transparent, lame, obviously made-up. It was as if you had never experienced any sort of relationship before because you just couldn’t think of a reasonable way for you and Changbin to stop dating.  

Frustrated by your lack of progress on the topic, you thought of it less and less often. Then you and Changbin started sleeping together and you stopped thinking about it altogether. This situation was working out quite nicely for the both of you. All the fun parts of a relationship with none of the drawbacks.   

You were enjoying it so much, you were annoyed you hadn’t thought of it before. And it seemed like the feeling was mutual. Changbin hadn’t raised the topic of your break-up; he still called your pet names and kissed you in public.   

You had been sure, when you first suggested it, that it would be a disaster. But your desperation to get one over on your sister had been just enough to override that worry. Now, you were certain it was the best idea you’d ever had, and you were very nearly grateful to Hani for forcing it.   

“Hey,” Changbin said softly, catching your hand and dragging you away from the group.   

It was summer and the river park was busy. You had amassed a greater group of people than you’d expected – word going around to friends of friends of friends – and your absence from it would not be noticed quickly.   

Not that anyone would care if they did notice. You were a couple now; you were allowed to disappear by yourselves.  

“Have you met Sakura?” he asked.   

“Uh, yeah, Felix’s friend, right?”  

He nodded.  

“Yeah, I mean, we met today. I don’t know her. Why?”  

“She asked me out.”  

“What?! Doesn’t she know you have a girlfriend?”  

It shouldn’t have bothered you. Because you weren’t his girlfriend, not really. You didn’t have any real claim to him. In fact, this should probably have happened before now, you told yourself. Changbin was a catch; he was hot and fun and kind and, frankly, anyone would be fucking lucky to have him.   

But you had him. As far as anyone knew anyway. Hadn’t you literally been introduced to Sakura as his girlfriend earlier that day? Where the fuck did she get off asking out your boyfriend?  

“I guess she forgot? I don’t know.”  

Changbin shrugged again and you felt your hackles raise.

“Well, why are you bringing it up to me? Obviously you said no.”  

“I said no.”  

“So why bother telling me? Are you saying you want to go out with her?”  

“I was just checking whether or not I’d ever be allowed to go out with anyone again. Y’know, if you were ever going to end this thing like you promised you would months ago?”  

You started. He hadn’t brought that up for ages. You hadn’t thought about it. You felt strongly that you should not admit to not having thought about it.   

“Of course, I’m going to end it,” you hissed. “Want me to do it right now so you can go over and tell Sakura you’ve changed your mind?”  

“Don’t overreact, Miki. This was always going to end. You specifically promised me that it would, in fact.”  

“And it will! I actually thought we were both ok with things as they were, since we’re both getting something from it, but fine. I’ll have your break-up ready for you tomorrow.”  

You didn’t wait for a response. You stalked off, too angry to notice that you were leaving your phone and your bag and everything else in the park. Too angry to turn back when you did notice. You walked, with heavy, angry footsteps, for a mile or two in the direction of your apartment which was still several miles away. Then you stopped and stood and didn’t know what to do. Your heart was still pounding, your breath coming heavily because you did not commit yourself to cardio in the way you did to lifting, and you were still shaky with anger.   

You could not turn back. The horror of the embarrassment you would feel having to return after storming off was too strong. But you couldn’t walk all the way home. You weren’t even sure exactly which way to go, having never done the journey fully on foot before. You were stranded. You knew your only option was the river. But you decided you would rather die than go back there. You would rather sleep on the street than show your face.  

You continued to stand there, waiting for your anger to fade, to be replaced by worry and, yes, embarrassment. You tried to guess what time everyone would start leaving. It was still light (such was the curse of the summer months) so it was entirely possible that some would stay late into the evening, the night even. You couldn’t stand out on the street for that long.   

“Hey.”  

You whipped around at the sound of his voice. He was five feet away.  

“What do you want?”   

You could see him biting his tongue, being the bigger person.   

“Thought you might need this,” Changbin said, holding out your bag.  

“Whatever,” you replied, neither turning away nor reaching out for it.  

“Well, if you don’t want it...”  

He went to turn, to walk back the way he had come, but you snatched your bag from his hand. Before he could react, you put your feet to asphalt, as quickly as you could without running.  

“You’re fucking welcome!” he shouted after you.  

You were seething again, your stomach roiling, your blood boiling, sweat pricking in your hair. You walked to the nearest subway station in a kind of red haze, barely aware of your surroundings, cognisant only of your own body and its rage.   

*  

He didn’t call you the next day.  

Or the next day.  

Or the one after that.   

You wondered if that was it. If that would do it. Break you up. Was it already over? The thought pained you, but you were still angry with him. He had pulled you aside to tell you that another woman was interested in him; he had suggested he was interested in her. But he was supposed to be yours.   

He wasn’t yours. You repeated it to yourself, knowing that it should help, that it should make it not hurt, that it should make you not angry with him, that it was the truth. But it didn’t work. You couldn’t make it go away.   

He didn’t call you for a full week and you were scowling at lunch with your sister and her husband, your parents, too. Chan asked if he could speak with you. It shook you from your sour stupor and you followed him without hesitation.  

“So what’s up with you and Changbin?” he asked, casually, as if he weren’t kicking a hornet’s nest.  

“Nothing,” came your sullen reply.  

“Ok... So what’s up with you and Changbin?”  

You scowled some more and kept your mouth shut.  

“There’s obviously something going on between the two of you, and he won’t tell me what it is so I’m asking you. It sucks to see you two like this. You know how happy Hani and I were about you two getting together....”  

If you hadn’t been so self-indulgent with your week-long bad mood, you might have sensed his tone, caught the micro-expressions on his face that were giving you an opening. But you had been self-indulgent, so you missed them all.   

“If he won’t tell you, I don’t see why I should.”   

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I thought I would ask you myself before I tell your sister.”  

He had your full attention now.   

“What do you mean, tell my sister?”  

“I mean tell her that I’m worried that something has happened between the two of you. You’re fighting or not speaking or somethin-”  

“How do you know that?”  

“Because I know both of you? Changbin has been out of sorts all week and you have barely touched your food, barely uttered a word except to be as horrible to your sister as you’ve ever been.”  

Chan never told you off. He never told anyone off. You felt chastened and shamed but that only fuelled your anger.   

“Fine, I’ll go.”  

“That’s not what I said.”  

“I’m clearly not wanted here if I’m so horrible to your precious, little wife-” You saw the way his jaw clenched and you knew that he would kick you out himself if you said much more; it felt good, pushing that button. Made you feel like you had a little bit of control, a little bit of power. “As if I ever gave a shit about her anyway. I only come to these stupid lunches because my parents make me. I hate coming. I hate Hani. I hate you. And I fucking hate Changbin!”  

Chan said nothing. He looked at you with dark, furious eyes and took hold of your elbow. He escorted you carefully to the front door, waited while you put on your shoes, handed you your things, and shut the door firmly behind you.  

You wished you could scream. You immediately ordered a taxi and waited impatiently until you got home. Then you picked up your pillow, pressed it to your face and let rip. You raged until your head hurt and then you fell asleep on your sofa, waking in the small hours of the morning with a sore neck. You climbed into your bed and tossed and turned. You did not sleep. You refused to get up.   

When the sun was high in the sky and streaming into your apartment, there came a knock on the door. You thought for five seconds about ignoring it because you weren’t expecting and didn’t want to see anyone. Then you got up to answer it anyway.  

“So apparently you hate me,” he said in greeting.   

Changbin stood at your door. He didn’t let himself in. He knocked. He waited for you to open it.   

Then he said that, and you bit back before you could stop yourself.  

“Isn’t the feeling mutual?”   

Changbin sighed. Rolled his eyes.  

“Ok, let me know when you’ll stop being a cunt and maybe I’ll try again.”  

He walked away and you let him.   

* * *  

You kept waiting for him to come again. He didn’t. You waited for him to call or text. He didn’t. As time went on, you had assumed you would care less, get over it, stop being bothered by it. You didn’t.  

It had started to hurt. It began as a needling kind of pain, sharp but small. Then it began to grow and now you woke with a hole in your chest and bitterness in your heart.   

You thought about him all the time. What he must be telling people. You had refused to talk to anyone about it, refused to go out, shut yourself up in your poky apartment waiting for it all to go away.   

It didn’t.  

There was a knock on your door and you jumped, because it had to be Changbin. Who else could get into the building?  

Your body physically withered at the sight of your sister.  

“How did you get in here?” you asked.  

“I know your building code, Miki. I know your door code, too, but I didn’t want to just barge in.”  

“Why not? You love barging in. You love poking your nose in where it’s not welcome.”  

Hani did not reply. She sat on your coffee table and gestured for you to take a seat opposite her on your sofa.  

“What do you want?”  

“I came to see if you wanted to talk about it.”  

“Talk about what?”  

Hani closed her eyes briefly and you knew she was rolling them beneath her lids. She was too polite to just do it outwardly, even though it was obvious how she felt.   

“You and Changbin haven’t been speaking much, huh?”  

“Fuck off, Hani.”  

“I know he misses you.”  

“You don’t know anything.”  

“I’m married to his best friend, M-”  

“I’m his best friend!”  

“Ok, ok, I’m married to one of his very close friends. Chan says he’s miserable and I know you are, too.”  

“You don’t know anything.”  

“I don’t know much, I’ll admit that, but that’s because you don’t tell me anything. Have you ever considered that I’d be less ‘fucking annoying’ if you ever let me in? If you ever volunteered information about yourself and your life? I don’t like being the person you think I am. I know you think I’m hen-pecking you, I’m a nag, I’m just like Mum and all the much less kind things you’ve said. But I’m not. You just think I am because you take every question as an attack; you think every inquiry is an interrogation.   

“You are the spikiest person I’ve ever met and the reason I was pushing the boyfriend thing with you is because you’ve got worse since you and M-”  

“Don’t say his name-”  

“... Since the break-up. You were spiky before but now you’re mean and you’re bitter and miserable. And I know you want to be happy, so I pushed it. And then you got with Changbin and I was so happy. You were so happy. Now you’re going to ruin it all by being your-”  

“That’s why I think you’re a cunt,” you interrupted. “I’m going to ruin my relationship by being myself? Thanks a fucking bunch.”  

“I was going to say you’re going to ruin it by being your worst self. Your scared self. Your angry, short-tempered self that lashes out at people. You have a soft centre, Miki, but you also have a moat full of spikes and a portcullis. You have thorns and a dragon guarding you.   

“But I saw the way you looked at Changbin and I haven’t seen you look like that for a long time. Even towards the end of your last relationship, you’d lost it. But you had it back. And I don’t want you to throw it away.”  

You didn’t reply because you didn’t have anything to say. You couldn’t argue with the truth, but you weren’t going to tell her she was right. You couldn’t take it.   

You’d spent your whole life feeling like the fuck up, the first pancake, compared to Hanbyeol and her ability to get everything right. She had one boyfriend before she went to university and they were sweet and innocent and didn’t even sleep together. Then she met Chan on her first day at university and they’d been together ever since. She graduated with a perfect degree and got a good job on a good career path and has been walking it ever since.   

You slept with your first boyfriend at the age of 15 and he promptly dumped you. You spent four years on an art degree that went fucking nowhere and did nothing for you. You’d had jobs and quit jobs and been fired from jobs; you’d dated and had partners and dumped them and been dumped by them. Nothing stuck.   

“You don’t know anything,” you mumbled sullenly back, your fire extinguished.   

“I would if you told me.” But she wasn’t chastising, wasn’t telling you off. She was just saying it, softly, gently now.   

“I don’t want to talk about it.”   

“That’s ok. You don’t have to talk about it with me if you don’t want. But you should talk to Changbin. He really does miss you. And I really don’t want you to miss out on what you had with him because you’re afraid or being stubborn. Sometimes you have to meet people halfway, Miki; it’s not fair to make him come to you every time.”  

She stood and left your apartment without another word. Your bottom lip wobbled.   

Was it too late?  

*  

You didn’t know where to start. How to start. What to do. Who to turn to. The only person you could talk about this with was Changbin because he was the only person who knew the truth. It wasn’t even a matter of your pride anymore; it would have felt like a betrayal to reveal the secret to anyone else. But you couldn’t just go to him, half-cocked, with nothing in your head but a jumble of half-formed sentences and no idea what you really wanted.  

You let another week go by.  

*  

The gym felt stuffy. You were sure the aircon wasn’t working properly because it should not have been that warm in there, even if it was over 30 degrees outside. You were dripping with sweat and looking around, praying for chalk so you could dry your hands properly. You had given up on the barbell because you didn’t think you’d be able to grip it with such wet hands. You were miserable and grumpy, and the workout sucked.  

Then Changbin walked in.   

You felt sick. Your first instinct was to hide, but there was nowhere to hide and he’d already seen you. Your eyes caught and he slowed to a stop, just looking at you. You had to make the first move. You knew you had to.   

You stood from the bench and walked towards him, crossing your heart and hoping to die that he wouldn’t walk away.   

“Hi,” you said, your voice small.  

“Hi,” he returned.   

You could barely look him in the eye. You hadn’t prepared for this.  

“It’s pretty unbearable in here, right now. I think the aircon is broken,” you offered, cursing yourself all the while.  

Changbin seemed surprised and he nodded with a small ‘oh’.  

“I think I’ll be fine,” he said. “I wasn’t planning to be long anyway.”  

“Right. Yeah. Ok.”  

It was tugging at your heart, this need to say something, this inability to do so.   

Changbin waited only a few more seconds and then he pointed beyond you and began to move away.  

“Wait!”  

He stopped.   

“I... can we talk? Sometime. Not now. Later. I don’t know. I- I... We should talk.”  

You kept your eyes trained on the ground and could feel his gaze on you. He answered slowly.  

“Yeah, ok. Text me or something.”  

You nodded and scarpered, workout unfinished, but you reached the lift and breathed a sigh of relief. Had that been so bad? You’d survived. You were still in one piece. And he’d agreed to talk to you.   

Part of you wanted to go back and tell him, actually, it has to be now. You wanted to get it over with. Another part of you wanted it to never happen. You still didn’t know what you would say to him.   

*  

You stood, nervously, outside his apartment, waiting for your courage to build to a sufficient level for you to knock on his door. It was taking its sweet time. You weren’t sure if it would ever get there. Your palms were sweaty, the backs of your knees, too. You realised the last time you were this nervous to speak to someone was the day your last relationship ended and you stood outside your shared apartment, waiting for the courage to go in and end it. Have it ended for you. Not by you. You had certainly never been this nervous with Changbin: not the first time you went to your sister’s pretending to be together, not the first time you had sex. You had always felt comfortable with him.  

Now you didn’t. And that was on you.  

You closed your eyes, gritted your teeth, and knocked. The door opened almost instantly.  

“Oh. Hi. That was quick.”  

“I know; you’ve been out there for ages. I’ve been standing here waiting for you to knock.”  

“Oh.”  

Your face flamed so hot, it made your eyes sting. Changbin stood back and gestured you into his apartment. You waited for him to sit on the sofa and then you took your place on the floor, just off to the side. Somehow, you didn’t feel like you could sit equally next to him. You had apologies to make, grovelling to do.   

Changbin waited.   

“I’m sorry,” you offered first. The easiest thing to say because it covered all manner of your sins.  

“What for?”  

Less easy.  

“Everything,” you choked. “For making you pretend to be my boyfriend, for not breaking us up, for my short temper and impatience, for overreacting to the Sakura thing, for not speaking to you. All of it, really.”  

You heard him take a deep breath but didn’t dare look at him. The silence felt stiff. You couldn’t say anything more even if you’d wanted to. You needed to know what his response was first.   

He sighed.  

“They’re not the things I want you to be sorry for... I suppose I should apologise, too.”  

“What for?”   

You were struggling with the silence. If there was one word that could never describe you or Changbin, it was ‘quiet.’ You would have needed more hands to be able to count on fingers the number of noise complaints he’d received from his neighbours. It was never like this between the two of you. It was never awkward like this.   

“I don’t want to say it,” he said eventually. “I feel like shit and I don’t want to say it because I’ll feel even more like shit.”  

“I don’t want you to feel like shit.”  

“That’s how you’ve been treating me.”  

Tears pricked in your eyes and you did your best to swallow the anger that was rising with them. Your temper was the reason you were in this mess; it could not get you out of it. But Changbin continued before you could find a word to say.  

“I got it wrong, obviously. I thought it was going somewhere. Not at first, obviously. But something had changed and I thought, ok, maybe something is happening now. Maybe this... Maybe this could be real. Then it went on longer and longer and I realised how stupid I was to think that. Because you didn’t want anything more. That was clear. That was really clear and I should have seen it long before I did.”  

He sighed heavily and fell back against the sofa cushions. You risked a peek and saw him contemplate the ceiling.  

“I made the Sakura thing up.”  

“What?”  

“I made it up. Of course she didn’t ask me out! She had been introduced to us together. You were introduced as my girlfriend; why would she have then tried something? I just had to see how you’d react. I wanted to... test, I suppose, how you felt.”  

You took your time speaking because you could feel your rage simmering in your gut. You were trying so hard not to be angry, not to react. But he’d lied to you. Manipulated you. This was his fault and all this time you thought it was yours? Why would he do that?  

“Are you going to fucking say anything, Miki?”  

‘Yes,’ you thought, ‘just as soon as I can stop seeing red.’   

“I don’t understand.”   

The words were sharp in your throat, painfully clawing their way out. You could feel Changbin’s patience ebbing away, too, and the whole situation was as if you were dancing on a tightrope. You had thought it would be easy to straighten out: an apology, some reluctant forgiveness, a few jokes and things would be back to normal. Guess not.  

“It made me feel used.”   

His confession was small. Small and quiet so you knew it was real, that he wasn’t after a reaction or a fight. He was just telling you the truth.  

“Used?”  

“I was up for it, at first. I agreed, I didn’t have to but I did. I signed up for it. I know that. Pretending to be your boyfriend was fun to start with. Making you squirm. Though, to be honest, it wasn’t fun that you were so... disgusted by the idea of us being together. The way you flinched every time I touched you or looked nauseated half the time at the thought of us so much as kissing. That wasn’t exactly a balm to my ego. But I could take it. And you got used to it, I thought. Got less disgusted.   

“Then we started having sex and things changed. You changed. And I didn’t really know what it meant but I know you well enough that I knew not to push too hard. I guess I thought, at some point, you would come out and say it. But you didn’t. At all. Things carried on exactly as they were and I realised that’s what you wanted. You didn’t want me for anything more. You wanted to have sex and pretend we were together but you didn’t want to be together. You didn’t want me. You just wanted me to keep up your pretence to get one over on your sister; you wanted the convenience of, I don’t even know what. It was like you liked the idea of being with me but not the reality of it. And I got sick of it, ok?   

“That’s what made me feel like shit. That’s what made me feel used. And I know you; I knew you were never going to talk to me about it. So I made up the Sakura thing. I wanted a reaction from you. I wanted to see if you gave a shit at all.”  

You wanted him to continue, to say things so that you didn’t have to. Because you did give a shit. You were incensed that Sakura dared to ask him out. You were angry with him because you felt like he wanted to go out with her. You felt betrayed by it. Abandoned. Rejected. Surely that had been obvious by your reaction. Surely you didn’t have to say that now?  

Though you still weren’t sure what it meant. Hearing Changbin spell it all out like that: his hurt, the word ‘disgusted’, his hope, your inability to communicate being thrown in your face when you had hoped it was a secret. You didn’t want him to see you like that: inept and selfish and inconsiderate. Used. You had used him. Your first instinct had been to kick back at that, deny it vociferously, scream at Changbin and call him every name under the sun, storm out.   

But you weren’t doing that anymore. You weren’t going to let your temper ruin this. Again.   

Or you were trying.   

“Obviously I give a shit,” you said sullenly, a little sulkily despite your best efforts.   

“I don’t know.”  

“How can you say that you don’t know? Don’t you know me?”  

“Yeah, I know you but I’m really beginning to see the limits of my knowledge. I can’t know everything, Miki. I can’t read your mind. Sometimes you have to say things. Sometimes you have to say things even if the other person already knows them! Things need to be said. They need to be heard.”   

“What things?”  

“I don’t believe you don’t know what I’m talking about.”  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” You could hear your voice rising but couldn’t stop it.   

“Yes, you do!” His was rising, too. “You know exactly what I’m saying and you know what I want you to say but you won’t say it and that’s the fucking problem, isn’t it?”  

You opened your mouth to argue back but he got in first.  

“Or you really, actually don’t know what I’m talking about and that, in itself, is a problem. Either way, you need to figure it out.”  

His tone was final. Conclusive. Dismissive. But you had only just got started so you weren’t going to leave just yet.  

“Why do I have to figure it out?”  

“Because it’s your problem!”  

“No, it’s not! You’re the one who lied about Sakura! You made this mess!”  

Changbin got to his feet.  

“I made this mess? This entire thing was your idea! I have followed your lead the entire time and you have led me down a fucking merry path! Do you kn-”  

“I’ve been leading?! You’re the one who suggested we have sex!”  

“You’re the one who took me up on it! And I’d never have suggested it if we weren’t trapped in a situation of your making!”  

“You didn’t have to go along with it!”  

“You asked me to! You’re my friend! Friends do each other favours! Of course I was going to say yes!”  

“I didn’t force you to!”  

“Friendship forced me, you idiot! But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t understand that.”  

“What the fuck does that mean?”  

You were interrupted by a knock at the door. Changbin answered and it was building security, here to offer up yet another warning regarding the noise. Changbin apologised, promised to keep it down and returned to the sofa.  

“Ball’s in your court,” he told you. “It’s up to you.”  

“What’s up to me?”  

You made the mistake of looking up at him and his glare could have turned you to stone.   

“Don’t act stupid, Miki. You figure it out.”  

You wanted to argue. You wanted to have this out right here, right now. Arguing cleared the air. You had been getting somewhere before his pathetic, meddling neighbours had gone and complained about the noise. Maybe you should have made him come to you; your neighbours had never complained, never even made a peep. Maybe you should have gone somewhere open – the park, the river, somewhere you could shout at each other amongst all the noise of the city.   

You didn’t want to leave.  

“Will you just go?” he asked, impatience ringing clear as a bell through his tone.  

You bit the inside of your lip to stop yourself saying no. Then you let it go.  

“No. I’m not leaving.”  

“I don’t have anything more to say to you.”  

“Well maybe I have things to say to you!”  

“Do you?”  

Yes. No. Maybe. They were there somewhere, the words you wanted to say, the words he wanted to hear. You knew they were there, germinating somewhere deep and dark and bloody. You weren’t ready for them to sprout, to grow, to bloom .   

“Miki, I don’t want to ask you again. Please leave.”  

When you remained sitting on the floor, he sighed and turned the TV on; he watched and didn’t look your way. He kept watching and didn’t glance down even once.   

You knew you weren’t going to say anything but leaving felt like defeat. It felt like walking away. It was walking away. You didn’t want to walk away from Changbin.  

You had no choice but to.  

* * *   

“Can I talk to you?” Chan asked, the following Sunday.  

You didn’t get the sense this time that you were in trouble, but you knew you would deserve it if you were.   

“I wanted to apologise,” he began and you started.  

“You want to apologise to me?”  

“Yes. I should have known better than to ask you so directly about you and Changbin. I just didn’t know how to tiptoe around it and, to be honest, I was kind of worried about Changbin; I was thinking of him, not you. So I’m sorry for pushing it.”  

No wonder Hani fell in love with him.  

“You don’t have to apologise to me, Chan. I should be apologising to you. I was rude; you were just being nice. I appreciate it, actually, that you came to me yourself before siccing my sister on me. I didn’t mean what I said.”  

“I know you didn’t.”  

“Did you tell Hani I said it?”  

He chuckled.  

“No, of course not.”  

“Good.” You paused. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”  

“It’s ok. Air cleared. We’re all good. But... can I ask now about you and Changbin? He said you talked.”  

“Then you probably know everything already.”  

His eyebrow quirked and you weren’t too angry to miss it this time.   

“What?” you asked.  

“I don’t think I know everything.”  

“Enough.” You shrugged. “He says the ball’s in my court, but I don’t know what to do with it.”  

“Don’t you?”  

You could feel your conversation with Changbin started to repeat itself.   

No, you did not know what to do with the ball and you were getting pretty tired of holding it. It was Changbin. Your Binnie. Not your Binnie. Just Binnie. He was your friend, your best friend. He was your fake boyfriend because your sister had bugged you just one too many times about it. He was your friend-with-benefits because you couldn’t both keep the lie going and sleep with anyone else. He was...   

He had said he felt used. You hadn’t felt like you were using him. Or maybe you thought you were using each other, in which case it was fine. You were both benefiting, weren’t you? You got all the perks of a relationship with none of the obligations. It was ideal. It was really the perfect situation. You had thought.  

Changbin obviously didn’t feel the same. You kept running it through your head, the things he had said:  

“I thought it was going somewhere.”  

“Something was happening.”  

“Maybe this could be real.”  

It wasn’t real. That was the whole point. It wasn’t supposed to be real.  

But your anger when Changbin lied about Sakura was real. The sense of betrayal you felt. The abandonment.  

Your comfort with him was real. The ease you felt in his company. The joy and contentment in just lounging around together, with no pressure to be anything other than who and what you were.   

Your pleasure was real, once you started sleeping together. The literally toe-curling, hair-raising, blood-curdling ecstasy he ripped out of you. Gave to you. The soft sweetness of his kisses and the unyielding strength of his body; his smooth, golden skin, and curly, black hair. The noises you’d never heard him make before that you could now conjure up whenever you liked, that echoed in your dreams. All of that was real. It was more than real; it was animal. It was pure. It was mindless and easy and natural.   

Natural, too, it became when you kissed outside of the bedroom. When you leant into him and he pulled you close with his arm around your shoulder. When he held your hand. When he placed a protective hand on your back on the subway, in a bar queue, just letting you know he was there. He was there for you.   

He was right that you’d felt awkward at first. That you hated the pet names and the embarrassment that came with them. You hated him for being mischievous and jeopardising the whole operation by testing your non-existent acting skills. You weren’t sure when that feeling stopped. You were sure it was before you slept together but then you remembered the watershed that occurred afterwards.  

An invisible wall between you had disappeared; a veil had been lifted. It was as if all your interactions with Changbin before that moment had been happening behind a barrier. You were holding hands through the holes of a fence, one of you on either side of it. You were clinging to each other from far away.   

Then suddenly, you weren’t. You were on the same side of the fence. You were not just close but united. Joined. One.   

It hurt your heart to think about it. It hurt so much. It hurt like a break-up. It hurt like heartbreak.   

So you knew the answers. The answer. But you didn’t want to.  

You looked up at Chan, the inside of your lip torn to shreds.  You shrugged.  

“I don’t know what to do,” you said, and it came out tight and choked, tears you hadn’t realised were there stinging in your eyes.   

Chan pulled you into his arms for a hug and, on any other day, you’d have shoved him off, but it came as a relief. You leant into him and wrapped your arms around his waist.   

“You’re a good brother,” you said quietly, trying not to sniffle. “I’m glad Hani married you.”  

“Thanks, Miki. That really means a lot to me, you know.”  

He rubbed your back and you felt like the world’s most pathetic loser, and sickeningly grateful for Chan at that moment.   

“You and Bin can work it out, I promise.”  

You could only hope that was true.  

* * *  

You sat with the answer for longer than you should have. You should have taken it to Changbin as soon as you knew the truth. You even knew what was stopping you, but that knowledge wasn’t helping you get past it.   

You lay on your sofa, rotting, hoping to decay to the point that your decomposing body could leak into the cushions and you could become one with it. You stared at your ceiling. You were putting it off. You didn’t want to do it, but doing anything else felt like defeat, felt like shirking your responsibility, felt like running away. So you just lay and stared and waited for something to make you move.   

The longer you left it, the harder it would be. The longer you left it, the less likely it was that Changbin would respond how you wanted him to. Because you were leaving him hanging. Stringing him along—you had been stringing him along, however unwittingly, for weeks now. That wasn’t fair and he had every right to be angry, to dislike you, to not want anything more. To have changed his mind.   

God, you hoped he hadn’t changed his mind.   

You could scarcely believe that it had been three weeks now that you’d not been speaking. Three weeks with just one argument between you. No wonder it felt like a break-up. Your relationship might technically have been fake, but you had dug deep enough to realise that your feelings weren’t.  

You cringed to yourself. You hated that. You hated thinking about your feelings. You hated that they existed. You hated that they hurt so much, all the time. You hated how much you missed him, how scared you were to lose him.   

That was enough, you’d decided. It hit you over the head, your oldest friend: impatience. You had had enough of this, you said to yourself. Rip the fucking plaster off and, if you bled all over the floor, so be it. At least maybe you’d bleed to death.  

You took the stairs to Changbin’s floor and hammered on his door. No answer. You let yourself in, using his door code.  

“Binnie?”  

The apartment was empty.   

Not wanting to lose any momentum, not wanting either to give him any notice, to initiate any contact that might psych you out or knock you off-course, you decided to head to the gym. It was as likely a place for him to be as any.   

You were right. He was on the floor, stretching, when you entered. That was good; that meant he had finished. Also good: the gym was empty but for the two of you.   

You strode over and sat next to him. You placed your hand on his arm. You knew what you had to tell him but hadn’t quite picked the words. They were never your strong suit. He turned to look at you, his face an open question, and shuffled into a more comfortable position.   

The words didn’t come but the impulse did. You leant forward and kissed him. Tentative, hesitant, light. The second seemed to stretch forever; you were desperate for it to end and dying for it not to. Your heart was pounding so hard, you could hear it in your ears. Your body was flushing warm, running hot and you could feel the heat from him, too, though you knew that wasn’t anything to do with you.   

The second finally ended and you pulled back, but only barely, just enough to see his eyes, usually so intense but, at this moment, open, sparkling, asking.   

You kissed him again. You hadn’t meant to; it happened without your say so. This time, he responded. You felt his lips move against yours, his head turn so they slotted together, so he could run his tongue over your bottom lip. You moved your hands into his hair, damp with sweat, curling at the edges of his face.   

“Binnie,” you whispered, when his lips left yours a second time.   

“Miki,” he returned.  

“I want to tell you-”  

He interrupted you with his mouth on yours again. You made a noise of protest, but it was weak and you didn’t follow through because it had hit you, how much you missed this. How much you wanted it. How much you had liked it at the time and not allowed yourself to notice.   

You had to be closer to him. You shuffled on your knees and sat yourself in his lap; he pulled you to his body until his sweat soaked through your shirt. Your mouth journeyed across his face, to his jaw, walking a trail down his neck, kissing wet drops of sweat from his skin.  

“Miki...”   

“Binnie...”  

Your mouth reversed its travels and you sucked his bottom lip between yours, sank your teeth into it gently and then not so gently. The groan he made, deep in his chest, lit you up on the inside, burning hot now, your own sweat starting to prickle on your skin.   

Before you lost your mind completely to the heat and the haze, you pulled back. You pressed your forehead against his and took a second to get your breath back, breath you hadn’t noticed he had taken.   

“I need to tell you,” you repeated. “I have to tell you things.”   

You felt him nod against you.  

“Ok, you can tell me.”  

“I’m sorry.”   

It wasn’t the thing you wanted to start with. You wished you could have said it all without having to apologise. But you’d done things that you were sorry for and he had to know.  

“I’m sorry I’m so stupid and I’m sorry I used you and I’m sorry I don’t know how to be honest with you and I’m sorry I don’t know how to feel things and I’m sorry I shouted at you and was a dick to you and said I hated you. I’m sorry I did all this stupid shit. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I'm sorry I didn’t realise. I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you. I’m sorry for all of it.”  

His lips were back before you had even closed your mouth. You pushed against his chest with your hands.  

“Stop kissing me! I have to say stuff!”  

“I know, but I have stuff to say, too, and I want to say it like this,” he replied, pausing between each clause to press his mouth against yours, staying so close that you could feel his lips move as he spoke.  

“You said I had to go first,” you reminded him. “Let me go first.”   

He huffed but leant back a little and you did the same, the air between you clearing just enough for you to remember how nervous you were, how terrified, even though he’d just been kissing you, even though you sat in his lap with his arms around you.   

“It started out not being real,” you began. “It really wasn’t real and I intended for it to never be real because I just wanted Hani to leave me alone and I was going to end it. I swear. I was racking my brain trying to come up with a good solution. Especially because you were being so annoying! I thought you wanted it to fail because you were winding me up so much. And you were right, I fucking flinched and I hated it; it made me so uncomfortable because it was so weird to have you doing that. We didn’t do that!   

“Then you kissed me on the subway and it was... nice. And then horrible because it shouldn’t have been nice! And then we had sex and it was... more than nice. And I... I didn’t want to break us up anymore because I liked how it was. I kept saying to myself that we had all of the perks of a real relationship with none of the drawbacks but what I really meant, though I didn’t know it, was that I had all the security of a relationship with none of the risk.  

“I didn’t want to risk it. Having feelings. Going there. With you, especially. Not because—not because I d—... Not... It was you, Binnie. You were my best friend. I trust you with everything. You know all of my stupid secrets; you’ve seen me throw up on the street; you gave me food poisoning so bad I literally shit myself in your doorway; it’s you--”  

“Can I make a recommendation?”  

“What?”  

“Maybe don’t talk about shitting yourself while you’re trying to confess your undying love for me?”  

You slapped him hard on the arm.  

“Shut the fuck up! I’m being fucking vulnerable here, you prick!”  

He laughed and you let him kiss you, just a little, just long enough for the flash of your annoyance to fade.   

“My point is,” you continued, pushing back against him, “that if you didn’t want me, who the fuck would? You are the person who could... You’re the person who could hurt me the most. Out of anyone. Out of everyone. If I didn’t have you, if you said no, if I fucked things up, who would I have? I didn’t want to lose you.”  

“So you kept me at arm’s length and pushed me away and didn’t speak to me for weeks.”  

“I know, I’m sorry.”   

Shame flamed on your cheeks. It swallowed your voice, made your throat tight and your eyes sting. You dropped your gaze, focusing on your hand around his bicep, your ragged thumbnail that you had chewed to bits. You watched it raise and lower as Changbin shrugged.  

“It’s ok. I did it, too. I could have brought it up. But I didn’t. Because, honestly, I knew it would go badly and I thought it would be easier to fight than talk about it. I thought you would find it easier if I pushed you to be angry rather than pushing you to be... open. I thought if you really felt anything, it would come out in an argument. That wasn’t fair of-”  

“No, that is pretty much right on the money. You’re right. It’s so much easier to be angry with you than... than this.”  

“Are you still angry?”  

You shook your head. You were as far from angry as you’d ever been.   

“Are you still angry with me?” you countered, swallowing hard.  

“No.”  

A sigh of relief.   

“Tell me, then,” he whispered, his lips moving against yours in anticipation of a kiss.  

“Tell you what?”   

“What you want.”  

And it came out easily.  

“You.”  

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ you get drunk - so it goes...

chapter summary: On a team bonding outing to a bar, you try and prove that you can handle your alcohol.

word count: 4.5k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is a bonus chapter! i consider this taking place sometime around make you mine

this is the request that inspired this chapter - and also, brooklyn nine-nine, if you watch the show you'll understand the reference "nine drink amy." and also, i'm 20 years old and i've only had a sip of beer and a sparkling wine - and both times i asked my parents. so if anything about the drinking experience is wrong, please forgive me, i tried my best

(you do NOT have to read the series to understand this oneshot.)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, shy!reader, alcohol, drinking, getting drunk, protective!logan, fluff, light pda

series masterlist

Bars and clubs were never really your thing. Not even in college.

But since Scott suggested a team-building outing and it was a Friday night, somehow everyone agreed to go to a nearby bar in town.

You sat on a stool that had been pulled right next to Logan’s. Jean popped over, eyeing the Coke in your hand with a smirk. “You do know they sell drinks with actual alcohol in them, right?”

You glanced up at her, unimpressed. “I’m aware.”

She leaned her elbow against the bar, clearly enjoying herself. “Let me guess—one beer in college and you called it a night?”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, Logan’s hand settled on your knee, warm and steady. He wasn’t looking at Jean, just sipping his own drink, but his thumb traced absent-minded circles against your leg. You could tell he was listening.

“I’ve had beer,” you said, shifting slightly at Logan’s touch. “And wine.”

Jean raised a skeptical brow. “Uh-huh. But have you ever had a shot?”

You hesitated. “…Does cough syrup count?”

Scott, who had just approached with a beer in hand, nearly choked on his drink. Jean snorted. “Oh my God, I knew it. You’re telling me you’ve never had tequila?”

“I never said never,” you mumbled, but you weren’t convincing anyone.

Jean grinned like she just won a bet. “I don’t think you could even handle a shot.”

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “I could handle it.”

“Oh, this I gotta see.” Jean turned toward the bar. “One shot of tequila, please.”

Logan finally looked up from his drink, brows furrowing. “Oh, hell no.”

Jean smirked. “What? You scared she’s gonna get wild after half an ounce of alcohol?”

Logan’s grip on your knee tightened slightly, not in warning—just… steadying. “More like I don’t wanna deal with what happens if she doesn’t.”

You crossed your arms. “I think I can handle one shot.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “Yeah? What’s five-drink Y/N like?”

“I have no idea.”

Scott laughed. “That’s not reassuring.”

The bartender slid the shot toward you with a wedge of lime and a salt shaker. You glanced at it, suddenly feeling a little less confident under everyone’s expectant stares.

Jean leaned in. “You know how to do it, right?”

“I—I know there’s a process,” you said carefully.

Scott covered his mouth, definitely hiding a laugh. Logan sighed like this was painful for him to witness. “Jesus.”

Jean, to her credit, took pity on you. “Salt, shot, lime. In that order.”

You straightened your shoulders, then tentatively licked the back of your hand and sprinkled salt over it.

Scott shook his head. “This is already the best part of my night.”

You shot him a look before picking up the glass. The tequila smelled… strong. Probably because it was. But you weren’t about to back out now, not with Jean looking so smug.

Logan, on the other hand, looked less entertained. “You don’t have to prove anything, sweetheart.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the pet name and, before you could talk yourself out of it, licked the salt, threw back the shot, and immediately sucked on the lime.

It burned.

Like fire down your throat. You tried to keep a straight face, but your eyes watered, and you coughed a little as you set the glass back down.

Jean burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was adorable.”

Scott grinned. “Not bad for your first shot.”

You swallowed, willing the heat in your throat to settle. “That was awful.”

Jean patted your back. “Tequila always is.”

Logan shook his head, smirking despite himself. “Told you.”

You groaned, resting your forehead against the bar. “I hate you all.”

Jean was still laughing. “I swear, we need to document this. Who knows what two-drink Y/N is like?”

“Not happenin’,” Logan cut in, tone final. “She’s had her fun.”

You lifted your head, pointing a finger at him. “You just don’t want to deal with me drunk.”

Logan smirked, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Sweetheart, I can handle you just fine.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but your stomach flipped at the way he was looking at you. Jean caught the moment and waggled her brows at you before grabbing Scott’s arm. “Come on, let’s give them some space.”

Scott scoffed. “Oh, now you care about giving them space?”

Jean pulled him toward the pool table anyway, leaving you alone with Logan.

He studied you for a moment, then reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Feelin’ alright?”

You nodded, your face still warm—probably not just from the alcohol.

Logan’s thumb brushed over your cheek before he leaned in slightly, his voice lower now. “Not a fan of tequila, huh?”

You scrunched your nose. “It tastes like regret.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Stick to Coke, darlin’.”

You sighed, resting your elbow on the bar.

---

Fifteen minutes later, and the only difference you felt was a slight warmth in your chest. One shot of tequila clearly didn’t do much to you. Jean, however, was watching you like she was expecting something to happen at any moment.

You sipped your Coke, raising an eyebrow at her. “You good?”

Jean squinted at you, tilting her head like she was studying a new species. “I don’t know yet.”

Scott, who had wandered back over with another beer in hand, chuckled. “She was hoping you’d turn into ‘two-drink Y/N.’”

Jean scoffed. “No, I was hoping for three-drink Y/N. Two-drink Y/N is probably just a little sleepy. Three-drink Y/N might actually have fun.”

Logan exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. His arm was now draped over the back of your chair, and you could feel the subtle weight of his fingers resting against your shoulder. “She’s already fun,” he muttered.

Jean smirked. “Yeah, yeah. We know you think she’s perfect just the way she is, but come on—there’s gotta be a version of Y/N that’s a little more exciting than ‘science facts and sweaters.’”

You frowned. “Excuse me, sweaters are very exciting.”

Scott shook his head, amused. “Jean, she handled one shot just fine. I don’t think you’re getting a five-drink Y/N tonight.”

Jean groaned dramatically, slumping against the bar. “Fine. But I maintain my theory that she’d be fun if she actually let loose.”

Logan’s hand slid from your shoulder to your waist, his fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your shirt. “She’s fine the way she is,” he said, his voice low, like it wasn’t up for discussion.

Jean caught that, her eyes flicking between the two of you, but—for once—she didn’t tease. Instead, she sighed. “Fine, whatever. Stay boring.”

You still had your frown as you said, “I can be fun.”

Jean held up her hands. “I know you are, but—”

Before she could finish, you reached over and grabbed the shot sitting next to Ororo’s hand, ignoring the surprised look she shot you. Without hesitation, you downed it, barely giving yourself time to think.

The vodka burned even worse than the tequila. It was sharp, brutal, and somehow even less tolerable. You squeezed your eyes shut and sucked in a breath, your face twisting involuntarily. “Oh, my God—that’s awful.”

Scott nearly choked on his beer again. Jean let out a delighted laugh, clapping her hands together. “Oh, this is already the best decision you’ve ever made.”

Ororo, who had just been reaching for her shot before you stole it, gave you an amused but unimpressed look. “Did you seriously just take my drink?”

You blinked, still grimacing. “I… panicked.”

Logan, meanwhile, looked absolutely done with all of you. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Jean, grinning, nudged Scott. “Alright, what do we think? What’s two-drink Y/N gonna be like?”

Scott leaned back, smirking. “Honestly? Probably the same, just with more apologizing.”

“Hey,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “That’s not—” You paused, considering. “…Okay, that’s probably true.”

Jean leaned in, watching you carefully. “You feeling it yet?”

You swallowed, feeling a distinct warmth in your chest, your limbs a little lighter than before. Your brain felt fuzzy, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. It wasn’t overwhelming—just a little loose.

“…Maybe?” you admitted, and Jean practically beamed.

Logan, on the other hand, did not look impressed. “This was a bad idea.”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Logan. Live a little.”

“I’ve lived, Red,” he shot back, his grip still firm on your side. “And I know how this is gonna go.”

Scott grinned, amused. “What, you think she’s gonna start a bar fight?”

“No,” Logan muttered, exasperated. “I think I’m gonna have to carry her back to the damn mansion when she realizes she hates being drunk.”

You frowned, poking at his chest. “You’re underestimating me.”

Logan arched a brow, staring you down like he knew something you didn’t. “That so?”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning slightly into him, words coming a little easier now. “I can absolutely hold my liquor.”

Scott and Jean exchanged a look.

Logan tilted his head, smirking slightly. “Alright, sweetheart. We’ll see. But first let’s get you somethin’ that doesn’t taste like regret.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Coke, sweetheart. Water.” His thumb brushed against your skin before his hand dropped back to his own drink. “Somethin’ that won’t burn goin’ down.”

You blinked at him, then down at your soda, brows furrowing in thought. “Actually,” you said slowly, voice carrying a new looseness thanks to the two shots you’d taken, “carbonated drinks burn too.”

Jean, halfway through another sip of her cocktail, snorted. “What?”

“It’s true.” You nodded sagely, turning to Logan like this was very important information. “The ‘bite’ from a carbonated drink—it’s not from the bubbles themselves, like, physically. It’s actually a chemical reaction.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Oh, this is happening.”

Logan smirked against the rim of his glass. “Go on, sweetheart.”

You held up a finger, as if preparing for a lecture, oblivious to the amusement dancing in everyone’s eyes. “When you drink soda—any carbonated drink—carbon dioxide gets converted into carbonic acid by an enzyme in your mouth. That’s what causes the sting.” You lifted your glass, waving it slightly for emphasis. “It’s not actually the bubbles popping on your tongue; it’s a mild acid.”

Jean leaned in, grinning. “So you’re telling me Coke is acidic enough to hurt?”

“Not like, hurt hurt,” you clarified, pressing your glasses up the bridge of your nose with the back of your hand. “But yeah, that little tingly burn? That’s an acid reaction.”

Scott shook his head, chuckling. “Two-drink Y/N is still giving science lectures. Incredible.”

Jean groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on. Two-drink Y/N is just regular Y/N, but with slightly less hesitation.” She turned to Logan. “She’s gotta at least be more confident, right?”

Logan’s smirk deepened, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt as his arm rested against your back. “Don’t need a drink for that. She knows her shit.”

You felt a slow warmth creep up your neck at that, but—whether it was the alcohol or Logan’s steady presence beside you—you didn’t immediately shrink under the attention. Instead, you tilted your head toward Jean. “You were expecting me to be, what? Dancing on tables?”

Jean pointed at you. “Yes. Exactly. Or at least demanding another shot.”

You frowned, considering that for a moment, then shrugged. “I could have another shot.”

Logan, already knowing where this was going, gave you a pointed look. “No, you couldn’t.”

You squinted up at him, suddenly feeling emboldened. “You don’t think I can?”

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his drink down. “Darlin’—”

“I think I could.” You turned back to Jean. “Jean, get me another—”

Before you could finish, Logan’s hand landed firmly on your thigh.

“Nope.” His voice was final, edged with that no-nonsense tone that usually shut down any argument before it could start.

Jean, however, looked delighted. “Oh, come on! She’s just getting started.”

You frowned, tilting your head at him. “You think I can’t handle one more?”

Logan exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans. “I think you’ll regret it in about twenty minutes.”

You, with more grace than you thought you possessed, slid off the stool without any wobbling. “I’ll just rewind. Jeannie, gimme shot.”

Jean gasped in delight, already reaching for the bartender’s attention. “Now we’re talking!”

Logan’s hand shot out before she could even say the word ‘vodka.’ His grip was firm when he caught your wrist, tugging you back against him before you could drift too far away. “Alright, that’s enough.”

You turned, frowning up at him. “I’m fine.”

Logan’s jaw ticked, his grip still gentle but unyielding. “That ain’t the point.”

Jean, undeterred, leaned on the bar, watching the exchange like it was her favorite soap opera. “Oh, come on, Logan. She’s just getting started.”

Scott, standing beside her, sipped his beer and muttered, “I feel like this is where we should stop pushing.”

You narrowed your eyes at Logan, crossing your arms. “You’re being dramatic.”

Logan didn’t look amused. He stared at you for a long beat, then exhaled sharply. His hand slid from your wrist to settle on your hip instead, his thumb pressing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of your shirt. It was grounding, the kind of touch that had always made you feel solid.

“Sweetheart,” he said, low enough that only you could hear. “You barely drink. Two’s enough.”

You squinted up at him, tilting your head like you were considering his words. “I mean… technically, I could reset my metabolism if I just—”

Logan groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “For fuck’s sake—”

Scott snorted, while Jean grinned like she just struck gold. “Oh, my God. That’s cheating.”

“It’s science,” you corrected.

Logan huffed a short laugh, but his grip on your hip didn’t loosen. “No more drinks, Y/N.”

You gave him an exaggerated squint, like you were trying to determine if he was serious. He was. But that didn’t deter you. Maybe two drink you was just a tad bit more brave.

“Fine.” You muttered, leaning in to give him a quick kiss as your hand reached out for his whiskey glass. As soon as you pulled away, you downed the glass.

You barely had time to process what you’d done before the whiskey hit.

The burn spread slow and deep, more intense than the tequila or the vodka, and you had to fight the urge to cough. You placed the empty glass down with forced nonchalance, blinking hard against the warmth settling in your chest.

Jean gaped at you, looking equal parts impressed and delighted. “Okay, I take it back. This is the best night of my life.”

Scott let out a low whistle. “That was Logan’s drink. That’s a real drink.”

Logan, on the other hand, looked downright exasperated. His fingers tightened on your hip, and you didn’t have to look at him to know he was fighting the urge to throw you over his shoulder and haul you out of the bar right then and there.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, his voice dropping an octave.

You turned to him, blinking a little slower than usual. “Why not?”

Logan sighed, rubbing his thumb against his temple. “Because now I gotta deal with three-drink you.”

Jean leaned forward eagerly. “Yes, what is three-drink Y/N like?”

Logan just exhaled, his grip on you still firm, as if he was physically bracing for impact.

You, meanwhile, felt… good. Warm. Light. A little floaty, but still in control. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You stretched your arms over your head, leaning into Logan as you did. “I feel fine,” you assured them, the words coming out a little slower than you intended.

Jean squinted at you. “Huh.”

Scott observed you, tilting his head like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “So far, she’s just regular Y/N but slightly more relaxed.”

Jean frowned, disappointed. “Boring.”

You stuck your tongue out at her, and she grinned. “There we go. That’s some personality.”

Logan shook his head. “She’s not boring.” His hand slid from your hip to rest more securely on your lower back. “She’s fine.”

Jean opened her mouth, but before she could say anything else, someone called her name from the other side of the bar. She groaned. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll be right back. Try not to let her turn into four-drink Y/N while I’m gone.”

Scott followed her, still chuckling, leaving you and Logan alone at the bar.

And that’s when it happened. The moment Jean stepped away, something in you shifted.

You turned in your seat, leaning fully into Logan, pressing yourself against his side without hesitation. “You’re so warm,” you mumbled, resting your head against his shoulder.

Logan’s hand immediately settled on your thigh, instinctively keeping you steady. “Darlin’…” His voice was wary.

You sighed, curling closer into him, not a single ounce of your usual shyness present. “Seriously, why are you always this warm? It’s nice.”

Logan cleared his throat. “Whiskey hit, huh?”

You nodded against his shoulder, your fingers idly tracing along his bicep. “Mhm.”

Logan huffed, shaking his head. “Should’ve seen this comin’.”

You ignored him, too busy running your hands up and down his arm. “Your muscles are ridiculous, you know that?”

Logan’s breath hitched. “Y/N…”

“You’re so strong,” you continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. You squeezed his bicep appreciatively. “Like, stupidly strong. It’s unfair.”

Logan groaned, running a hand down his face. “Christ.”

Unbothered, you shifted, draping your legs over his lap without thinking. “I like you,” you murmured, tracing little patterns against his chest now.

Logan exhaled sharply. “You like me?” he repeated, amused.

“Yeah.” You rested your chin on his shoulder, looking up at him with wide, slightly dazed eyes. “Did I ever tell you that?”

Logan’s lips twitched. “A couple times.”

“Well, I do.” You reached up, booping his nose with your fingertip. “You’re my favorite.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “Three-drink you is real affectionate, huh?”

You hummed in agreement, snuggling even closer. “Mhm.” Your arms wound around his neck, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “You smell good.”

Logan froze for half a second before letting out a slow, steady breath. His hand tightened on your thigh.  “You do,” you insisted, pressing your nose against his collarbone. “All woods-y and nice and… Logan.”

Logan muttered something under his breath, his other hand landing on your waist. “You’re gonna be real embarrassed about this in the morning.”

You scoffed, tightening your arms around him. “No, I won’t. I like you.”

Logan sighed, tilting his head down to rest against yours for a moment. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know.”

Scott and Jean returned just in time to witness you clinging to Logan like a koala, your legs still draped over his lap, your face buried in his neck.

Jean blinked. “What the hell happened?”

Scott grinned. “Three-drink Y/N is just really into Logan.”

Jean gaped. “That’s it? That’s three-drink Y/N?”

Scott shrugged. “I mean, she did just tell Logan she likes him five times in a row.”

Jean groaned. “This is not what I was expecting.”

Scott took another sip of his beer. “Honestly? It’s better.”

Logan ignored them both, his focus solely on you as you sighed happily against him, completely content.

“You ready to go home, sweetheart?” he murmured, his fingers brushing gently against your lower back.

You nodded sleepily, nuzzling into his neck. “Mhm. Take me home, Logan.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, alright, darlin’.”

And without another word, he slid one arm under your legs, the other around your back, and lifted you effortlessly into his arms.

Jean watched in disbelief. “She’s just letting you carry her?”

Logan smirked, adjusting his hold on you as you clung to him. “Guess she really likes me.”

Jean groaned. “This is so unfair.”

Scott just laughed. “You wanted to know what three-drink Y/N was like.”

Jean sighed, watching as Logan carried you toward the door, your arms still looped around his neck, your fingers lazily playing with his hair.

“…Okay, yeah,” she admitted. “This is hilarious.”

---

Logan had to carry you from the truck all the way to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed before kneeling down to slip off your shoes.

You sighed dramatically as he pulled the first one off, your fingers lazily curling into the blanket beneath you. “You’re so nice,” you mumbled, watching him with a dazed expression.

Logan huffed out a quiet laugh, tugging off the second shoe. “Yeah? That the whiskey talkin’?”

“Nooo.” You shook your head, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. “I mean, yes. But also no.”

Logan smirked as he set your shoes aside, “that so?”

“Mhm.” You blinked up at him, blinking a little slower than usual. “You’re always takin’ care of me.”

Logan didn’t respond right away. “Somebody’s gotta do it,” he muttered, tugging at the hem of your jeans. “Lift your hips.”

You complied without question, too caught up in watching him to argue. He made quick work of sliding your jeans down, his hands firm but careful, never lingering in a way that suggested anything other than pure intention. Still, the warmth of his touch sent a pleasant shiver up your spine.

Once they were off, Logan sat back on his heels, looking up at you. “That better?”

You hummed, stretching out on the bed, now clad in just your t-shirt and underwear. “Yeah.”

Logan stood, reaching for the blanket. “Alright, let’s get you tucked in.”

But before he could pull it over you, you grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”

Logan stilled, brow raising. “What?”

You tugged lightly, urging him closer. “Stay?”

Logan let out a slow breath, his gaze flicking over your face, taking in the soft flush on your cheeks, the slight haze still lingering in your eyes. He shook his head with a smirk, amused but fond. “You’re real clingy when you drink, huh?”

You frowned, your grip tightening on his wrist. “I’m always clingy.”

Logan’s smirk faltered just slightly. His expression softened in a way that made your stomach feel warm, even through the fog of alcohol. He sighed, shaking his head again. “Yeah, sweetheart. You are.”

You took that as permission and pulled harder, forcing him to sit down beside you. The second he did, you just stared at a spot on his shoulder, your eyebrows furrowed. You pushed your glasses up before looking him in the eyes and tugging his shirt. “Take it off.”

Logan’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “Take it off?” he echoed, watching you tug at his shirt with surprising determination.

You nodded, your fingers curling tighter into the fabric. “Yeah,” you said, the slight haze of the whiskey making your voice softer, slower. “It’s in the way.”

His smirk deepened. “In the way of what?”

“Of your arms.”

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “My arms?”

You nodded, tugging at his shirt with surprisingly strong determination for someone three drinks in. “Mhm. They’re nice.”

Logan sighed, but there was no real exasperation behind it. “Darlin’, you got a real bad habit of talkin’ sweet when you’re tipsy.”

You ignored that, your fingers still curled into his shirt. “You sleep without it sometimes. I like that.”

He huffed, amused but fond, and reached behind his head, pulling the shirt off in one easy motion. The second it was gone, your hands were on him—slow, sleepy, tracing over his biceps and shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

A low sound rumbled from Logan’s chest, something caught between a sigh and a chuckle. “You’re real touchy tonight, huh?”

“You’re always warm,” you mumbled, your palms pressing lightly over his collarbones before smoothing down to his chest.

Logan didn’t stop you, didn’t move away. He just sat there, watching you with an unreadable expression as you mapped out the familiar terrain of him, your touches lazy, aimless, like you weren’t even thinking about it.

Then you shifted slightly, your knee bumping against his side as you moved closer. Your hands slid to his forearms, fingers trailing lightly over the scars that never quite healed. “You know what else?”

Logan tilted his head. “What else?”

You rested your forehead against his shoulder, sighing happily. “You’re so strong.”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart—”

“No, really.” You pulled back just enough to poke lightly at his bicep. “You could lift a car.”

“I have lifted a car,” he reminded you.

“See?” You beamed up at him, eyes bright even through the whiskey haze. “Ridiculous.”

Logan exhaled, shaking his head like he didn’t know what to do with you. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but his hand found your waist, fingers pressing lightly over your shirt.

You didn’t mind that. In fact, you leaned into it, your arms looping loosely around his neck as you sighed, your body sinking against his. “You always take care of me.”

Logan’s grip tightened slightly, his other hand settling against your back, rubbing slow circles. “Somebody’s gotta keep you from makin’ bad decisions.”

You hummed, clearly content. “I don’t make bad decisions.”

He snorted. “You stole Ororo’s drink tonight.”

You pouted against his shoulder. “That was a small mistake.”

“Uh-huh.”

You sighed, shifting again, adjusting yourself so you could curl into him properly. His arms wrapped around you easily, like this was second nature. “You take care of me,” you mumbled again. “I like that.”

Logan’s chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know.”

You were quiet for a long moment, the whiskey making your limbs heavier, your thoughts softer. Then, in the same sleepy voice, you murmured, “you always have.”

Logan stilled.

You didn’t notice. You were already drifting, your breath slowing against his shoulder, your body completely relaxed in his arms.

But Logan noticed.

His hand paused against your back, fingers flexing slightly before smoothing over your spine again.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what you meant. You wouldn’t have an answer, anyway.

Instead, he just held you a little tighter—after he took off your glasses—grounding himself in the steady sound of your breathing, in the warmth of you against him.

And as you finally slipped into sleep, Logan exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before shifting you gently onto the pillows.

“Always,” he murmured, tucking the blanket around you.

Then he slid in beside you, letting you cling to him as much as you wanted.

[soluversworld]

MISTER x SHOUJO - Subaru Oogami x G.N Reader part 3

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Words:

Genre: G.N Reader (Fluff, Angst!)

Summary: You and Geo navigate an unconventional relationship built on misunderstanding, tension, and unexpected moments of connection. After a lie spirals out of control, rumors spread that Geo is your boyfriend, much to the confusion of everyone around you—including Geo himself. Despite his cold and hostile demeanor, Geo reluctantly agrees to play along, but only for his own peace and solitude.

Geo’s sharp, broody personality often leaves you feeling uncertain and overwhelmed. He doesn’t hesitate to criticize you, flick your forehead when you talk back, or scold you for minor mistakes. Yet, he also protects you, whether from prying classmates or persistent admirers, and even takes your hand to make a show of your “relationship” when his friends are watching.

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of

Tension-filled dynamics with elements of power imbalance and verbal hostility’s

Rumors and social pressures leading to feelings of alienation and discomfort.

Physical gestures of dominance (e.g., flicking foreheads, pinching).

Underlying themes of unresolved trauma and complex family dynamics

Solivan Brugmanisa

Violence, Blood

EXTRA: He’s a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, Been reading a lot of Shoujo mangas why not! Make Geo and reader in such a simple plot!

Me basically to TKATB at this point

It had been a few days since that night. Geo had been close—physically near you in class, walking beside you when schedules aligned—but he hadn’t opened his mouth to speak even once. His presence was there, a silent weight lingering just within reach, yet he felt so far away.

You didn’t question it at first. Maybe this was just how he was. Maybe he didn’t have anything to say. Maybe, deep down, you were scared to push for answers.

But today was different.

Geo wasn’t in class.

That wasn’t normal.

You found yourself frowning, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling creeping into your stomach. It wasn’t like you were worried—Geo was more than capable of handling himself—but still… something felt off.

The whispers in the hallways didn’t help. The absence of his brooding presence was enough to stir murmurs among the students. Even the professors looked surprised to see his usual seat empty.

Finally, during a break, you cornered Crowe near the student council office. He had his usual calm, unreadable expression as he flipped through some documents.

"Where’s Geo?" you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, but the slight tension in your voice betrayed you.

Crowe barely looked up. "Sick."

You blinked. "Sick?"

Crowe nodded, still scanning the papers in his hands. "Yeah. Caught a cold or something."

You frowned. "Someone like him actually gets sick?"

Crowe finally looked at you with a faint smirk. "He’s human, you know. Not some untouchable deity, despite what half the student body believes."

You hesitated, not sure why that answer made your chest feel tight.

"Anyway," Crowe continued, flipping to the next page. "I need to deliver this document to him, but I’m swamped with council work. If you could—"

"What?" you interrupted.

Crowe glanced at you, amusement flickering in his eyes. "You’re his lover, aren’t you? He might actually be happy to see you."

You immediately looked away, feeling a heat rise to your face. "We’re not—"

"You’re close enough," Crowe said, waving off your weak protest. "You’re the best candidate."

You stood there for a moment, gripping the strap of your bag. You could say no. You could let someone else handle it. But before you could find the words to refuse, your own traitorous voice mumbled, "…Okay."

Crowe’s smile widened slightly, like he’d expected that answer all along. He handed you the document, and before you could second-guess yourself, you took it.

Geo’s place wasn’t what you expected.

Despite knowing he was rich, his home wasn’t a grand mansion or some absurd penthouse. It was sleek, modern, and surprisingly quiet. The kind of place that felt detached from the world, just like him.

You stood outside his door, the document in one hand, your other hesitating mid-air as you debated knocking.

Why were you nervous?

It wasn’t like this was some big deal.

Finally, before your overthinking could spiral further, you knocked.

Standing outside Geo’s apartment door, you took a deep breath before knocking.

No answer.

You knocked again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

For a moment, you debated leaving. Maybe Crowe had been messing with you. Maybe Geo was fine, just skipping classes like an arrogant bastard.

But the way Crowe had said, “Geo’s sick”—it lingered in your mind. The guy never got sick, so it felt wrong.

You tried again, this time speaking up.

“It’s me.”

Silence. Then, muffled shuffling from inside.

The door cracked open slightly, and you barely had time to see his face before he grumbled, “How the hell did you get my address?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You decided against lying. “Crowe gave it to me.”

Geo let out a slow, tired exhale, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes—usually sharp and piercing—looked dull, the dark circles beneath them standing out even more against his pale skin. His hair was slightly messy, strands falling over his forehead, and his hoodie was barely hanging onto his shoulders.

He looked terrible.

And terrifying.

Great combination.

“Fantastic,” he muttered sarcastically. “You did it. You found me. Now go.”

Before you could argue, he turned back into his apartment. But in his tired haze, he miscalculated his steps—his shoulder slammed into the doorpost, making him stagger.

Then, as if the universe decided to humiliate him further, the door itself swung in, slamming into his back as it slowly creaked shut.

Geo let out a weak thud as he crumpled onto the floor.

You stared.

“…Geo?”

No response.

Your stomach dropped, and without thinking, you shoved the door open wider, rushing inside. You crouched beside him, panic creeping into your voice. “Hey—Geo, are you—”

No answer.

Your hands trembled slightly as you touched his shoulder, trying to shake him awake. He was burning up.

Shit.

Muttering a curse, you hooked your arms under his, trying to lift him. He was heavy—which made sense considering he was taller than you, but still. With some effort, you managed to drag him toward his bed, awkwardly maneuvering until he was sprawled across it.

You let out a sigh, standing back and catching your breath. His blanket was half-kicked off, so you grabbed it and pulled it over him.

His breathing was slow but steady. His face, though flushed with fever, was still that same unreadable expression. He looked… weirdly vulnerable like this.

You sat at the edge of the bed, frowning. “Did you take any medicine?”

His eyelids barely lifted. “…No.”

You crossed your arms. “Why?”

He groaned, shifting under the blanket. “I’ll sleep it off. Get out.”

You ignored him, pulling out your phone to search how to make rice porridge. If he wouldn’t take medicine, at least he needed something.

But before you could even start, Geo suddenly pushed himself up and reached for your phone, snatching it right out of your hands.

“No need to butt in,” he muttered, his voice hoarse but still laced with that same cold arrogance.

You blinked at him in disbelief. “Geo, you literally just collapsed—”

“Not your problem,” he cut in, tossing your phone back to you before falling back onto the bed.

You caught your phone with a slight stammer, your mind short-circuiting.

The next day, Geo still didn’t show up to class.

You were done.

Like, completely, mentally, emotionally, physically done.

Fine. He didn’t want your help? Cool. But the stubborn idiot wasn’t even taking care of himself. You didn’t know why it pissed you off so much. Maybe because of how arrogant he was, thinking he could just sleep off a fever like some kind of unbreakable warrior.

Well, guess what? He was broken. You saw him collapse.

And now, like it or not, you were going to fix this mess.

There was just one problem.

You had no idea how to cook.

Like, at all. The last time you tried making instant noodles, you somehow burned the water.

So, there was only one solution left.

You had to ask the one person you hated the most.

Your emo older brother.

You hesitated before calling. It had been a while since you actually reached out to him. Partly because he was an annoying stalker toward someone. Partly because he had this weird way of making you feel like a little kid again. And partly because, well… you just didn’t talk much anymore.

Still, you pressed the call button.

The phone rang a few times before a tired, groggy voice answered.

“Who’s this?”

Oh, right. You never actually gave him your number.

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the phone tighter. For a split second, you considered just hanging up.

Then, in a slightly awkward tone, you said, “…Hey, brother.”

Silence.

Then, a slow, drawn-out sigh. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

Then, finally, “Why are you calling?”

You took a deep breath. “I need… a favor.”

That caught his attention. “A favor?” His voice perked up just slightly. “Did hell freeze over?”

You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to hang up right then and there.

“I need some recipes,” you continued. “For someone who has a fever.”

A long pause. Then, suspiciously, “Who?”

You groaned. “None of your business.”

“Hmm.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “A ‘friend,’ huh?”

You felt your eye twitch.

“Just give me the recipes, Sol.”

Sol hummed in thought. “I could cook it up for you.”

“No.” You shot that down immediately. “Just the recipes.”

Another long pause.

“…Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll text them to you.”

“…Thanks.”

A small chuckle. “Didn’t think you’d ever ask me for help.”

You sighed. “Yeah, well. Desperate times.”

There was a strange pause on his end. Then, in a quieter voice, he said, “Take care.”

You swallowed, caught off guard.

“…You too.”

The call ended.

You stared at your phone for a moment, your chest feeling oddly tight.

Sol was still a weirdo. A stalker to someone else. A mess in his own right.

That's all.

You needed an excuse. A good one. Something solid enough that Geo wouldn’t immediately slam the door in your face again.

So, naturally, you went to Crowe.

The student council president glanced up from his desk when you approached, his sharp eyes laced with curiosity. “Yes?”

You hesitated for a moment before finally blurting, “I need a reason to visit Geo.”

Crowe’s expression barely shifted, but you could tell he was amused. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. “Why?”

Not wanting to explain yourself, you quickly scanned the nearest stack of papers on his desk—Geo’s test results. Without thinking, you grabbed them.

“I’ll deliver these,” you announced.

Crowe looked worried Y/n, It's fine-

You ignored him, shoving the documents into your bag. “See ya.”

You turned to leave, Crowe chuckled under his breath. “Both of you are stubborn, I do miss M-, They got a boyfriend now...hm.."

Geo looked like he regretted opening the door the second he saw you.

His feverish aquamarine eyes flickered with annoyance as he grumbled, “How the hell did you get my address again?”

You held up the test results. “Crowe sent me. Thought you’d want these.”

Geo’s tired stare lingered on you, his gaze heavy with skepticism. He exhaled slowly, as if debating whether you were worth dealing with.

Rather than wait for an invitation, you stepped inside.

Behind you, you heard a muffled, “The hell—” but Geo was too exhausted to physically stop you.

His house was immaculate, yet the signs of sickness were obvious. Half-finished water bottles littered the table, crumpled tissues sat on the couch, and there, on his nightstand, was an untouched pack of medicine.

So that’s how it was.

You turned back to him.

He stood stiffly, arms crossed, dressed in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. His normally sharp features were dulled by exhaustion, lips pale, dark hair slightly unkempt. His fever made his already fair complexion flush slightly, giving him an almost vulnerable look—if not for the constant glare he threw your way.

You sighed. “Go back to bed.”

“I was in bed until you knocked on my door.”

Ignoring him, you stepped forward. He instinctively tried to block you, but you reached out, gripping his shoulders firmly.

Then, without much thought, you pushed him back.

Unfortunately, you underestimated just how stubbornly solid he was.

Which resulted in the both of you tumbling backward.

Straight onto the bed.

You landed on top of him, your hands planted on his chest, his arms half-raised as if debating whether to shove you off.

Silence stretched between you.

Geo’s fevered gaze bore into yours, his lips parting slightly before pressing into a tight line. His grip on your waist was hesitant, like he wasn’t sure whether to push or hold you in place.

His breath was warm against your cheek.

“…Was this necessary?” His voice, though rough, was eerily calm.

Your entire body tensed. “S-Sorry!”

You scrambled off him so fast that you nearly fell again.

As you moved, your bag tipped over, and its contents spilled across his bed—packs of medicine, fever patches, a sports drink, a whole damn arsenal of cold remedies.

Geo stared at the mess. Then at you.

“…Are you trying to drown me in medicine?”

You huffed, brushing off his sarcasm. “You need it.”

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, exhaling sharply. “I told you—I’m fine.”

“You look awful.”

“That’s just my natural state.”

Your fingers curled into fists. This idiot. This absolute moron.

Geo’s gaze darkened slightly. “What’s your deal?”

“What?”

“You came here, barged in, and now you’re playing doctor.” His fevered stare pinned you in place. “What do you want? You trying to put me in your debt?”

The accusation hit you like a slap.

You blinked at him. “What? No.”

“Then why?” His voice was quiet, but sharp, cutting straight through you.

Why?

You didn’t have an answer.

You had no logical reason.

You just wanted to be here.

“…I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Geo said nothing.

Then, with a tired sigh, he leaned back against the pillows, muttering, “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile a little.

He didn’t throw you out.

It wasn’t just one message. Or two.

It was ten.

From Sol.

[Sol]: Here. Easy-to-make recipes for someone with a fever. [Sol]: Don’t mess it up. [Sol]: Actually, knowing you, you will. [Sol]: Try not to set anything on fire. [Sol]: …Actually, do you even know how to cook? [Sol]: If not, just tell me, I’ll make something and drop it off. [Sol]: Hello??? [Sol]: Why are you ignoring me? [Sol]: Fine, good luck burning down the kitchen. [Sol]: Call me when you inevitably fail.

You stared at the flood of messages, lips twitching.

No way in hell were you going to admit that Sol was right.

So, instead of just picking one recipe like a normal person, you did the most idiotic thing imaginable.

You made all ten.

The kitchen became a war zone of pots, ingredients, and sheer stubborn determination. Rice porridge, miso soup, some kind of soft omelet dish—each one made with painstaking effort. You tasted everything, ensuring it was at least edible. Surprisingly, nothing tasted bad. Maybe even… okay?

The next morning, you returned to Geo’s place, knocking sharply.

When he opened the door, his feverish eyes flickered in confusion at the sight of you holding an entire tray stacked with food.

“What the fuck?” His voice was hoarse, his confusion genuine. “Are you stupid?”

You ignored the insult and brushed past him, entering his home like you owned the place. You set the tray on his table and turned to him with a proud grin.

“I made food,” you announced.

Geo pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “Yeah, I can see that.”

You motioned toward the dishes. “Eat.”

Geo rubbed his temples, muttering, “You made way too much. Why the hell—”

“I didn’t care,” you cut in. “I just… wanted to make sure you had options.”

Geo stared at you.

Then at the ridiculous amount of food.

Then back at you.

“…You’re an idiot.”

“You’re welcome.”

He sighed, stepping toward the table. His movements were sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion. Even as he sat down, he barely touched the food, his fingers loosely gripping the chopsticks.

“I’m tired,” he muttered. “I’ll eat later.”

Your eye twitched.

Like hell you were going to let all that effort go to waste.

You picked up a spoonful of porridge and held it up to his mouth. “Then I’ll feed you.”

Geo’s entire body tensed.

Then, like a lightning bolt struck him, he shot up from his chair, snatched the chopsticks, and started eating at a speed you didn’t think was possible for a sick person.

You blinked.

And then, slowly, a giggle escaped your lips.

Geo glared at you, his expression sharp despite the slight flush on his cheeks—whether from fever or embarrassment, you weren’t sure. “Shut up.”

You giggled again, covering your mouth. “Your stupid pride is hilarious.”

Geo scowled, shoving another bite of food into his mouth.

But he kept eating.

And somehow, despite the insults, despite the glares, despite the fever and his sheer stubbornness—

You couldn’t help but feel warm.

Here's your continuation in a rich narrative style:

The quiet hum of the faucet filled the kitchen as you scrubbed the last dish, the warm water running over your fingers. The apartment was eerily silent, except for the occasional soft rustle of blankets from the other room.

Geo had finally fallen asleep.

You exhaled, glancing toward the door leading to his room. The exhaustion on his face earlier had been evident—dark circles under his aquamarine eyes, the way his shoulders sagged just slightly more than usual. He had been running on sheer stubbornness.

At least now, for a little while, he was resting.

Somewhere deep in sleep, Geo’s dream began to take shape.

Snow.

It was always snow.

He stood in a field of white, untouched and pristine, the cold air crisp against his skin. Small figures dotted the landscape—snowmen, uneven and clumsily built, their lopsided heads tilting as if caught mid-thought.

He knew these snowmen.

He had built them before.

The memory surfaced unbidden—tiny hands, gloves too big, laughter ringing in the air as two children shaped mounds of snow into something resembling people.

His people. Your people.

His gaze flickered over the frozen figures. There, in the middle, stood the ones you both had made to look like each other.

But something was wrong.

Yours was collapsed. Fallen to the ground, half-melted, as if abandoned.

Geo stepped forward, reaching out—

But before he could fix it, the dream shattered.

His eyes snapped open.

A soft warmth pressed against his forehead.

He tensed.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming. The dim glow of his bedside lamp illuminated the room, and there you were, leaning over him, fingers lightly touching his forehead as if checking his temperature.

Your expression was focused, careful, unaware that he had woken up.

“…Sorry.”

Your voice broke the silence as you noticed his open eyes. You quickly pulled your hand away. “Did I wake you up?”

Geo blinked, disoriented. His body still felt heavy with fever, his mind sluggish—but there was something else. A lingering sense of unease, a whisper of a feeling he didn’t quite understand.

His voice was rough when he spoke.

“…Were you here the entire time?”

You hesitated. “I… yeah.”

Geo sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead as if trying to make sense of everything. His gaze flickered toward you, sharp but unreadable.

Then, with quiet suspicion, he asked, “What are you trying to get out of this?”

You froze. “What?”

His expression remained guarded, a hint of wariness behind his fever-clouded eyes. “You’re like this—helping, acting nice. You must be after something.”

A heavy pause.

Then, you let out a sigh, rubbing your temples. “Why do you always look at everything that way?”

Geo didn’t answer.

You shook your head. “I didn’t do this because I had to. I did it because I wanted to.”

Your words hung in the air between you.

Geo’s lips parted slightly as if he wanted to argue, but no words came out. His mind raced, trying to place this feeling—the way his stomach twisted at your sincerity, the way his chest ached with something unfamiliar.

You looked at him, your voice softer this time. “You need to stop this.”

Geo swallowed, his throat dry. “Stop what?”

You exhaled, eyes searching his. “Pushing people away.”

Silence.

For once, Geo didn’t have a quick, snide remark.

He just… sat there. Looking at you.

And for the first time, in a long time, he felt something he couldn’t quite define.

You picked up the glass of water from the bedside table, the cool condensation wetting your fingers. Geo was still staring at you, his expression unreadable, fever-glazed eyes watching your every movement as if trying to decipher something.

“Drink this,” you said simply, holding out the glass.

He didn’t move at first, just kept looking at you with that strange, lingering gaze. You sighed, pushing the glass closer. “Geo.”

Finally, he took it, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting second before he pulled away. He brought the glass to his lips, drinking slowly, deliberately. You watched him, making sure he didn’t do something stupid like refuse halfway.

The tension from earlier still hung in the air, thick and heavy, but you decided to ignore it.

As soon as he finished, you placed the empty glass back on the table and grabbed your bag. “Alright,” you said, standing up. “You should rest. I’ll be going now.”

Geo was silent.

You turned to leave, but just as your hand reached for the door, his voice stopped you.

“…Why?”

You paused, glancing back. “Why what?”

He shifted slightly under the blanket, his aquamarine eyes dark and serious despite the fever’s haze. “Why are you doing this?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “I already told you.”

“I want to hear it again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because I wanted to, not because I had to.”

Geo didn’t respond right away. He just kept looking at you like he was trying to unravel something in his head. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say more, but then he hesitated, gaze flickering away.

You waited for a moment, but when he didn’t say anything else, you turned back toward the door.

“…Get better soon, Geo.”

The next morning, you found yourself running through the familiar streets, the cold morning air stinging your lungs. You didn’t even think about it—you just ran, feet pounding against the pavement, until you reached Geo’s apartment complex.

Your heart was racing, though you weren’t sure if it was from running or from something else entirely.

As you reached his door, you saw him—already outside, dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, locking his door.

You skidded to a stop, panting. “What the—? Geo! What are you doing?”

He glanced at you, unimpressed. “Going to the store.”

Your brows furrowed. “The store?” You stepped closer, grabbing his wrist. “You literally had a fever yesterday! You should still be resting!”

He clicked his tongue, trying to pull his arm away, but you tightened your grip and pushed him back inside. “Nope. You’re not going anywhere.”

Geo scowled, but before he could argue, you had already shoved him toward his bed, forcing him to sit. He gave you a glare that could probably kill a lesser person, but you weren’t fazed. You grabbed his wrist, checking his temperature with the back of your hand.

Normal. No more fever.

You let out a sigh of relief, but your hands stayed on him just a second longer than necessary. “You’re better now,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

Geo stayed quiet, watching you with a strange expression. He seemed to be lost in thought, his eyes unreadable as he studied your face.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

“…Thank you.”

You froze. “Huh?”

“I said thank you,” he repeated, voice quieter this time, like it physically hurt him to say it.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You stared at him, feeling like you had just witnessed something rare—something no one else had ever seen before.

Geo, saying thank you.

The moment felt too surreal.

“I thought you hated this kind of thing,” you finally managed to say.

“I do,” he replied. His gaze flickered away for a second, as if debating whether or not he should keep talking. “…I hate people who go out of their way to show how big their hearts are. People who want to prove something by helping others. Love letters, fake kindness, people who think they’re saints.” His voice darkened. “People like my brother.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden mention of his brother, but before you could ask, he continued.

“…But you’re different.” His eyes met yours again, calmer now. “You didn’t have any ulterior motives. You just did it.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “So, I don’t mind thanking you.”

Your face felt warm.

You swallowed, gripping your hoodie’s sleeves. “You’re acting weird,” you blurted out, trying to lighten the moment. “Maybe your fever isn’t gone.”

You reached up, placing your hand on his forehead without thinking. But before you could even process the warmth of his skin against your palm, Geo’s hand shot up, catching your wrist mid-air.

“I’m fine,” he said. His grip was firm, his touch lingering just a second too long.

You felt heat crawl up your neck.

Panic kicked in. “R-Right! Okay! Uh—” You yanked your wrist back, stumbling over your words. “Then, uh, I’ll just—go! Yeah! Bye!”

And before you could embarrass yourself further, you spun around and bolted out of his apartment.

As you ran down the street, your heart was hammering against your ribs, your face burning.

And then—

“Hahahaha—”

A laugh bubbled out of your throat, uncontrollable, giddy.

You clutched your chest, still breathless from running.

You really, really liked him.

You kept running, but your brain was running even faster.

Why?

Why the hell was my heart beating so fast? To him? Of all people?

You didn’t slow down until you turned the corner, out of sight from his apartment. Then, without thinking, you smacked your own forehead.

"Get a grip!" you hissed to yourself, pacing in a frantic circle. "This is Geo we’re talking about! He’s an asshole! He’s rude, cynical, hates people—"

Your voice trailed off as your heartbeat betrayed you again, thudding against your ribs like a traitor.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

Why did he have to say it like that?

You didn’t have any ulterior motives. You just did it.

That wasn’t something Geo would normally say. He wasn’t the type to acknowledge kindness, let alone thank someone for it.

And that look in his eyes…

You groaned again, this time smacking your forehead against the nearest lamppost.

Maybe you were the one with the fever.

Shaking off the thought, you forced yourself to keep walking, determined to shove whatever this was deep, deep down.

But your fingers still tingled where he had grabbed your wrist.

[mybigsnowman]

my sweet vet

pairing vet zayne x gender neutral reader

summary Are there any ethical issues when it comes to dating your vet, and do they even matter when he's Zayne?

tags second-person pov, meet-cute, pre-relationship, getting to know each other, some hurt/comfort, animal death

word count 4.2k

note SFW fic, animal death is non-descriptive but blood is mentioned. reader is left vague, no physical descriptions or gendered words used so that anyone can enjoy it. it can also be read as mc, for all i know this could be another flower in his garden.

cross posted from ao3

“Is it weird to ask my vet out on a date?”

“Well, he's not your doctor…” Tara answers after giving it some thought. “He treats your cats.”

“Sure, but is it weird?” You sigh and place your forehead down on the table. “What if he's just nice to me ‘cause it's his job?”

“Then he’ll tell you that.”

You raise your head to glare at her, she really was no help. You’ve been stressing over this for weeks. You even started searching online forums out of desperation. The consensus was that it would probably end up badly, apparently, vets were nice to all their clients – it came with the job.

But, you weren’t sure if calling Zayne your vet was right. He wasn’t just a vet to you when you first met at the animal shelter. You were a volunteer long before Zayne showed up.

The day you met him was quiet. You’d just shown around some school kids who were interested in walking the dogs before heading back to the main building to check up on the kittens. Someone had dropped off a box of week-old kittens and they were on a strict feeding schedule. As cute as they were, it was exhausting, and the shelter was already understaffed. 

You opened the door to the isolation room quietly, trying your best not to wake the kittens up, but it was pointless as someone was already in the room trying to feed them. You watched from behind as the man struggled with the kittens. Two of them were scaling his body. One was already on his head, and another was sucking on the fabric of his trousers. 

You held back a laugh as you approached him. “Hey, do you need some help with that?”

“Please.”

“Let me get them off you.” You reached out for the one on his head, and untangled the small paws from his hair, trying not to hurt either of them in the process. 

Once you'd gotten all but one of the kittens in the crate, you turned back to him. “You should probably keep them separated and feed them one by one.”

“They didn’t give me a chance.”

He was funny. 

“I didn’t get your name.”

“Zayne.” 

You introduced yourself to him and began demonstrating how to properly bottle-feed the kittens. “Make sure to keep them on their stomach while you feed them, and angle the bottle like this, it mimics the way the mothers feed them. Just open their mouth with your finger gently if they’re refusing, they don’t have a choice, they have to drink this.”

After your demonstration, you handed him the bottle. “Here, you try.”

He held the kitten carefully and copied you perfectly.

“Good job, you're a natural.” You grimaced at the tone you’d used to praise him, you typically helped out younger people but surely it was embarrassing for an adult to be spoken to that way.

He made no comment about it and you both continued with bottle-feeding the kittens. You showed him how to stimulate the kittens and you both worked at making sure they all used the bathroom before placing them back in their crate to sleep.

Once you were done, the place was a mess. The heavy smell of kitten formula filled the room as drops of it covered the floor and both of your clothes. 

“Don’t worry, it’s always this messy,” you said as you stood up. “I’ll get you a towel.”

You left the isolation room and made your way to the storage room to grab a few clean towels. You returned to see Zayne making little snowflakes for one of the older cats in the room. You watched him from behind, not wanting to disturb the moment. As the snowflakes subsided, you saw him hesitantly reach out for the cat, who in turn backed away. You noticed a shift in his shoulders, he was dejected, but he withdrew, not forcing an interaction. It was sweet – he was sweet.

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

A few days after your first meeting you’d seen his name on the doctor’s volunteer list and felt embarrassed. You’d talked his head off while teaching him how to feed the kittens but he’d already known all of it. It made sense, minus the out-of-control kittens, he was good at it.

You confronted him about it once you finally found him in the storage room. He was organising the cleaning supplies, going by with his day like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t tricked you.

“Hey, I saw your name on the doctor volunteer list,” you started, your tone accusatory. “Why didn't you say anything when I was acting like such a know-it-all?”

“I appreciated your help.”

“Sure, sure,” you said as you leaned against the shelf. “Must’ve been annoying.”

“I assure you it was not. You’re very knowledgeable.” His deep voice was earnest as he complimented you. He wasn’t trying to embarrass you at all. 

Still, you were embarrassed, both by his compliment and your first meeting, and you looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze. Your eyes drifted to his hands, and you watched as he folded the towels with ease. His large, skilled hands got through them faster than you ever could.

You felt awkward just standing there so you spoke up again, “Let me help you.”

“You really like helping, don't you?”

You huffed in amusement, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a proper laugh. Your conversations felt too familiar, like you’d known each other for eons. You didn’t feel the need to reply or to keep up a charade of unnecessary social interactions, so you fell into a comfortable silence as you helped each other out with cleaning the storage room. You noticed the ease of your actions, you flowed with each other, never colliding. It came easy. It felt natural. 

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

Although most volunteers tend to come and go, Zayne was diligent. He’d attend every Saturday and help around until the sun had set, and despite your awkward first encounter, you found yourself drawn to his company. You’d even plucked up the courage to join him for lunch after seeing him alone all the time. 

You discovered a lot about him from your first shared lunch. It was an unbearably hot day and you could feel the uncomfortable sensation of your shirt sticking to your sweaty skin. The heat dampened your mood and you were miserable. However, that instantly changed once you saw a familiar figure having lunch at one of the picnic tables. 

You approached him carefully, a part of you hoping to scare him but you held back. “Hey, mind if I join you?” 

“Go ahead.” You barely noticed the small smile on his face.

You took a seat across from him, placing your bag down on the bench in the process. Your eyes drifted to his lunch, it was clearly homemade, and surprisingly very cute. You started to wonder whether someone made it for him; there was no way he made those octopus sausages for himself. Perhaps he had a partner, or maybe even children. You were so lost in thought that you didn't realise you’d been staring at his food for a solid minute.

“Would you like some?” Zayne asked as he moved his lunch box towards you.

You shook your head. “Oh, no. I've got my own food.”

You pulled out your own lunch and started picking at it. The question kept running through your mind and you felt so incredibly nosy but you needed to know whether someone had made Zayne’s lunch. 

“Did your partner make that for you?” The words left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“What?”

“Your lunch,” you clarified.

Zayne looked down at his lunch, furrowing his brows in confusion. “I made it myself.”

You'd never seen him look that confused – he looked cute. And, for a reason unknown to you at that time, you felt relieved by his answer, you could finally fall back into the loose rhythm of your conversation. 

“Even this?” you asked as you pointed at the sausages with your chopsticks.

You saw his ears turn red as he glanced to the side. His voice was quiet when he finally replied, “Is it strange?”

You shook your head, hoping you didn’t overstep and unnecessarily embarrass him. “Just didn't expect that from you. They're very cute.”

You both went back to eating in shared silence. Your concentration was on the phone in front of you as you aggressively searched things up.

Zayne notices that you look troubled. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing, I’m just looking for a new vet clinic.” You glanced up from your phone and it hit you – you had a professional right in front of you.

He saw your eyes widen before your phone was shoved in his face. He glanced down at it and raised his brows, unsure of what exactly he was looking at. You’d zoomed in so much that the map was indiscernible. 

“Do you know any good clinics in this area?” You zoomed out on the map and waved your phone around. “I’m moving there soon.”

He took the phone from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in the process, and moved around on the map before handing it back to you. “My clinic is close by.” 

He took out his cardholder and you couldn’t help but smile when you noticed the snowflake design on it. His taste was surprisingly cute for someone who typically appeared so serious. You didn’t know him well enough at the time, but that side of him became less shocking as you got closer. 

“Are you allowed to advertise your services to other volunteers?” You teased him as you flipped his card, examining it with pretend scrutiny. 

“Why wouldn't I be?” He teased you back, his tone flat. “I can give you a discount since we're acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances?”

Zayne continued, not realising what he said wrong. “Just make sure to ask for me when you book your appointment.”

You were caught up on the acquaintance comment. At that time you’d assumed you’d gotten closer. You’d seen him every weekend for three months and you’d hoped you were at least friends. But perhaps he was joking, you really couldn’t tell sometimes. 

“Right, I will.” You replied after a moment, trying to fall back into the light rhythm of the conversation and hoping you didn’t sound too hurt. “Thank you, Dr Zayne.”

You tucked away his business card in the back of your phone case - somewhere close and safe. It felt like a key to a different door in his life and you made sure to never lose it.

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

Zayne technically became your vet the day you finally visited his clinic. It was four months after meeting him, you’d finally settled into your new apartment and your cat's yearly vaccines were due. 

You arrived at the clinic with your pet carrier in hand. After registering at the front desk, you sat down in the waiting area and looked around. The place was small and modern, with a jarring white-on-white scheme that was typical for most clinics, but you noticed a personal touch in every corner. There were drawings behind the reception desk, probably left there by some kids. You saw one that was clearly of Zayne and smiled. You could tell he was loved. 

While in a daze, you heard Zayne call your cat’s name. You turned to face the sound of his voice and an inexplicable feeling emerged when your eyes landed on him. Seeing him outside the confines of the shelter felt strange, as if you’d crossed a threshold. He looked different . He never wore his glasses at the shelter. And he looked good in his scrubs. You stood up and walked over to him before your thoughts trailed off any further.

“Please come in,” he said as he held the door open for you.

“Thank you.”

“Here, let me take her.” He reached for the carrier once you entered the room. 

You hand her over to him and he placed the carrier on the examination table. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.” 

“I really wanted to see how you are at work,” you answered back, your tone light. 

He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose bridge before abruptly changing the subject. “So, you’re here for a check-up and vaccines.”

You felt your face heat up at the obvious deflection of your words. You shouldn’t have teased him at work, he wasn’t your friend, he was just doing his job. You should be serious, and play the role of the client without disrupting his work. You answered his question and stiffly stood there as Zayne shifted his attention to the cat in the carrier.

He opened the door of the carrier and peeked in. “Don't be scared, I won't hurt you.”

You’d told yourself you’d be serious – a good client – but the way he talked to animals, the subtle shift in his tone, was so sweet that you couldn’t help but smile. 

Zayne reached into the carrier to get your cat out. She was always nervous at the vet and would cling to the carrier with all her strength, but he managed to take her out swiftly. His focus fell fully on her as he started the examination. “How has she been at home? Any unusual behaviour?”

“Nope, she's acting normal. She’s eating normally and playing around like usual.”

He hummed in reply as he placed her on the scale. “Perfect weight, good job. Let's check your heart now.”

You watched him closely as he worked. He always carried himself well, his movements confident and precise. Anyone could recognise that he was capable at his job. He was just like this at the shelter, always working hard even on the menial tasks assigned to him. He finished the examination quickly and vaccinated your cat with ease. Once it was over, he assured you that your cat was healthy and gave her a quick pet before placing her back in the carrier and seeing you out.

You hesitated before leaving the room, a part of you afraid that you’d ruined something by coming here. You’d acted too familiar at his workplace and you weren’t sure if you’d overstepped, it was hard to tell where you stood in his life. 

“I’ll see you this Saturday?” You asked tentatively, hoping his answer would quell the sudden unrest in your heart.

“Of course. Take care.”

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

Despite your so-called status as a mere acquaintance, Zayne always seemed to overextend himself when you were in need of help. You’d rushed into the vet clinic one night with an injured dog in hand. It was past closing time and with no other staff left in the building, Zayne had every right to turn you away – but he didn't. He'd seen you from behind the glass door and let you in immediately. 

“I'm sorry I know you're closing up but I had nowhere else to go,” you spoke quickly, your knuckles white as you gripped the cardboard box that had the dog in it.

Wordlessly, Zayne reached out and took the box from your hands. It was heavy. 

You started explaining yourself again, “There was a wanderer and-” 

“I’ll take a look,” he cut you off before you could finish the sentence. 

You tried to follow him but he blocked your path. “Stay out here.”

“But-”

“Stay.” His firm voice left no room for arguments.

So you relented.

The door shut behind you and you dropped down onto one of the waiting room chairs. The place was near silent, you could hear your heart beating loudly against your chest. There was no noise coming from inside the room. Your hands were still sticky from the blood but you had no energy to get up and wash them. 

Time seemed to stretch out in the waiting room and by the time Zayne emerged from the room you were unsure how long it had been. His footsteps felt deafening as he approached you.

“There was nothing I could do,” he spoke up before you had the chance to ask.

“If I’d gotten here sooner…”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.” His words were blunt but you could tell he was trying to rid you of any guilt.

It hadn’t been your fault; it was bound to happen.

A deafening silence stretches between you and you look away; you couldn’t bear to look at him. You should leave. You’re not sure if you announced it to him but he seemed to understand. 

“Let me take you home, you're in no state to drive.”

“I can’t leave my car here.” 

“I’ll drive you back in it.”

You would've argued back but your hands were still shaking, your body still heavy. His firm voice offered you necessary comfort, so you accepted and allowed yourself to be a burden again. You handed him your car keys, but instead of reaching out for them you felt his hand on your wrist instead.

“Your hands are dirty.”

He left you in the waiting room for a few minutes before returning with a damp towel. He knelt down, reached for your hands again and started wiping away the blood. You let him, your hands heavy in his as he worked gently at getting you clean. You stared at him, a part of you envious of how calm he seemed, another part grateful for the anchor.

He told you to wait in the car as he closed up the clinic. You tried to pay before leaving but he wouldn’t let you; he wouldn’t let you do anything. So you sat in the passenger seat and waited. Your eyes drifted to the steering wheel, the blood on it had already dried up. You couldn’t have him touch that so you tried your hardest to clean it with whatever you had in the glove box. 

The car door opened just as you finished cleaning. Zayne got into the driver's seat and adjusted it before asking where you lived. You put the location on the in-car navigation and sank back into your seat. The air in the car felt heavy as he drove you home. Your body became sluggish as the events of the day caught up to you. You were tired so you let your eyes close for the rest of the ride.

The car came to a stop.

“We’re here.” 

“How’re you gonna get home?” A part of you wanted to ask him to stay. But it was too much, and far too soon. 

“I’ll call a taxi.”

“Let me pay for it,” you insisted even though you already knew his answer.

“There’s no need. Just head inside.” He sounded just as tired as you. 

You felt bad. He should’ve been home already but he had to deal with you. So you try to pay it back with any sort of favour. “I’ll wait with you.”

You both got out of the car and stood beside one another in the humid night air. You tried to fill the silence with anything but all you could muster up was a quiet thank you. Minutes passed before the light of an approaching taxi came into view. It was time for him to leave.

He turned to you and placed the car keys in your hand, “Make sure to send your car in for cleaning.” 

You thanked him again before he left – not that it would ever be enough. And as you made your way to the entrance, you felt his eyes on you. The taxi took off once the door closed behind you. The hallway felt unbearably dark. You were exhausted.

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

And when you stopped showing up to the shelter, Zayne was the first one to reach out. 

You received a text from an unknown number, an ominous “Are you alright?” that left you confused. You ignored it initially but then the same number called you and you had to pick up. You were prepared to hear a stranger but the voice that greeted you was familiar – it was Zayne. He sounded worried but still, he didn’t push you to talk. He could tell that you were hesitant to do it over the phone so he invited you out to a coffee shop to talk instead.

You arrived at the meeting spot early but Zayne had you beat. You saw him from the glass windows already sitting on one of the corner tables. Luckily, the place was barren. An old establishment that barely got any visitors and never played any music; it was a perfect place for a conversation. You hesitated slightly before opening the glass door. 

“Hi,” you said once you reached his table. 

He greeted you back.

There were already sweets on the table, two cakes and some fruit tarts. You could feel his eyes on you as you settled in your seat. You shifted your bag around in your lap, trying to distract yourself from the heavy atmosphere. It’s quiet for a bit, both of you unsure of what to say. 

“I didn’t know what you’d like so I ordered a few things.” Zayne broke the silence as he pushed a plate towards you. “I got us some tea as well.”

“Thank you, you really didn’t have to.” 

He poured tea for both of you; an absurd amount of sugar in his mug and a smidge in yours. He mixed it for you and placed the mug down in front of you.

“How have you been doing?” He asked, his tone mindful as if he was afraid to hurt you. 

Your answer was vague, you said you were alright but Zayne could tell you weren’t being honest. The conversation stagnated again, both of you unsure of what to say. You picked at the cake in front of you before taking a small bite. You could barely taste it. 

“You can talk to me,” he offered, hoping it was the right choice. 

“I'm not sure what to say.”

“Anything is fine.”

You tried to organise your thoughts, to form them into a single coherent sentence, but it was difficult. He’d come out here just to see you, so you had no other option but to try harder. 

“I can't sleep.” Your hand held onto the mug in front of you, seeking some semblance of security, anything to ground yourself. You couldn’t say anything else. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t everything. You were afraid. Despite your frequent volunteering you’d never seen or touched an animal that was injured to that extent, the most you’d seen were sick ones. Animal death wasn’t unfamiliar to you but it was never that violent. 

You felt Zayne’s fingertips brush against your hand and you stiffened up, suddenly conscious of his touch. It wasn’t foreign to you. You’d had passing moments in the shelter, instances where you sat too close together. He’d even bandaged you up when a particularly scared cat had scratched you up. He’d washed your bloodied hands. But this felt different. You could tell that he wanted to hold them for a different reason but he was too afraid. Seeing him try brought you enough comfort.

“It’s not easy to experience these things.” 

“Even for you?”

He nodded and took a sip of his tea. He didn’t offer you any advice. You appreciated it. Knowing that he understood was more than enough.

He helped the conversation shift to something easier. He caught you up with things you missed at the shelter and told you about the amusing pet names he’d seen at work. You could tell how hard he was trying so you leaned into it. You let yourself fall into a comfortable conversation as you told him about your week. You ate one of the tarts. You could finally taste it.

When it was time to leave, he mirrored a question you’d asked him before – one you’d asked when you needed reassurance. “Will I see you this Saturday?”

It was your turn to offer it.

“Yeah. See you.”

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

Your emergency meeting with Tara had been useless. You’d spent the entire walk home recalling every moment between you and Zayne. And now you lay in bed, twisting and turning as you wrack your brain for a decision. Tara told you it wasn’t weird. There technically isn’t any conflict of interest and Zayne does seem to like you, or at least you hope he does and you aren’t reading him wrong. 

The moments you spent together were good. The past eight months were nice but having your meetings restricted to either the shelter or the clinic left you yearning for more. You want to break this ordinary routine. You want to see him more than once a week. You want to invite him over. You want to visit his home.

You aren’t sure why you’re still hesitating. 

You pull out your phone, hands shaking slightly as you open up your messaging app. You smile once you see his usual default profile picture, still not set despite you telling him how to a few weeks ago. You’ll remind him next time you see each other. You have a lot to tell him. Your fingers hover over the keys as you think of what to type. Something simple; something easy. You won’t hesitate anymore.

Can we meet up tomorrow?

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 3 - Wrathful

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, smut (oral both receiving), time loop!

Summary/Warnings: You try a new method to escape. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: A little emotional smut for your time?

Word Count: 6k

Read on A03!

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

“Son of a-“

“Dean!” You don’t wait. You won’t wait. You’ve been here for too long, and you’re done waiting. “I need to talk to you.”

He blinks at you from the stove, the bacon and eggs scattered across the kitchen floor as he clutches the hand you already know he’s burnt. “Uh- Morning, sunshine. You’re up sooner than I thought you’d be-“

“Yeah, it usually takes another five minutes.” You pause to grab ice from the freeze as you stalk over to him, grabbing his hand and pressing it over the line of blistering skin. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?” He frowns as he says your name, looking between where you’re still holding his hand and your firm glare. “You feeling okay? You’re- you seem a bit-“

“I love you.”

Dean swallows, and he looks like you shot him. Like you didn’t just offer your whole heart on a platter for him to take, like you didn’t just jump off a cliff with only a prayer that there would be an ocean the bottom instead of just a gorge. His palms are growing hot and clammy as he grips your hand as if he’s trying to strangle it, and you can’t see any blood in his face, and you’ve never even seen that expression on his face during the worst hunts. Wide eyes and gaping mouths and shallow breaths until you’re worried you did shoot him, and he’s going to fucking collapse and it will all reset—but if he dies, you’re not even sure it will reset, and that thought sends a new rush of fear up your spine—and why is he just staring at you and not saying it back-

“You-“ He swallows, still holding your hand, even as his body recoils away. “What?”

“I love you, Dean.” You repeat it with a softer voice, because maybe you’ve frightened him. Maybe you were too loud, and that’s why he hasn’t said it back, but Dean usually likes loud things and saying it again just makes his body brace like he’s getting ready for a fight. “Is that- Are you okay-“

“’M fine.” He mumbles, glancing down at your hands and recoiling with a shocked, almost feral sound. “Yeah, it’s- uh- I- I think I hear Sammy calling me, and you’re- I-“

Dean swallows, standing a little too tall as you hold his gaze, and half-sprints out of the kitchen.

He left.

You told him, and you’re standing in the center of the kitchen with the ice still in your hands—bacon and eggs still all over the floor, Sam very much still out on his run—and Dean fucking left.

He didn’t say it back.

What the fuck is going to happen when he didn’t say it back, when you’re stuck, stranded in the kitchen as you take care of his mess, not even crying or spilling your guts on the floor because everything is moving too fast and you haven’t been here before, where Dean doesn’t say it, and was that the fucking way out, are you going to wake up tomorrow and it will be Saturday and Dean will never fucking speak to you again and what kind of fucked up monster or deity would pull this shit, this isn’t a lesson, this is just a strange kind of torture where you’re going to alone for the rest of time and Dean maybe won’t even look at you again-

Sam says your name as he walks into the kitchen, and your eyes start to blur the moment you look up at him.

Dean’s usually here with you.

The mess has always been cleaned, by the time Sam got back from his ten mile run. 

You’ve fucked this all up.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like…” Sam trails off, scratching the back of his neck as you remain crouched on the floor. “Uh, bad.”

You don’t get a simile. 

It would be amusing, or at least a little interesting, if you weren’t pretty sure you were about to fucking cry on the floor, in front of Sam, who needs to go take his shower but is going to try and convince you to go for a run first, and you don’t even know how that conversation goes without Dean, and you miss him, and why didn’t he say it back, and you don’t want to fucking run with Sam-

“I-“ You swallow, sitting back on your knees and twisting the rag in your hands. “Ten miles is too many miles, Sam, I don’t want to do it, and I know I eat healthy, but Dean does too, sometimes, and I’m going to get him cherry pie because he doesn’t really like pumpkin, and tricking him is mean, and I love him so I’m not going to do it and I’m not- I won’t pull a hamstring, but I don’t want to run-“

You’re crying. You can feel the sting in your eyes, and every breath is becoming ragged as you press your back to the wall, and you think you’re going to fall over but when you try to steady yourself your hand moves to your thigh, and that’s where Dean had always touched you but he’s not going to touch you there again, and why didn’t it work-

“Woah, uh-“ Sam crouches next to you on the floor, and you can see him scanning over you through the blur of your tears. “You- Did Dean talk to you-“

“No-“ You choke on the words, and you’re going to fucking die here, because you’re an idiot and you broke you one goddamn rule, never fucking tell Dean. “I- He ran away, Sam, you-“ You glare up at him. “You said it would fucking work, you asshole-“

Sam blinks, shaking his head. “I don’t think I did say anything-“

“You did-“ You let out a long breath, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, even as the sobs continues to shake your body. “It’s Tuesday.”

“Oh.” Sam’s eyes widen when he realizes what you mean, and he let out a low groan as he drops to fully sit on the floor at your side. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah.” You whisper, pulling your knees to your chest. “Fuck.”

“How many-“

“Not sure anymore.”

“Aright, then, uh- Do you know your- Did I tell you about reset points-“

“Dean will tell me he loves me.” You mumble, pushing down another sob. “Then it will reset.”

Sam frowns. “He did say he was going to talk to you. Do you, uh, what have you said back-“

“Telling him I love him doesn’t work.” You give him a flat look, your voice flat as the tears start to dry. “Why do you think I’m on the floor?”

“Good point.” Sam runs a hand over his face, glancing back to the mess on the floor. “Dean do that?”

You nod. “He dropped the pan. I- I needed to go grocery shopping with Cas later, but Dean, he ran, he didn’t even- He always says it and he just fucking ran-“

“Well, when has he usually said it?” Sam raises his brows at you, and you frown.

“It changes every time-“

“And is this the first time you’ve said it first?”

“Yeah, but- Sam, what happens if he doesn’t say it back-“

“He’ll- I’ll talk to him.” Sam gives you a grimacing, apologetic look. “I think you should just play the day out. Do whatever you usually do, and I’ll deal with Dean. Okay?”

“Sam-“

“Look,” Sam says your name, giving you a pointed stare. “Dean’s an idiot, and I know he’s been- I’ll talk him. You said you were gonna go shopping with Cas?”

You nod, starting to feel a little like a bobblehead. “We usually get Oreos and honey.”

“Alright, do that, then.“ Sam pushes to his feet, helping you back up with a small smile. “It’ll be fine.”

It’ll be fine.

Sam says that like it’s simple. Like it simply will be fine. 

He’ll talk to Dean.

You’ll go shopping with Cas.

You don’t throw up when you get to the store—eating the apple lost in the mess of the morning—but you still feel sick. Wandering the aisle with Cas muttering about mint Oreos, getting ice cream and honey and pie, these apples and not those one, and Dean will take drastic measures for bacon but you’re going to throw that bacon at his fucking face because why the hell did he just vanish like that-

“You are in distress.”

You blink over at Cas in the frozen aisle, and this one is new. “What-“

“I am… more perceptive than most. You have been staring at the frozen peas for fifteen minutes and twenty-five seconds.” Cas shrugs, leaning over your shoulder with a frown. “These peas are not of quality standard. I believe that bag is actually sub-par. And you got Dean cherry pie when the list called for pumpkin-“

“That was on purpose.” You mutter. “Sam is trying to trick Dean into eating healthier. I think that’s fucking stupid.”

“Pumpkin pie is not healthy-“

“Healthier than other pies. And I know about my romantic and sexual feelings.” You shoot Cas a glare. “I tried to have a conversation with him. It didn’t benefit either of us-“

You’re cut off as your phone rings, and Cas just waits with an infuriatingly patient expression as you grab it out of your jacket and glare at the caller ID, because god fucking damnit-

“Is it Dean?” Cas’ voice is a picture of innocence, brows raised and voice casual, and you let out a long breath.

“Yeah.”

“You seem surprised that he’s calling-“

“He’s just-“ You frown at the screen. “He’s early.”

“Early?” Cas blinks at you. “It is past noon-“

“No, I mean- He never calls me here.“ You glance back to Cas with a grimacing expression. “I’m sorry I yelled at you-“

He just cuts you off with a shrug. “I didn’t take it personally. If it helps, I believe you should take that call.”

You give a half nod, shuffling away as you pick up the phone, taking the call you usually get in the bunker in the grocery store.

Dean’s drunk. He’s slurring his words and asking you to pick him up, and if Sam did talk to him, it obviously didn’t go well, because he shouldn’t be making this phone call for another seven hours.

You go to the bar yourself. Having the I don’t believe you should fear rejection conversation with Cas isn’t something you think you can stomach right now, and you do want to see Dean, because you’re stupid and in love and you miss him, even though he’s the asshole who ran out on you.

But he’s so happy to see you. There’s the same wide, boyish grin as always, and he shouts your name for the whole bar to hear, and it’s like the morning never even fucking happened when he pulls you between his legs at the bar, holding your face between his hand as he grins.

“There you-“ He burps. “Didn’t think you’d come, cause I- You’re- Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty-“

You let out a long breath, dropping your brow to his because fuck it. If it resets it won’t matter. If it doesn’t, you’re already too far gone. “I know. Let’s get you home, Dean-“

“Hold up- I-“ He leans back, scanning over your face with a clouded gaze. “Need a second- Just- Got you. Need you. This mornin’, you just- son of a bitch, is the room spinning for you too?“

“No, I’m not drunk, buddy-“

He frowns. It’s almost a pout. “Not your buddy. You said-“  He burps again, but his gaze is starting to clear. “You said you loved me.”

You swallow, and his hands are keeping your gaze trapped on his. “I- Yeah.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Of course I-“

“That’s good.” He mutters, and it’s mostly to himself. “‘M sorry I ran, baby, I just- I, uh- Sammy called me an idiot and he was right.”

“Dean.” You whisper, trying to pry his hands off your face, because if he keeps doing this you’re going to start crying again. “Please-“

“Love that.” His voice drops slightly, and suddenly his expression darkens slightly. You still can’t look away. “Love it when you- You always say my name like it’s- Like ya’ love me, but I was always thinkin’ I’d just been losing my mind-“

You swallow, your body almost melting to his. It’s coming. You can’t tell if you want it to. “Dean-“

“Like that, baby.” His grip on your tightens slightly, and you don’t fight it when he pulls you into a long, slow kiss.

He tastes like whiskey this time. And your knees grow weak again, and one of his hands glides down to your thigh to squeeze right over that glowing, raw and fresh wound.

“Love you,” he grunts against your lips, and you let out a weak noise of release.

At least you heard it. Even if it’s still not real, at least your heart is thawing from stone in your chest, and you’re still kissing Dean until the light clicks off, somewhere in the distance. 

And he’s still on your tongue in a sweet and salty aftertaste, when everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

Ceiling. Sheetless mattress because Dean put you to bed last night—although it could be a million years ago—and a fuzzy blanket tangled around your legs. 

It didn’t fucking work. That was supposed to be the last one. You were supposed to tell Dean you love him, and then he’d say it back, and you would’ve been free.

But it can’t be that easy. That simple of a solution. And you should’ve known better the first time, but you’ve learned. You just did it wrong, somehow. Dean does still love you, you just fucked up how he was supposed to say it, and maybe this isn’t about doing to right thing as in just being honest. It’s about doing the right thing as in finding the right key.

The exact right way for Dean to say it, and then you say it back.

This time you won’t mess up. If you’re stuck here for all of time, until you find that stupid, perfect key out of this strange cage, you’re going to work out what getting this right means. 

Maybe you just have to play it out like Sam suggested. See it all the way through, then say it at the end, when you should’ve said it the first time.

“Son of a Bitch!”

You’ll just fucking play it out.

It’s like the first time again. When you had an invisible script to run through, only now you knew everyone’s lines just as well as your own.

Dean’s on the floor. “Morning, sunshine.”

“I think it’s more like noon?”

“Nah, eleven. Still morning.”

He’s going to ask you to get the cleaner, and you have to make him say please. He’ll squeeze your thigh where you’re sure his handprint must be branded on your skin by now, and you’ll watch him on the stool as he cleans and then shuffles around for the food that isn’t there. You already know he’s burnt his hand—he’s even trying to hide the long, thin mark from your view, the adorable fucking dumbass—but you have to wait until Sam arrives to help him.

It’s a simile, not a metaphor. Dean dropped the frying pan, and you get to grab his hand and fuss over him until he ices the burn. Sam went on a ten-mile run. Dean’s made of junk food, and you’re out of all the good stuff except for-

“We have Lucky Charms.” There’s your cue. “In the cabinet. And I’m not going on one of your runs, Sam. Stop trying to convince me.”

“That’s my girl.” Dean grins at you, shoots Sam a smug look, and you have pretend it’s the same electricity in your whisper from the first time, instead of stone over your heart, when you swallow, and say your next line.

“I’m gonna call Cas. We’ll go to the store after I get dressed.”

That’s the next scene to play through. Dean will take drastic measures for bacon, and you throw up in the bathroom then find Cas in the Oreo aisle. Same conversations, stand on your marks and make dry jokes, buy the honey and the ice cream and apples, and there’s your next line, you’re getting Dean cherry pie because you don’t want to trick him. 

Cas pushes you on your feelings.

You play along as if you really don’t want to talk about it, when maybe, for the first time, you do. You want to tell Cas in the checkout aisle as he tells you that a conversation would be beneficial to you both that you know. That you do love Dean, so much it makes your heart rattle in your chest, but you can’t say that yet because of the stupid rules of the time loop. 

“I am… more perceptive than most. I know you anticipate rejection, but I do not think the conversation would end as you fear-“

You can’t stray from the script. If you want to be free, you have to cut him off here and then just keep moving.

Go back to the bunker, and Dean tells you you’re an angel, but Cas is in the kitchen, and that joke is somehow worse than the first time you told it, but Dean laughs all the same.

Get into that stupid fight about the Suit from the City, and don’t stop Dean when he stands up and grumbles that he’s going out. When he calls you, send Cas, and then catch him when he appears in the bunker and falls into you without thought. 

“You’re- Look at her, Cas-“ He’s still so warm. At least here, your role is to hold him. Let him cup your face between his hands, and lean a little into his touch. “Son a bitch, she’s pretty- I need- gotta tell her-“

He slumps onto your shoulder, and you want to tell him that he’s pretty, too. That he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen, and you’re sorry for a million things but the biggest one might be not saying that sooner.

You’ll tell him later.

For now you have to guide him to bed. Complain when he holds you too tight—even though you never want him to let go—promise not to leave, and try and urge him to sleep.

“Can’t do it… Don’t- you need to be here, baby. Need you.”

“Dean. You need sleep.”

“Need you. Better than sleep. Love you more than sleep.”

“I love you, too.”

Dean blinks at you, eyes clearing and sobering in a second. “What?”

“I love you.” You whisper, your fingers digging into his flannel because you think you just heard the light flick off, but you want to stay here. Where Dean is looking at you with the priceless expression, you’re not ready yet-

“Oh.” He mutters, and it’s lingering a little longer this time. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” You offer him a small smile, even though you know you’re already done. Gone. 

He won’t remember this in the morning, when you wake up alone, in a sheetless bed and he burns his hand once more. 

But you’re still here. As if the loop is offering more time, just to pretend—for five fucking seconds—that this could be real. 

Dean kisses you, and it’s the softest, slowest one yet. Deep and careful, only ending when he drops his lips to your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin until you let out a long, soft breath of his name.

“Love you,” he mutters against your throat, squeezing your thigh for a second time. 

That time, the sparks and light almost knock you out.

But Dean yawns, nuzzling into your skin, and his hand stills right after he pulls you fully into his chest.

“Too drunk, baby.” He mutters in your ear. “Wouldn’t give you what you deserve. Gonna fuck you in the morning, when I have my head on straight.”

“In the morning sounds good.” You sigh, tangling your fingers in his hair and holding on for dear fucking life as you feel it sweeping in. “I love you, Dean.”

He grumbles something you can’t hear—but you have several guesses to what it means—and everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been- 

You roll over and scream into the pillow, because you need to. That wasn’t the key. You’re not free. There are no sheets on your bed and the blanket is tangled in your legs, and Dean is singing down the hallway and nothing ever fucking changes-

That’s not fully true. 

You’d changed one thing. 

It hits you, right as your voice becomes hoarse, that you changed one thing. Saved yourself just a little, fixed something just enough for you to not stomp into the kitchen, grab that stupid fucking frying pan that you just heard Dean drop, and learn if knocking yourself out would somehow fix this.

You’d gotten more time. Just a little more time, when Dean had still been kissing you, and his hand had started to wander further up your thigh.

And things have always lingered longer, in every loop, as long as he’d been touching you with a drive. Like he could’ve, maybe, continued if Cas wasn’t right there, or you weren’t in a bar, or he didn’t need to sleep only seconds after the confession. 

You haven’t tried that yet. Sam certainly hadn’t suggested it. And you may not be able to go through the whole dance and script again—two in a row might drive you out of your mind—but there were some loops where you got him to say it before you even had a chance to get him the cleaner. 

You don’t remember how you did that. It’s all started to blur together. 

You’ll have million tries to get it right. To get it where the solution—or at least, the temporary anesthetic—is an option. Sam always gets back at the same time. Cas never shows up until it’s time to go shopping. 

Your bedroom is right down the hallway, and you have nothing to fucking lose.

Might as well goddamn try.

And when you wander into the kitchen, you give Dean a soft, full-lipped smile when he grins up at you. 

“Morning, sunshine-“

“Hi.” You tap him on the head as you walk to the cabinet. “You want some ice for your burn?”

Dean frowns as you pass him the cleaner, glancing down to his palm before hiding it behind his back. “I, uh- It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m fine-“

“No, you burned your hand. Ice it, dummy, or I’ll pin you down and make you.”

He turns a little red, his gaze dropping back to the mess on the floor. “Promises, sweetheart. Gonna get yourself in trouble.”

You only hum, shrugging as you move to the fridge. “You want Lucky Charms?”

Dean grunts, and when you look over your shoulder, his gaze flicks back to the floor with a clear of his throat.

He finishes cleaning, and you set out the bowl and toss the icepack back and forth between your hands as you wait from him to finish up.

“Hand.” You order, the moment he pushes to his feet. “Now.”

Dean lets you take it, lets you hold the ice to his burn as he eats his cereal, and you know you’ve played it right when he finishes all his marshmallows, sets down his spoon, and twists to hold your gaze.

Squeezing your thigh, right on the wound. 

Sparks and sunlight, and he’s looking at you like you’re priceless.

Here it goes.

“You’re an angel, sweetheart, you know that?”

You give him another, soft smile. “No, I’m not.”

He frowns at that. “No, I mean it, you’re freakin’ awesome, and I-“

“You love me.”

Dean blinks at you, the blood starting to drain from his face, but you’re ready. You grab his hand on your thigh and hold it there, squeezing the hand with the ice pack three time.

“I- I love you, too.” You make your voice firm, and you won’t let this slip away. You want to feel him, just to pretend he’s a little more real. “And you- Please don’t run. I love you, too.”

He’s just staring at you. He’s still stronger than you are, he could toss you off and leave if he wanted, and you’d have to wait for at least the grocery store with Cas to get the call and hear the words that will fix this, but fuck, you don’t want you, you just want Dean, right fucking now-

He crashes his lips down to yours, and all of this is new. You’re kissing in the kitchen, in the daylight, and it’s desperate. Dean’s lips are rough and bruising and starved on yours, his tongue jamming down your throat and his teeth nipping on your lower lip as you moan into his mouth.

There are no signs that he’s going to pull back. Signs that he’s going to stop. And when he grabs your hips and hauls you onto the kitchen counter—his lips never fully leaving yours—his hold on your body becomes softer for only a second. He starts to kiss a sloppy line down your neck as steady yourself on his shoulders, and you know what’s coming right before it happens.

“I’m not fucking running.” He grunts, one hand starting to trail under your shirt. “I do love you, and I don’t know if Sammy told your or-“

“You- I worked it out myself.” You gasp as his hand palms at your breast, two calloused fingers find your nipple and start to roll it with impossible, expert precision. “Shit, Dean-“

“I know, babygirl. Gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

That’s new. Babygirl and the pinch of your nipple that makes you squeak before he pulls away, his lips moving over your collarbone before he pulls you back into a long, deep kiss that makes the room spin.

The light went out. You heard it, just over Dean’s growl in your ear and the sound of your own heartbeat. 

But everything else is still rolling. 

So you cling to Dean’s shoulders and arch into his touch, whining when he rips off your shorts and starts to tease those goddamn fingers right over your panties.

“Jesus,” he mutters your name, gaze dropping to where he’s touching you. “You’ve fucking ruined them.”

You nod, past worthless things like shame as you grind into his hand, desperate for a little more friction. “C’mon, Dean, please-“

“Love that.” He mutters, moving his thumb to press right on your clit over the fabric, smirking at the loud whine that escapes your throat. “Love how you say my name, fucking, you don’t have a clue what you do to me-“

“Got some clue,” you whisper, moving your knee to press right into his crotch, not bothering to fight your smile when he drops his head to your shoulder with a groan.

“Fuck-“ He leans back up, eye dark and focus on yours, and you might be drooling.

That’s a little more than the priceless look. 

That might destroy you, if you let it, and fuck, you’re more than happy to.

“Is that how we’re doing this?” Dean raises his brows, staring to move his thumb in slow, strong circles around you clit, but never touching. “That’s how you’re gonna play, sweetheart?”

You nod, and there it is again. 

The grin on his face that could power the whole bunker as he scans over your open, hopeful expression, playing with the band of your underwear as he speaks.

“You like these?”

“Not really-“

The words are barely out of your mouth before Dean’s ripping them off, and you spread your legs without thinking, expecting him to shove those fingers deep into your cunt, to fuck you with them until you’re cumming all over his hand-

“Lay down, baby.” He mutters, pressing his lips onto your brow as he eases onto your back, holding you steady by your thigh. “I’ve got you.”

You blink up at the ceiling as he starts to kiss down your neck once more, then over your collarbone, stopping only to suck on you nipple and squeeze at your tits before moving lower, and lower, and-

“Dean-“

You cut yourself off with a high, desperate moan as Dean settles himself between your legs, squeezes your thighs three times, and starts to devour your pussy with that same starved fervor he’d kissed you with before.

But this is better.

This is so fucking good.

Dean knows what he’s doing. You’ve always guessed he’d know what to do, but this is- This is more. You hadn’t thought someone could eat you out like this. While their whole face, stubbled scraping at your thighs in soft, but slightly rough and perfect pain. His nose pressed right into your clit as his tongue plunges in and out of your cunt, and one hand kneading and pulling at your thigh as the other arm pins your down to keep you trapped right against his face.

Right when you start to hang over the edge, he stops. You gasp and moan and plead, but Dean just kissing and sucks small marks on your thighs until you’re whining and squirming under him, looking up at you with hooded, amused eyes.

“I was-“ You take a long breath, narrowing your eyes at his smug, stupid face. “Fuck, Dean, I was gonna cum-“

“I know.” He shrugs, and he’s lucky he’s so handsome. “Just wanted to tell you that you taste like heaven, sweetheart. Look pretty, too-“

“Dean.” You hiss, trying to grind your hips up, fighting against his arm on your stomach. You can feel it coming. If he stops, it all fucking goes away, and you don’t want this to go away. “I- I love you but-“

“You want something?” He raises his brows, glancing down with a small smirk. “You’re a little messy down there, babygirl, looks like you could use some help-“

“I’m going to fucking kill- Dean-“

He chuckled against your pussy, and the sound rolls through your whole body, almost launching your right back to where you’d been before he stopped.

And he hadn’t offered any warning. He’d just dived right back down and sealed his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue until you’re in a frenzy, your whole body alight with pleasure and every nerve in your body scream the same noise of good. So fucking good-

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a moan, your every word breathless. “Dean, I- I’m gonna-“

He doesn’t let up. You cum with a scream of his name and a high, light feeling washing over your whole body, and your thighs squeeze around his head, but Dean just groans in your cunt and keeps fucking going.

“Dean- I-“ Your eyes roll back in your head as he drags you to the edge once more, and you’re going to suffocate him. “Dean- Shit- I can’t-“

That’s all it takes for him to pulls away, dragging your knees back apart to release himself, grinning down at your flushed and wrecked body as he rises back over you. 

His face is shining with your arousal, and you’re still aching with need in your core, but you-

You can’t fuck him. Not in here. Not when, the longer he just rubs firm circles on your thigh as watches you come down from your high, the faster this all starts to slip away. You just can’t, it feels wrong-

But you can also feel his erection, pressing into your thigh.

And you don’t want this to go. Not yet.

Dean’s eyes widen as you push up on your palms with an unsteady breath, right before sliding off the counter, falling to your knees before him. 

“You, uh-“ He mutters your name, his fingers already tangling in your hair as you start to stroke hi up and down, steadying yourself with a hand on his knee. “You don’t need to- Fuck-“

You squeeze him at the base of his cock, licking a long stripe on the underside. “Don’t need to what?”

“Christ, you-“ He groans, bracing himself on the counter when you flick your tongue over his weeping, angry red tip. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart, wanted to fuck you-“

“But I want to do this.” You hum, squeezing his knee at you smile up at him. “I mean, if you don’t want me to-“

“Didn’t say that.” Dean grunts. “Just- Son of a bitch- Don’t want you to feel like you need to-“

You shake your head. “Want to.”

“You’re-“

“I’m sure.” You stop your movements against him, offering your most pleading, needy expression as you drop your jaw, raise your brows, and wait.

You see it, the moment he understands. He looks like he’s feral, eyes flashing and grip tightening in your hair, cursing under his breath as he guides his cock between your lips.

He offers you plenty of time to stop him, before he’s bumping the back of your throat. 

You don’t.

And when he starts slow, you hollow your cheeks and suck, until he gets it. Until the tether he’s keeping on himself snaps, because you want it to. You need him to fuck your face until you’re gagging on him, until there are tears in your eyes caused by the pleasure of the feeling of Dean, stuffed down your throat and guiding you around his cock. You moan around him until he’s hissing your name, and grind on the air because god, he’s throbbing on your tongue and taste like salt and something heavy that’s just Dean, and when you look up at him under your eyelashes he’s wrecked. Panting and watching you swallow around him, movements becoming erratic as you keep sucking, and-

“Where-“ Dean’s words are pushed through his teeth, his movements slowed slightly as he watches you, swirling your tongue around his cock, still in your mouth. “Shit- Baby- Need to know where-“

You point to your tits, pushing them up for him to see, and that’s all it takes.

Dean’s pace becomes brutal as he drives himself right back to the edge between your lips, and he shouts your name when he tugs you off his dick with a pop, and his release paints over your body. 

You tug his hand away as he pumps himself through his orgasm, replacing it with your own and angling it until a little is staining on your cheeks.

“You’re-“ Dean takes a heavy breath as he twitches in your hand, brushing your hair from your face with a slight shake of his hand. “Son of a bitch, babygirl, that’s-“

“Yeah.” You smile up at him, pressing your thighs together when his thumb swipes a little of the cum on your chin, smearing it over your cheek. “I love you.”

His eyes flash slightly, his voice barely as rasp as he responds. “Love you too.”

“Jesus fucking Christ-“ Sam groans from the doorway, whipping around so he’s facing away from the scene before. “In the kitchen, Dean? Really?”

Dean just laughs, helping you to your feet and moving to stand fully in front of you, even though Sam doesn’t seem like he’s turning around any time soon. “You’re the one who told me to talk to her, dude-“

“I didn’t mean fuck her where I eat-“

“Eat in the war room, then-“

“I don’t want to eat in the war room, you should be doing that-“ Sam gestures wildly to the air. “In the privacy of your fucking bedroom!”

It’s starting to fade again. You don’t bother to fight it, just pressing your face into Dean’s shoulder and wrapping your arms around his body as it all slips away. 

He and Sam are still arguing, and you mumble it, one last time, before it all resets once more.

“Love you, Dean.” He can’t hear you, over the way your words are muffled on his back and how he’s shouting at Sam. But he’s placed one hand over your forearm on his stomach, just to touch you, so you say it anyway. “So much.”

Everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before. 

You’re going to be here forever.

End Note: There will be a happy ending I swear you gotta TRUST <3

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[justcruisingaroundrevived]

How would the Eltingville boys react if their crush was really into psychology and criminology? Like they had an interest with the justice and legal system in America aswell as study intensively on criminal behavior and wanted to pursue a career of being a Lawyer as an Adult. Would it spook them? Pipe their interest?

Lawyers in Love

Summary: TEC x reader who’s interested in becoming a lawyer

TW/CW: Mentions of autopsies and crime scenes

A/N: This was such a fun request to do, anon! I hope you enjoy it!

Reblogs are appreciated

* Bill would honestly be terrified of an S/O like this.

* He has shoplifted, assaulted people, bit them, broke an item he didn’t pay for. You name it, he probably has done it

* That doesn’t mean he’s not into what you do. I think he be very fascinated about it. He reads comics, so that means he’s really used to the black and white mentality of his comic books, so having an S/O interested in the nitty gritty of crimes, criminal, the law itself, etc. would give you never ending questions about your interests

* In school, he probably doesn’t talk to you that much (considering he has a club to “run” (AKA: dictate) and he’s busy with school work)

* If he catches you alone in the library, though, he’ll sit next to you and look at you while you work on such cases.

* With this type of S/O, I can imagine them being in mock trail, considering it’s essentially simulating a court room case.

* Expect Bill to snatch the paper from you and make “insightful” analysis of the cases. In reality, he’ll get basic things wrong and you’d have to remind him of basic law terms + make sure he doesn’t mess with your notes

* Good news is he’ll dress up nicely if you invite him to these trails. He’s so nervous watching you represent these cases (though he finds himself blushing when you prosecute/defend/ being a witness/ doing anything for the case)

* Overtime, I can see him admiring your ambition and would continue to watch you study, though he thinks his dreams are better than yours “cause at least I can do my hobby AND make money”

* If you two stayed together, I think he’d be a little butt hurt that you’re making more money than him. This would result in a lot of tension between you two and definitely has caused a break up at one point

* However, if you two managed to stick it out, he’d mellow out and wouldn’t mind being a stay at home husband (but will grumble if you have to stay up for a case)

* Overall, would be fairly supportive of you, even if he doesn’t understand fully

* Josh would be fascinated. Since being a lawyer would be a lot of writing, Josh would be so excited seeing you type out your statements

* He’ll probably the most likely to abandon club meetings to meet up with you during lunch (at the very least, you’re a lot nicer to him than the club)

* While he wouldn’t really care for the verbal part of the criminology (uses too many big words), he’ll thrive proof reading your papers

* I can imagine him getting so red in the face and giggling internally reading your paper. It’s kind of fun for him actually. It forces him out of his comfort zone + introduces him to a whole new world of writing

* Would let you study in his house (his mom would make you cookies). Since I think Josh’s dad would be a lawyer of some kind (considering Josh’s the richest out of the group), you and him would get along about this shared interest

* Josh would try and find Sci-Fi media/moments that deal with the legal system to understand your interest better, but he will never fully get it

* Since he is a writer in the future, you two would bond over your love for writing and potentially make love letters (it’s very cute)

* Josh would support you, but kind of get a little pissy that your writing is more successful than his (not to the same extent as Bill though)

* “No, Pete, I don’t have the crime scene photos OR autopsy photos with me”

* Pete would actively avoid you at first. He’s no goody two shoes, and would be TERRIFIED at the prospect of you honestly

* Unfortunately, he’d probably be forced to hang out with you cause he got partnered up with you (teachers thinking the smartest kid in the class can help the trouble maker)

* He thought you were boring at first. I mean, who wants to have an S/O who cares about the law?! That’s the most stupidest shit ever!

* However, if you two get on the topic of criminal mindset, that would hook him right in. Hearing you talk about certain criminals, their home lives, and any similarities into them…he’s secretly giggling and kicking his feet hear this (you’ll be looking at a creepy smile while he does this)

* He wouldn’t stop shoplifting though. Even if you told him the ins and outs, he just wouldn’t give a fuck

* However, could hear you talk about the behavior of criminals and the justice system. Especially if the criminal themselves did some fucked up shit

* Would ask you about his favorite slashers and see if he could stump you.

* He would absolutely salivate reading the crimes they committed, be it mock trail or real life (get this man some therapy)

* Probably influences how he does his special effects; tries to make them look more realistic and such

* Can’t really see you two sticking together in the epilogue. If somehow you do (god bless you), he would still be like that teen boy, internally kicking his feet while you do your job

* Probably wouldn’t like how stiff you’ve gotten as a lawyer and would pull you away from it so you can “crack a cold one with me”

* Opposites attract, I guess

* Jerry would be the most supportive

* He probably accidentally stumble upon you working on one of your cases, and just…never stopped sitting next to you

* Wouldn’t really say much as you work. It’s so confusing to them him that someone can like something this structure (hypocrite a little)

* Would constantly disrupt you while doing your work. It’s very distracting honestly, especially since you know he doesn’t mean it (most of the time)

* He probably researches about it online once gets home, though. Potentially stalking your online profile to see if he can get more personal information about your interests

* Consults his DnD book to see if he can find similarities between the laws on sessions and what you’re focusing on (it’s very limiting, but anything helps)

* Would dress to the nines if you invite him to the mock trial. Would sit in the front and get all red face watching you do your role (would feel so shy if you come up to him afterwards)

* This would be the healthiest relationship. You’re both that DINK couple, and he honestly likes being the SAMH.

* Would be blushing if you asked him to help pick out outfits for your work day

* Such little goofballs you two would be

[ldydeath]

Feels Like I'll Die Without You Part 3 | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You and Jiyong have to deal with the consequences of your actions.  Word count: 1.5k Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, angst, unrequited love Author’s Note: sorry friends, I don’t think we’re going to see happiness for a bit. This  is the third installment in this series, you can read previous chapters here. 

It had been weeks since Jiyong’s album release. Weeks since your life had completely derailed. When you’d left South Korea no pictures from the party had been posted yet, not really. Not that it mattered, you weren’t in any. By the time you’d gotten home that had changed. Not only had they been posted, you'd been in a lot of them. Harmless at first but there were two that incriminated you. One of you and Jiyong talking, him whispering in your ear and you looking like you could ravish him then and there. The other was him leading you to the bathroom, your hand in his. 

Your boyfriend had them pulled up on his phone, bags packed when you’d gotten home. You didn’t really have to explain anything, he knew and he wasn’t willing to forgive and forget. It was fair, you wouldn’t have forgiven him either. And now as if the world hadn’t frowned on you enough, you were sick. 

You laid in bed, scrolling your phone, wishing you could take back the events of the previous month. You didn’t have feelings for Jiyong, you don’t even know why you’d done it. The thrill of doing something for you, maybe? He was still Jiyong, you’d loved him once and maybe those feelings were just too strong to ignore when you were with him. You couldn’t be with him, though. There was no reality in which that worked out for either of you. 

Your phone rang, Jiyong’s name filling the screen and against your better judgement you answered.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You leaned back on your bed, hoping you didn’t look as sick as you felt. 

“Just wanted to make sure you got home ok.” He paused, studying your face. “You’re sick.” It wasn’t a question. Of course he could tell you weren’t your best. 

“I’ve been home for almost a month, Ji. And yes. I’ve got the flu or something. I’ll be fine.” 

“Mhm. You could’ve at least texted and told me you made it in.” 

“Sorry I was a little busy being dumped when I got back.” You sighed. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” 

The phone went black and Jiyong winced. There was a small part of him that thought you’d stay in Korea, get back together with him, and live happily ever after. That apparently wasn’t happening. You’d been home and single this whole time and hadn’t reached out. Maybe he should move in. No, he knew he should. But he couldn’t. 

There was nothing but silence for another week. Jiyong’s finger hovering over your name to call you at least twenty times, but he knew he shouldn’t. You’d call him when you were ready. Or at least that’s what he hoped. 

You sat in shock, staring at the test in your hand. Staring back at you were two pink lines, and a bunch of other tests that read similarly. You were pregnant. Fuck. One stupid decision had quite literally changed your life forever. And of course the father was Jiyong. Of course it was.  With a sigh, you picked up your phone and sent a text to Jiyong. You knew there was a better way to tell him this news, but you didn’t have the brain power to handle that right now. 

Tour rehearsals were in full force, with the tour starting in a little over a week, Jiyong had dedicated all his free time to make sure everything was perfect for his fans.. It helped to not think about you. As he was doing another fitting his phone buzzed, a smile spreading across his face when he saw your name appear on the screen. He opened the text quickly and almost dropped the phone.

I’m pregnant, yes it’s yours. 

“I gotta go.” He grabbed his security team and all but ran out of the studio. He didn’t even think as he called in the first class tickets, well aware that they only had the clothes on their backs. He’d figure it out when they got to you. He just needed to get to you. Eighteen hours later he was outside your house realizing the time. It was the middle of the night, but he didn’t care. He rang the bell hoping your stupid boyfriend hadn’t come to his senses and taken you back. He wasn’t ready to come face to face with another guy tonight. 

“What are you doing here?” You blinked as you took in the sight of him and his security team. 

“I got your text.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You sighed as you stepped aside to let them in. “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“You’re really pregnant?” Jiyong walked over to you, unsure of what to do with his hands and letting them fall to his side.

“Yes.” You shifted, aware of your audience and folded your arms tightly across your chest. 

“I’ll move here. Whatever it takes. I have to be in their life.”  Your eyes locked in his as he spoke and you shook your head. 

“Your life is in Korea, and your tour starts there in a few days.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me.” He smirked. 

“Jiyong.”

“Right, sorry. Not the time.” He shook his head. “I mean it though, I’ll move here. I can find a place during my breaks and we can figure this out. You know I’ve always wanted a family and now we can finally have it, together.” 

“Jiyong, we’re not going to be together. Your life is in Korea, mine is here. We can co-parent when the baby is old enough to travel that distance.” 

This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Jiyong had wished for a wife and a baby his whole life and now that he was finally having a baby he was being told he couldn’t be in their life. That despite everything you still didn’t want him. His heart was shattering in his chest. This was supposed to be the happiest day of his life, not his worst nightmare.

“We can figure it out later. Just let me be here for you. This is half my fault.” He was pleading. Your expression softened and you moved to place your hand in his arm. 

“We will figure it out, I promise you that. But you shouldn’t be here. You guys are welcome to stay here tonight but you need to go home.” 

Jiyong nodded, avoiding your face and signaled for his team to take the guest rooms before moving to the couch. You watched as he moved the cushions around and removed his hat before laying down. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Going to sleep.” Jiyong shrugged, folding his arms over his chest. 

“You’re not sleeping on the couch, come on.” You held out a hand for him, helping him off the couch.

It probably wasn’t the best idea, leading him to your room but the selfish side of you needed him close. You still weren’t feeling great and well, this news was going to change both of your lives forever. The least he could do was hold you while you tried to come to peace with that. 

You both slipped into bed and Jiyong moved to hold you against him. He knew this wouldn’t amount to anything, he couldn’t make you love him no matter how hard he tried to impress you. He’d spend the rest of his life trying to show you he wasn’t that guy you’d broken up with all those years ago anymore. 

You scooted into him, laying your head on his chest, instantly hating how much you two still fit together. You couldn’t think like this, not now. You two hadn’t worked back then, there was no reason to believe you’d work out now. You just needed to shut your brain off. You closed your eyes and let sleep take you away as you held onto the comfort of Jiyong. 

Morning came too quickly, Jiyong was sure he hadn’t slept at all. He’d watched you all night, not wanting to move while you slept. He didn’t know when he’d get another night like this, maybe never, and he wanted to hold onto for as long as possible. You had been right though, he needed to get back home and with flights booked there was no reason for him to stay. Unless of course you asked him too. 

He slid out from under your grip, placing a pillow where his body had been. You stirred but didn’t wake up, thankfully. He leaned down placing a kiss on your head and let out a sigh as he watched you sleep for a minute longer. 

“I love you.” He whispered before walking out of the room. 

It was easier this way, to leave while you were asleep. He didn’t know if he’d be able to fly back to Korea if you’d been awake. But if this is what you wanted, he was going to respect it no matter how hard it was. If all he got out of this life was the opportunity to co-parent with you, that was just going to have to be enough.

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren @tulentiy @sherrayyyyy @gdinthehouseee

[se4ttlellie]

YOU’RE HIS AND NOT MINE - E.WILLIAMS (PART 4)

Warnings : Crying, established relationship, kissing, suggestive content, swearing, use of pet names, use of y/n, AU

Summary : In which, after your and Ben’s argument, you immediately run to Ellie for comfort

Author’s Note : This is the last part of this story. After this, I might write some stuff for Vi because people wanted Vi content but I will always do stuff for Ellie if people have anything they want. I hope you have enjoyed this story because it’s been a ride and a half. Thank you so much for reading! <3

Purple is y/n

Green is Ellie

__________________________________________

Your tears flow down your face, your sadness and anger taking over your body as the light rain turns to a massive storm.

You would run to be able to get out of the storm but you simply don’t have the energy to do anything but cry and stumble to Ellie’s house.

Finally making it there, you knock on Ellie’s door, soaking wet from the ongoing rainstorm you’re stood in. She pulls open the door and her face falls at the sight of you.

She takes your hand, pulling you inside and closing the door. She runs upstairs to grab you a towel, bringing it down and wrapping it around your shivering body.

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad…”

Your voice is shaky and all you can do is lean into Ellie, wrapping your arms around her as you bury your face in her neck.

“So, do you wanna tell me what happened?”

You nod and she takes you over to the sofa where she sits down and lets you lay on her. Her fingers rake through your dripping hair, not caring that she’s getting drenched.

Starting to explain, you tell Ellie everything that happened between you and Ben and the shock on her face grows more and more as you continue to talk.

“Yeah so, apparently, he’s been cheating on me for three months.”

“What the fuck?!”

“Yeah I know… I hate him so much.”

“Well I don’t feel guilty anymore. That night was fucking amazing and I’m tired of pretending that it wasn’t.”

You laugh, nuzzling your face back into her shoulder as you lay down on top of her. After a minute, you look up at her.

“I know we both felt guilty about what we did but… do you regret it?”

“No, not at all. You..?”

“Honestly, no. And even less after today.”

Ellie nods, agreeing with what you said. She pauses before saying her next words, looking like she is really considering it.

“Would you… do it again?”

You pause, hearing her question. You swallow hard, immediately knowing your answer but not wanting to just hand it to her like that.

“Yeah. I think I would.”

Looking up at Ellie again, you see a small smirk grow on her face. You gaze at her, a little confused.

“What? Why you smirking like that?”

“Just how easily you answered that question.”

“Shut up Ellie. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”

“I never said I wouldn’t. I just said your answer was quick.”

You sit up, punching her arm playfully and causing her to flinch and clutch her arm, pretending to be hurt.

“I could treat you so much better, y/n.”

“I think we’ve established that.”

“Then let me…”

“What?”

“Let me treat you how you deserve to be treated, love.”

“Ellie… what are you suggesting?”

“Really not the sharpest tool in the shed, are you?”

You glare at her, feigning annoyance at her playful comment. She laughs at how pissed off you look, taking your hand.

“I know what you meant, Ellie, but I wanted to hear you say it.”

“Fine. I’m suggesting that you become my girlfriend and let me treat you how Ben never did.”

Hearing her say it was so much worse than you thought. You knew exactly what she was implying but hearing the words straight up was different.

“I don’t know Ellie… I broke up with Ben, what, an hour ago?”

“Right, and who did you immediately come to?”

“Yeah… okay, granted, I came to you, but still.”

“I’m not pushing you I’m just saying.”

“I know… let me think on it, okay?”

Ellie nods, looking a little dejected. You look away from her, not wanting to see her saddened face because it will make you feel really guilty.

Ellie notices you trying to avoid eye contact and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her. You freeze, staring into her eyes.

“You thought about it yet?”

You laugh and she does too. You roll your eyes, pushing her hand away from you.

“Shut up Ellie.”

You guys end up in her room, just laughing and talking about all kinds of things for hours on end with each other. You have your head on her shoulder.

She is mid sentence and you are gazing up at her, kind of lovestruck. You cut her off, grabbing her cheek and kissing her. She is a little caught off guard but kisses you back.

Amongst the heat of the moment, she pulls you on top of her, wrapping her arms around you and holding you closer to her.

When you pull away for air, she smirks up at you. She removes one of her hands from off of your waist to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Is that you telling me that you’ve thought about it?”

“Yeah…”

Ellie goes to say something but you shut her up by kissing her again. Your hands rest on her cheeks and hers on your waist and your ass.

“So, I will ask the question now, y/n, will you be my girlfriend?”

Ellie’s words are broken between kisses, making the moment even more intimate and sensual.

“Yeah.”

You push her down onto the bed, pulling off her shirt and kissing down her neck, making her let out a little groan.

__________________________________________

Taglist : @elliesanqel @ellieslvvt @belliexpog @bloodywilliams @sofaiscomfy @xx2849

[clitorphosis]

(NANO)NITWIT

Damnation Leon S. Kennedy x reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, NON CONSENSUAL SEX, SMUT, female reader, suicidal thoughts, reader feels like shit and in general not well, hurt no comfort i think, age gap, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dacryphilia, light degradation, no orgasm for reader.

Summary: You don’t know what you missed in your forming years, maybe there was a book of written rules everyone has learned by heart and you missed that opportunity. Unlucky. Even worse when the person in front of you looks like he is supposed to be a porn star, while you were born under the unlucky star.

notes: this may be a little bit personal and all so yea..also thank you to Grey and Mads that they tolerated my tweaking over some parts…and two for a pic :3.I don’t condone anything here in real life. :3 uhm, reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of feedback are really appreciated!

tags: @melanchol1cs @writingwisterias @swordtosleeve

You are fucked.

So fucked in an irreparable way.

You wish a gun would be an option. It should be so easy, so simple - boom! And you’d be outta here. No one would care, even if you become a bug one day - no one would have noticed anyway, and there would be no thought to check your room. Samsa had it easier, even briefly, no one would spend their time to get rid of you. At the same time, you can’t bring yourself to end this all, the most ethical way is to live and wait for something. People die, you will too. Cowardly hiding yourself, afraid to appear in front of others like they will notice your cowardice, lack of capacity to do the favor. There is a certainty that life would end by being alone and miserable.

The sentiment isn’t just something that appeared in your head out of nowhere, you wished it was like that cause the glimpse of disappointment in your mother’s eyes isn’t the glow you have ever wanted to see. Silently calling you a piece of trash, maybe she is more straightforward with her friends - after all, you don’t interact much anymore. Never have you expected to be able to read someone’s thoughts from the face alone. So to stay away, locked from her sight is the right choice. There are no mirrors to face the mess you are.

And you are only in your 20s, they shouldn’t suck like that.

Your mom was right, actually. You won’t admit that because she believes moms are always right. After a certain point, aging is a burden on the shoulders. There is an invisible hand, not of the market, but of the big-big responsibility that comes with the age, it pushes you down like you are a dumb dog and you can’t hide from the shame. Feels odd, wrong, those animals are much smarter than you. And loved.

And partially, you are unlucky, at least you consider yourself one - while failing at every aspect of your life, this feeling got even deeper into your skin when your mom started bringing in her boyfriend. Attractive. Charismatic. Sexy. And god, you probably drilled holes into him.

Even worse, seeing her so happy and having something you can’t make your body fill with dread - this should be you.

You don’t like him.

Because he should be yours. In another life maybe, when being active and talking to someone isn’t an impossible task. Even though, this man is so insufferable to be around, at least you didn’t expect him to be one. Corny, dumb jokes. So unfunny, they want you to kill yourself whenever you catch the corners of your lips tug up. And he is really handsy, but the worst of them all - he doesn’t always ignore your existence too.

Leon. That was his name, he seemed a proper man, too normal, trying to be fun and charismatic - to get into your mom’s pants. Not yours. If someone asked your opinion, his jokes were lame as much as he is, but his handsome and hot face was compensating for his… whatever he is. And money. Rolex doesn’t grow on the trees, Ducati neither. You wouldn’t have minded his existence if he didn’t try to introduce himself in your life, feels like he is pitying you. You can see it in his blue eyes, that glimpse of pity every time he catches you out of your room (late at night). Too late in your life, too late that there is no place for him.

In all honesty. You don’t like him, but god, fuck, you like him too much for your own good.

He is too simple for his own sake. His smell doesn’t invade every corner of the apartment and he isn’t yours. Leon is the type of a man you’d find in most watched porn, highlight videos on the main page with cute, dumb, young girls clinging to his side, calling him daddy and worshiping his cock to the point someone may copy and paste these girls. Cliche, sexy cliche. There is a certain alluring trait in that, for you he is something unobtainable. Would he look at you disgustingly if you tried to touch him? If you tell him how your fingers find their way to your pussy every time? Inwardly you thanked god on your knees for people not being able to read your mind.

Also, it weirdly itches your brain. Like a bug bite to scratch.

And your mom isn’t the best woman out here, pissy over little things, always at the brink of bursting out, cause she knows better. Even better than a government agent. Something is not right and everyone on the street will be hearing that. Leon is not the type to involve himself deeply in arguments, his job fucks his brains enough, so it is natural to learn to ignore shit thrown at him. Like second nature and he can let off steam in other ways anyway.

Leon is in your room, you thought he left the house and was on one of the many business trips. To be honest, a man can’t have so many of them, probably cheating with a much more pleasant woman than your mom. Not with you. At the same time, a relief and not.

“Eh…?” You didn’t catch his words. Your gaze darted around his face, but never lingering on one spot - avoiding his blue eyes. Blue eyes are scary, intimidating - they drill into everyone’s souls and look lifeless.

But he is so pretty.

Focus. Why is he in your room?

Per se it is hard to speak with someone else, you don’t know what you missed in your forming years, maybe there was a book of written rules everyone has learned by heart and you missed that opportunity. Unlucky. Even worse when the person in front of you looks like he is supposed to be a porn star. A man with a big chest and these features are enough to make your knees weak. He has those shoulders you have only seen on Instagram models. Or in porn. Always legs placed on them.

“A gift” he repeats, pointing with his head to the little bag he put on your bed. Slowly stepping closer and sitting down. The bed dips slightly, making your body tense. “I brought you a gift.”

A gift. Did he buy it? If you were a dog, your ears would be perked up and your tail swishing in excitement, but maybe, unfortunately for you, there is no need for them - your expression shows whatever is on your mind. You didn’t notice how his eyes were still drilling into your frame, like a heavy weight on your shoulders. He expects something.

Your fingers reach for the bag or try to cause the attempt to be cut by the slap on your hand.

“Atta”Leon clears his throat, the low sound pulls you out of focus on the bag and the images of a possible gift. Fuck, he is still here. “What you should say?” He presses, his own voice is low, with a lilt of irritation slipping through - sounds rich and hot, like a good whiskey would taste.

Right, being thankful, AND respectful - whatever your mom has taught you. Even though you suck at talking it feels like even such a simple task is awkward and would be a pitiful attempt to appear normal.

“… Thank you” Not daring to look into his face. Hard. Your words come out of your mouth quietly, feel foreign too. Speaking always feels alien.

He cradles your face, not having another way but to meet his eyes. So close and filling your senses to the point you just freeze. There is a clear smell of alcohol, maybe whiskey. His fingers are rough contrasting with the subtle tenderness of his grip. The bed cracks a little bit louder this time and you realize he is looming over you. And you tense, instinctively your hands come up to try to push him away.

“Shhh, shhh, I’ve got you, sweetheart” his thumb strokes softly your cheek, keeping you aware of how close he is. Too close, you can count every curve of his lashes, a scar on his cheek. His lips. They look kissable, a little bit dry today. Your mom said men shouldn’t use lip balm, it makes them gay. You don’t think that’s the case.

Your breathing hitches deep in your lungs, it feels like he is going to kiss you. Or not? You can’t bring yourself to move away when his hand firmly touches your waist, gripping it so securely before moving lower, to rest on your thigh - he explores your body like a map. Is that a dream? What should you do? Everything feels like it doesn’t happen to you, like a bad movie and you are just the watcher. Embarrassingly, your clit throbs with the need to be touched.

“Will you help me, mm?” Leon asks quietly and you exhale. Without too many thoughts, you nod. Finally, fewer thoughts - less mangy sensations. “A favor for a favor.”

You are unsure. You are never sure actually. 20s and a virgin, hopeless one. Since forever your mind stopped creating unrealistic expectations of the possible scenario of losing your virginity, still… you imagined this differently.

“Sure everyone who has touched you doesn’t know shit” Leon speaks in a honey-like voice buttering you to give in. His hand squeezes your thigh, leaving a big void in your brain.

Not like you are going to deny him cause words don’t come out, they never do, your mouth is so useless cause all it can do is just show a meek half-smile and not protest. Leon seems to catch on that quickly. In chaste kisses his lips are hot and he presses them against your cheeks just to slowly lower to the angle of your jaw. But there is nothing behind that, no affection or love you’ve seen in movies or read in books. He kisses your skin disinterested, in a lazy way to feign a desire to please you. Like he needs you, maybe deep down that’s true, cause it’d be so much easier to catch a girl for a night in the bar. Or to pay for sex.

Leon doesn’t care, that’s too many thoughts to focus on, too many worries. The only thing he is after is his pleasure, whatever you get off of isn’t something he considered. Your skin is soft underneath his lips, that’s inviting. Its softness is exciting, he wants to touch you even more and squeeze you like a plush toy. Still, avoiding your lips like the plague you stay unmoved, letting him spread your legs apart while keeping a firm grip on your chin - so your gaze wouldn’t get away, he needs you to face him for now.

His blue eyes wander around your face briefly, searching for something - maybe consent, or similar to that. But all he can see is an insecure mess, trying to hide how much his attention is fluttering, while your pupils are wide - he can see his reflection there too. And this burns even more the irrevocable desire in his body, hardening painfully his cock in the jeans. The fly isn’t even zipped, still, it doesn’t remove uncomfortable straining. So pent up. He needs to let steam off, he needs to fuck someone who isn’t going to do the same with his brains after that.

To remove your shorts is easy, underwear too, his gaze abandons your face to focus on important matters - your pussy, to let off this frustration, to fuck finally. You are so easy, he can move you around or touch you without any squeak from you, feeding on his own selfish desires and delusions.

Something is not right. It is disappointing. Almost hurting his ego, men are fragile creatures after all. You are not wet, well, you are, but not wet enough to be considered ready for his cock. This isn’t a big deal, a spit of saliva and quick thrust is enough. Still, a girl like you should be grateful for even quick kisses and a touch from him. And you seem to be grateful, he can see this from your eyes and tensed expression - still not enough. The right girl would kiss the floor he walked, worship him, and treat him well. You are a little bit confused, but nothing a quick sex can fix, right?

He pins you against the mattress. In no time adjust your legs, pulling them to your chest. His hand pushes your head to the side to not see your face, not like it would be on his sight anyway, he is focused on other things - not on you, nor your pleasure. Your legs twitched as soon as he spat down on your pussy, the weird feeling of his saliva clinging to your lips - the difference between temperatures, how it is colder than your skin. Easy and free, it would be useless to waste lube and any time on you. His free hand grips your hip tightly, angling it to finally plunge his cock into your hole.

It is a quick thrust, no adjustment, no slow buildup - nothing. Not giving enough time to realize the contact of his tip with your hole - his cock fills you up intoxicatingly, to the point your head becomes dizzy, and your body tenses around him, clenching tightly in a vice-like grip.

“That’s a good girl, good puppy” He breathes out, giving a sharp thrust to see your face twists. Filling you to the hilt, the tip of his cock kisses your uterus and every possible trashing or worm out of this will lead only to his pleasure - a light shift of his hips and his cock grinds against your cervix. Your legs twitch, almost arching from the weirdest sensations - squirming pleasure mixed with pain, if someone asked you to describe it’d be similar to a billion butterflies fluttering in your womb as your body becomes not yours, too weak for sweet right buttons to press. Too bad you don’t miss his own expressions: how his eyes roll, enjoying how good your pussy spasms around him. Like it was made for him. For his cock.

He stretches your walls quickly, in a way you bite your lip so hard - the taste of iron mixes with the suffocating sensation, confusing you and almost worsening your panic, thinking it may be just a nosebleed. Or you are bleeding, it feels like you are being torn apart and you can not move. Your hole clenches tightly, searching for a little time to adjust, slow pull out of his cock and you can feel every one of his veins dragging against your walls. The little resistance would worsen this, you aren’t sure you should fight, but something tells you - you deserve this.

Tears well up easily in your eyes, not even noticing the sudden wetness on your cheeks, too focused on his dick inside you.

He drags it out slowly now until only the tip remains inside you - still uncomfortably stretching. There is something twisted in the way it pleases him to see how your hole tries to adjust around him. How it clings to every unevenness of his dick, your pussy twitches and pulses at every little touch, how it leaves wet trails and… blood?

“Ohh. Your first or not used to real man, huh?”He sighs with wider eyes, there is no surprise, just amusement. Looking down at his cock, the light traces of blood on his skin. You are a virgin, or he just tore you cause you were unprepared. Not like he cared, not his mess to clean. “Too bad I am not stopping”

Not really expecting an answer from you, but not to hear your squeaks or sobs anymore, his hand creeps to rest on your mouth. He shoves his cock back and the pain returns. Not as overwhelming as it was before, still in a weird way. You liked the thought of being degraded, to be slapped, and treated the same as those girls in porn. It scratches the feeling of unworthiness so well. So right too, like your spot is to be mistreated without any other options. But now, you don’t know how to even deal with this, it is hard to even try to make it feel good - you don’t have any idea how.

Leon fucks you as he wants, deep and selfishly, not giving too much time to breathe in. This is first, this is different, this is everything you didn’t expect it to be. And he wouldn’t let you have any other way anyway - but hey, it makes him feel good, no? The thought appears like a light bulb, pulsing in your head just to slightly ease your worries. Again, using dumb, stupid, and useless you, your body, makes him feel good.

You make him feel good.

“Yea, that’s a good fucking face, babe” Leon grunts again, addicting desire creeps up in his chest as you weakly sob into his hand. Tears are sexy, no matter the reason behind them - too rough? Women like rough anyway. Too good? Of course, he knows his ways with women. Bad? You don’t know shit, an invalid opinion.

“Pretty when you cry, keep that face on” he is so close now to you, leaning over and his fingers dip into your cheeks to force your gaze to meet his. To see better your ruined and tearful face. His warm tongue presses against your cheek and any trails of your rolling tears disappear under his mouth - his cock pulses inside you at the taste of your tears. A grain of saltiness. And nothing. This is sexy, this is addicting and he is the reason for these pretty wet eyes.

You twitch with a loud gasp, muffled under his hand. He is so close, that is impossible to ignore how rough and messy his thrusts become. Deeply burying himself into your pussy, and your body isn’t yours anymore. The way it clenches around him, enticing a groan over you, like an addict getting that sweet shot of heroin. His cock twitches, you can feel it even better now, like your bodies become one at this point. You aren’t sure if there isn’t a thin layer of tissue, but it wouldn’t be surprising to get a visible outline of his cock.

You try to reach for your clit, to be selfish for once to end up useless again. Leon doesn’t care, as his weight presses on your body to hit the deeper angle, and your attempt is thrown out of the window. This is a fuzzy feeling, humiliating in its nature, as the sudden action electrifies your body with pleasure and guilt. Pleasure cause his dick hits soo well your spongy spot, he fits sooo well in your pussy, knowing every right spot to hit to twist your expression and guilty cause you shouldn’t feel pleasure. Overwhelming, too much happens - you can’t even focus on yourself for once. He is licking away your tears. Leon is so sweet, affectionate and caring, oh my god! - one of a billion thoughts flooded in your brain, just to be hit out of your head after a rough thrust. Leon is so sweet and so thoughtful. He likes you, right?

Keeping the pace steady as the only sound fills your room is the skin-slapping one, every time his hips connect with yours - his balls slap your ass. And you arch into him, involuntarily trying to grasp a little bit of pleasure from this situation - the little friction between your clit and his happy trail every time his hips slam, even briefly sending a jolt through your body.

“Fuck… take it” Leon groans, breathing out heavily and letting it brush against your skin. He is overwhelmingly everywhere: inside your pussy, hitting your womb with every deep thrust, his weight presses on you while your eye contact with him remains forced, drilling holes in your face now. “your dumb wet face… keep it, gonna cum”

Not like you can keep your tears in, they keep coming, persisting your pathetic image in his eyes. You are so messy for him, with wet trails of his saliva mixed with your tears and with a clear intent to let him take whatever he wants from you. The sight tightens his balls as orgasm approaches like a quick tidal wave, his cock buries deep inside with the last slam. It twitches inside you, keeping you full, not only with his dick, but now his warm cum fills your pussy almost to the brim, his mind is blank - focused on how his cock pumped rope after rope inside you. First penetration, first creampie, he is first everything.

Leon slowly pulls out of you, a loud squelching sound accompanied by a weak whimper from you - there is a silence between you both, only heavy breathing. Light cracks as the surface of the bed becomes even - Leon isn’t next to you anymore, and neither he is going to let you get your high. Too much work. Less likely it is even possible, it felt foreign, like a knife in the old wound, rummaging in it only to leave a black scar to bleed.

His hand ruffles your hair as a last act of whatever happened, maybe it is affection or maybe he feels guilty to intrude your little world with his selfish desire. You wish it is both, to believe that someone wanted you finally even just to let off the steam, just to use you. Action so sweet and unexpected, it pulls you back, more aware of chills seeping into your bones as the remains heat of his body withdrew from you, like a wave washing off the footsteps on the sand - it may be a false memory, a dream of something that didn’t happened.

And just to leave you alone, all lonely to clean the mess he caused. Not like you are going to complain; there is no energy or right to do that. You cried it out, even anything similar to tears can’t get out anymore.

Your eyes hurt from it, and tears eat every moist spot leaving them dry. So strange, how can tears dry so easily in your eyes? Feels like sand was thrown in your face. Your trembling hands try to open the bag, it should be something nice - not every day you get a gift. A dreadful and sinking feeling fills your stomach at the sight of it being empty. The inside is empty. There is nothing. No gift.

And you feel empty too, maybe emptier than the giftless bag without him here.

[xsister-serpent]

The Offer

Summary: Y/N, a Kryptonian, encounters Conquest, a Viltrumite warrior, on a earth. They engage in a tense exchange, testing each other’s mental strength and resolve. Despite their differences, an unexpected bond forms between them, leading to a new alliance.

Warnings: Cursing/ MDNI 18+/

Info: Words 2,554 / Author's Note at end /

Y/N had felt it before she had seen it. A ripple in the air. Not like a Kryptonian. Not like anything from this planet.

As the figure slowed, its silhouette took shape—a man, clad in white armor with deep gray accents, the sigil on his chest foreign but unmistakably worn with pride. A Viltrumite.

Y/N brow furrowed. She had read about them, heard whispers from her own people patrolling deep space. A warrior race, a civilization built on conquest. Y/N had fought many powerful beings before, but this was different. The moment their eyes met, she understood.

This man wasn’t powered by the sun. He wasn’t drawing from an external source. The strength, the durability, the sheer presence—it was all just him.

The Viltrumite hovered, analyzing her with the same intensity. A smirk tugged at the stranger’s lips, as if he had come to the same realization.

"You’re not human," the Viltrumite finally said, voice rich with confidence.

You glanced up at the older viltrumite and taking a stance.

“Neither are you.”

You could see his dead eye lock onto you with a sort of curiousness.

He chuckles to himself as he hovers around inspecting you.

"You really do have guts don’t you? Most aliens would be shaking in their shoes just being in the presence of a Viltrumite." He circles you around inspecting your body language and physique, the way you stood, the way you talked.

"So, what’s your name?” He asks in a mocking, condescending tone. His eyebrow raised as he continues to circle around you like he’s trying to find a weak spot.

You exhaled slowly and rose up to met him, his face looked a bit shocked to say the least.

“I’m not human..” You answered him meeting his steel gaze with your own, “It’s..Y/N.”

His eyes go wide as he takes a closer look at you, your body, your facial features, everything. His steel gray eyes lock into your own gaze.

"You’re an alien aren’t you?" He asks, his tone serious and mocking to say the least, his thick white mustache moving as he does so. “What is it? Martian? No..” He circles around you again, his eyes narrowing as he studies you.

You allowed him to observe me but you watched him closely, your eyes going to his partially missing arm.

“Kryptonian,” You answered him, “Our..people go way back.”

He raised an eyebrow, his mocking and condescending tone gone now as he studied you closely. "Kryptonian?" He says with a scoff, "I have to admit, you’re the first one I’ve met."

He circles around once more observing your Kryptonian physique and your powerful stance, his eyes landing on your clenched fist.

"I’ve heard of your kind." He says, his tone slightly changing as he does so. "Powerful… indestructible."

“That I am,” You replied watching him more intently now, “And what is your name?”

He stops in front of you, his feet hovering just above the ground. "My name’s Conquest." He says, his tone now slightly different than before.

He looks you up and down one more time, his furrowed eyebrow now relaxed as he observes you even closer.

Your walls didn’t go down but there was a sort of..stillness between the pair of you.

“Conquest,” You replied back.

That wasn’t a name. Your eyes went to his flesh scared face his one white eye and other brown shining almost curiously under the sky.

He stood there just staring at you intently, the stillness in between the two of you almost deafening.

The way you said his name sent a shiver down his spine, he was used to people being afraid of him, scared of him, running from him…

But you.

You weren’t like that. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but there was something different about you. Conquest’s face hardens but his gaze relaxes as his eyes meet yours.

You notice it was only him here..

A lone soldier..

“They only sent one??” You questioned him, “There’s usually more..”

He smirks to himself as he folds his arms across his wide barrel chest. "You’re a smart one aren’t you?" He say with a scoff, his smirk still on his face.

He looks around the area, taking in your surroundings as his smirk fades. "It’s just me. They didn’t think they needed anyone else… but now I’m not so sure." He says with a chuckle.

You rose a brow, folding yours arms as seeing him smirk??

“Huh,” You mused hovering in mid air, “I can’t harm you, you know that right? The truce between your people and mine.”

It was a royal decree of sorts since the first war. Killing two powerful races with mindless bloodshed was a waste.

He rolls his eyes as his smirk fades away, his expression turning serious.

"Of course I know." He says with a scoff and a sigh, "It’s a mutual feeling I’m sure every Viltrumite has when they find out that a Kryptonian is around."

His eyes scan you top to bottom once again, "You’re different though, I’ll give you that much."

You tilted your head with a slight grin.

“Careful sounds like you’re trying to woo me there, Conquest.”

His face stiffens as his eyes widen slightly, he didn’t expect that.

"Woo you?" He asks with a scoff, "I’m not trying to ‘woo’ anyone. Especially not a Kryptonian."

He folds his arms across his chest, but his expression softens slightly as he looks at you.

"Don’t get any funny ideas."

You zoned on your hearing however as his heart was beating A bit quicker.

“And yet..your heart is beat a bit more faster.”

You watched him again as your gaze at his white eye once more.

He looks a bit flustered as you mention his heartbeat. He never expected anyone, let alone a Kryptonian, to be able to pick up on that.

He composes himself as his expression hardens once more, "I have no idea what you’re talking about." He says defensively, but his face gives away a hint of a blush.

He sees you looking at his white eye and averts his gaze for a moment. "What’s with you anyways? Why are you staring at my eye like that?“

“I’m curious about you, I’ve only seen two viltrumites in my years here. One being Nolan and the other his son..but you..” You paused as your curiosity peak again.

Why was taking a curious to this one..this older man..

He stands there in slight confusion as you say that. He doesn’t expect you to be curious about him of all people.

He feels a slight rush of pride, knowing that you’re taking a curiosity to him, but he keeps his guard up nonetheless.

"You’re taking a curiosity to me?" He asks with a scoff, "Why exactly? I’m just another Viltrumite. There’s nothing special about me. "

“No, your scars say different..” You spoke softly..a bit more softly than intended to.

He’s taken aback for a moment, he didn’t expect that sort of reply from you. He stands there for a moment, his expression softening slightly, before hardening once more.

"My scars?” He repeats, his voice a bit more quieter than usual. “You’re curious about my scars?”

He doesn’t know what exactly, but there was something about the way you said it. He’s felt…seen.

"Why? They’re just scars." He says, trying to brush it off, but his tone betraying him.

You wanted to take a small pace forward. But he looked, skittish now. Like a wounded animal. You cleared your throat and looked at him once more.

“A testimony,” You replied.

Your attention the went to your home feeling a sort of sadness, “You mean to destroy this planet?"

His face hardens once more, he sees the sadness in your face as you say that last sentence.

"I do what must be done." He says with confidence, but at the same time, a certain melancholy to his voice now.

He sees you looking at the house and understands what’s going through your mind right now, a memory resurfacing in his own mind.

"...for my people." He says, this time with a much more resolute tone

A tightness came over your chest as you looked at your house once more. Sure You didn't have emotional ties to this planet, in fact it was all going to hell sooner than later.

"I..I have no where else to go," You admitted looking away.

He watches you from the corner of his eye, his expression remains stone cold as he tries his best not to let his curiosity take the best of him.

He turns his stare away as a flash of guilt washes over him for a split second, but he quickly shakes it off.

"Why do you care so much about this planet?" He asks with a cold tone in his voice, "What does this waste of a planet have to offer?"

A light scoff left you as you furrowed your brow.

"I don't have emotional ties to this planet, I just finally settled into a home."

It's not like You were the last kryptonian in the universe but you kept yourself hidden, You managed to keep up the walls around yourself and now here was this viltrumite, destroying the foundation.

"It gets..tiresome starting again," You mumbled.

He looks at you for a moment, the emotion evident in your expression as you speak.

"You're tired, aren't you?" He asks with a stern tone, but his eyes are much softer than his voice.

"I can relate to that." He continues, this time a more empathetic tone to his voice, "But I have a duty to my people."

He steps back a bit, giving you some space.

"I can give you a choice. You can join me, or you can stay here and let this planet die."

My face collapsed in almost a shock. Conquest did not hold back, his attitude and stature matched that much.

"You let join you?" You asked him, "As what? A pet, a slave???"

It was suspicious enough that a viltrumite would even offer Kryptonian this.

He lets out a small chuckle as you say that, a bit of humor in his tone as he speaks.

"A slave?" He asks with a scoff, "No, not a slave. A mate."

He continues, "You've proven yourself to be worthy of my attention. I don't often offer this choice to people, but I am offering it to you. It's a great honor to be given this choice, not many get it."

It had clicked as you understood what he meant. He wanted..you, as companion..or in his words. A mate..

"You certainly are forward aren't you?" You replied as you looked at your home once more then to him.

He nods slowly, his expression now a bit softer as he sees you considering his offer.

"I am a Viltrumite, I am direct and to the point. I know what I want and I try to get it as quickly as possible. And what I want right now, is you."

He folds his arms, waiting for you to consider your options. It’s obvious he’s serious about this, a rare thing for a Viltrumite to be sure.

"I see," You answered as he hovered a bit closer to you.

With a exhale you held out your hand, "Very well."

His smirk turns into a small smile as he sees you hold out your hand. He hovers down a bit closer to you, his own hand out to grab yours.

He takes your hand in his own, his grip firm but not too tight. There’s a sense of gentleness in his touch.

“Deal.” He says with a nod, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity you haven’t seen before.

It was almost uncharacteristic feeling his touch over my hand, but it quickly left. You composed yourself, "Do you mind if I leave the planet so you can..do what you do?"

He let out a scoff and a chuckle as he let go of your hand, his hand dropping to his side.

"No, I don’t mind if you leave the planet." He said with a smirk, "I’ll be done here soon enough, then I’ll come find you."

With a nod as you flew a paces back.

"See you up there."

With a sonic boom you shot up into the atmosphere feeling your clothes burn in through the layer until you were only in a bra and black boxers briefs.

"Shit," You sighed in annoyance looking at your pale skin. You watched stoically as the planet below being..well..desolated. Soon enough you saw a figure appear, it was Conquest. His face red and bloodied. That wasn't his blood..not in slightest.

Conquest flew up into space, his white Viltrumite armor stained crimson and his face bloody. He saw you waiting for him, his intense gaze fixated on you.

A sense of relief washed over him as he spotted you, his tense shoulders relaxing a bit. He took a deep breath and hovered over to you, his eyes boring into yours.

"You actually stayed, hm?" He said with a scoff, a smirk appearing on his face. "I thought you'd leave and I'd have to chase you down."

You made your lips into a fine line and glanced at him, "I'm not really in the mood to be chased. Especially like this. Do you have a cape I can wear? My human clothes burned up.."

He looks you up and down, noticing the absence of your clothes. He let out a scoff and a chuckle, amused at your current state.

"A cape?" He repeats, his smirk widening as he hovers in front of you. "Sure, I have a cape you can wear."

He takes off his now bloodied stained Viltrumite cape, now only wearing his white spandex suit. He hands it over to you, his gaze still on you.

You took the battle worn cape fastening the cape over your shoulders.

"Thanks."

You glanced at the now desolated planet with a soft sigh. You knew where you would follow him next. It was a place that wouldn't entirely welcomed you but not entirely shunned you. Planet Viltrum.

He watched you wrap the cape around yourself, his gaze still fixed on you. There was a strange feeling in his chest as he looked at you.

He followed your gaze to planet Viltrum and let out a scoff.

"You know where we’re going, don’t you?" He asked, his tone slightly different than before. He knew it was his home, but he didn't know how you'd feel about it.

You nodded as clutched onto the cape seeing that planet in the far off distance. You inhaled a breath of courage.

"You promise to not let them break the treaty?" You questioned him, searching for any hint of dishonesty.

He turns his gaze to you, his eyes locking onto yours. There's a seriousness and a sense of determination in his gaze.

"I promise I won't let them break the treaty," He says firmly and without hesitation. "You have my word."

He hovers closer to you, his white spandex suit almost touching the white Viltrumite cape wrapped around you.

With a exhale of unease you followed his lead, keeping yourself close to him as we flew toward planet viltrum.

You landed on the cold steel. The planet was beautiful not doubt, clean, untouched, but cold..unfeeling. A group of viltrumites gathered their cold gazes landing on you then Conquest. Like a part of the sea all the viltrumites parting making a path for Conquest. Not just out of respect but of..fear.

A.N: Well You guys asked for this and here it is. I know everyone wanted to have this. Maybe smut for a possible part 2? Photos I found on google and gif found on here.

Banner by: bernardsbendystraws

[simonrileysfavteacup]

My Knight In Shining Armour Chapter 2

Pairing: Knight!ghost x Princess!reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: None! (yet...)

Summary: You never thought you needed a bodyguard. Especially not one of your father’s men. But it just so happens to be that this particular man is one who’s a sight for sore eyes. But you also could never fall for your Knight, right? Not a commoner, no…

Author's Note: TOOK A MINUTE BUT ITS HERE!

The first place you led him was the library. A room so large, filled with every single book you could ever think of. 

You glance around the room, looking for the book you wanted. You spot it on a shelf up above, heading to the ladder to climb up. The second your foot even landed on the first step, you heard someone behind you clear their throat.

You look over your shoulder, “Yes?”

“Your highness,” he steps forward, gently pushing you back, climbing up and grabbing the book you wanted. 

He comes back down and hands it to you before returning to the door, guarding it. 

You shrug, sitting down in one of the comfiest chairs in the room, beginning to read. 

Well, pretending to read.

You’re actually looking at him over the top of your book, examining him. He’s quiet. Shy. Introvert. Bashful. He stays to himself. He’s not as invading as you thought he would be. 

You wonder. 

Until he clears his throat again, “Your highness?”

“Yes?” you raise an eyebrow. 

“The book is upside down,” you can almost hear him chuckling under his balaclava. 

Your cheeks flush red, as you turn the book over, covering your face with it. “That’s just how I like to read! Don’t judge me! I’ll fire you.” 

“I don’t believe that decision is up to you,” he shrugs, staying at the door, not glancing at you. 

Nevermind. He’s infuriating. Why is he giving you attitude? You’re just curious!

“Why do you wear a balaclava but not your helmet?”

“Personal choice. The King approves.”

“But why?”

“I don’t believe it’s your business, your highness.”

That attitude again! Why is he ‘not believing’ things? That’s your job to tell him what to believe and what not to. Ugh, this is not going to be fun.

You narrow your eyes at him before going back to your book. “No name either?” 

“For your information, my name is Ghost. You can address me as such.”

“But why no real name? Your parents obviously didn’t name you Ghost.”

He stiffens at the mention of parents. 

“Sorry…” you curl in on yourself. Now the conversations awkward. 

“When I became a knight, I couldn’t let anyone know who I really was. I have a history.”

“That prevents you from becoming a knight?”

“No. It puts a target on my back and on your back. And on everyone in the kingdom.” 

“Oh…it’s that bad…”

You look up from your book at it. He’s staring straight ahead, not at you. 

“I’m…I’m sorry I asked…”

“It’s alright, your highness. You may read,” he nods, his voice gruff. 

As if you were asking for his permission.

***

You arrive at the dining room, curtsying to your father, who sits at the head of the table. You take your seat, and notice Ghost stands directly behind your chair. Your mother sits across from you, her head bowed low.

Supper is served, in silence, you dine. 

Your father clears his throat, “How has the day been?”

“Fine,” you shrug. 

“And Ghost?” 

“He is a wonderful knight,” who already reminds you of your father.

“He is excellent,” your father smiles at him, to which you don’t turn around to see his reaction.

“Father, I wish to visit the market tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I need a new dress.”

“The modiste can come straight to your bedroom.”

“Yes, but she always does. For once, I’d like to visit her instead.”

“It is unsafe.”

“I will have Sir Ghost with me.”

“The market is not a place for a princess.”

“I just wish to shop.”

“What do you desire? A dress? Your mother shall have the modiste here tomorrow.”

“But father, I do not want her here. I want to visit her shop-“

“You do not leave this castle. Am I clear?”

Silence. You look down at your lap.

“I said am I clear?” he repeats.

“Yes, your majesty…” you whisper. 

“Good. Ghost?” your father calls to him. “Make sure she does not step foot out of this castle for the next 4 weeks.”

You look up. 4 weeks? That’s cruel. Even for him.

Ghost, just stands there, and nods. You glance at your mother. Her head is still bowed low, her eyes not daring to meet yours.

You pick at your food, having lost your appetite.

Going out of the castle has always been an issue with your father. As the only heir, and a female, your only job has been to marry a Prince and have him rule this kingdom. And give him many heirs. So protect your face and your ovaries. That’s it.

Many in this kingdom would like to end your life. Ending the only heir to the throne would end the King’s rule. And a new king would be forced to take over. 

Many do not like your father. You don’t blame them either.

“I’m going to bed, goodnight…” you push your plate aside, getting up.

You walk out of the dining hall with no protests from your parents, hearing Ghost’s footsteps behind you. You walk down the silent halls to your quarters, entering the large luscious bedroom. Before you can close the doors, Ghost slides his foot between the doors.  

“I am heading to bed?” 

“I’ve been given strict orders to stay with you at all times.”

“Even in my bedroom?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Isn’t that a little creepy?”

“It is my orders. I shall face away if that is what you desire.”

“Yeah, I do desire you to face away. And to close your ears.”

“As you wish, Princess.”

Oh. He’s mocking you. The way Princess rolls off his tongue as he steps into your bedroom, facing the wall. You scoff, walking towards your closet. You get changed into a nightgown and silk robe, freeing your hair of it’s style. 

You walk back into your bedroom from your bathroom, after doing your nightly routine, sighing as you stand in front of your bed. He’s still standing facing the window, his back to you. 

“Where will you sleep?” you ask. 

“I will not,” he responds, not even looking at you. 

“How? You can not survive without sleep,” you cross your arms over your chest, nipples peeking through your nightgown. Why did you choose to sleep without a bra? You don’t know.

“I can, Princess,” you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Fine then. If you do require rest, there is an extra blanket in the closet,” you get into your comfy blankets, sighing. 

It was going to be a long night of tossing and turning. 

And hearing his breathing through that stupid, stupid balaclava.