#if you read this please tell me what you thought about it

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

SUBTLE IS A STRONG WORD

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe uses a tiktok trend to his advantage.

based on this request !! i hope it’s what you asked for @ursogorgeous13 , i decided to take the fluff route because it just worked :) I AM BACK THOUGH !! please read the authors note at the bottom !! <3

(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)

WARNINGS: allusions to sex (oral m!rec), flirty!rafe, just pure fluff !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 800 words (approx.)

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N was curled up on Rafe's couch, scrolling through her phone while waiting for him to get back with their coffee. The AC was blasting, the distant sound of waves from Figure Eight's beach hummed in the background, and the scent of Rafe's cologne still lingered on his hoodie that she had stolen.

It was one of those lazy afternoons where neither of them had anywhere to be, so they had fallen into their usual routine: Y/N begged for coffee, Rafe pretended to complain about being her personal delivery boy, and then he left anyway because he secretly loved spoiling her.

She had spent the past few days showing him countless TikToks about the new Starbucks cup policy-baristas were now writing random little messages on cups, ranging from generic "Have a nice day!" notes to weirdly specific fortunes. She thought it was adorable. Rafe? Less so. He mostly nodded along, unimpressed, while she giggled at each new video.

But today, when he finally returned, drinks in hand, Y/N barely had time to thank him before she noticed the writing on the cups.

Her curiosity piqued, she reached for her cup first, eyes scanning the message.

"Give your bf a BJ❤️”

She blinked. Then, suspicious, she grabbed Rafe's cup.

"A BJ is coming your way❤️”

For a moment, she just stared at them, processing. And then, slowly, a grin stretched across her face.

"You have got to be kidding me." She turned the cups toward him, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe, the smug bastard, didn't even try to look innocent. If anything, he looked proud of himself.

"What?" he said, flopping onto the couch next to her, taking his drink from her hand.

Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "Rafe."

"Mm?"

"These messages." She tapped a finger against the cup. "You do realise I can recognise your handwriting, right?"

Rafe choked on his sip, coughing dramatically before shooting her an unconvincing look of confusion. "Pfft. What? That's-Y/N, that's wild. You think / wrote that?"

"Yes, I know you wrote it."

"You don't know that," he countered, but the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

Y/N leaned in, tilting her head. "So you're telling me that the coffee shop employees, out of the kindness of their hearts, just randomly decided to write this on our cups?"

"Sounds like it," he said, nodding solemnly. "Real ones. We should tip them."

Y/N burst out laughing. "Rafe! You're ridiculous."

"I'm a visionary, actually." He leaned back, stretching an arm over the back of the couch. "I'm just taking advantage of an opportunity when I see one."

She smirked, setting her drink down before shifting closer to him. "So, let me get this straight... You went through the trouble of faking a Starbucks trend just so you could subtly ask for-"

“'Subtly' is a strong word," Rafe interrupted, grinning. "I think it was actually pretty direct."

YN shook her head, chuckling. "You do realise I could have been the one to grab the drinks, right? What if you weren't able to intercept them first?"

Rafe shrugged. "Then I'd be in jail for public indecency, but it would've been worth it."

She laughed, shaking her head at him. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet, you're still here." He shot her a wink.

"Against my better judgment."

"Oh, please. You love it."

Y/N bit her lip, pretending to consider. "Mmm, maybe."

Rafe smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "Sooo... you gonna listen to the cup's advice or what?"

She gasped dramatically. "Rafe Cameron! | am shocked that you would ever suggest such a thing."

"Shocked?" He arched a brow. "Y/N, you're literally straddling me right now."

“…Touché."

Rafe chuckled, his hands settling on her waist as she playfully toyed with the collar of his polo shirt.

"You know what would be funny?" she mused.

"If you actually followed through?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing. "No, dumbass. Next time, I should be the one to write something on the cups."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what would you write?"

She leaned in, her lips just brushing his ear as she whispered, "No blowjobs for guys who fake Starbucks messages."

Rafe groaned. "Alright, you got me. That was a dirty trick."

Y/N smirked, patting his cheek. "And yet, you're still here."

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled her closer. "Fine, fine. But just so you know-" He gestured to the cups on the table. "—the next one's definitely gonna say 'Marry your boyfriend!"

Y/N snorted. "Smooth."

"I try."

And with that, he flipped them over, pressing her into the couch as she giggled beneath him.

Yeah, she was definitely writing the next one.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

hi everyone !! i’m back of holiday and i’m also older now (i had my 20th birthday !!), so sorry for going MIA but i just stayed off social media for my entire birthday trip but i’m going to be back to regular posts and updates <3

my drew starkey fic inspired by ‘sports car’ by tate mcrae will be up soon, been working on it today !! fulfilling requests at the moment so there should be another one up tonight :)

(a reminder that is is strictly fictional guys !!)

[azzifudd]

as long as i live

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: inspired by jensen mcrae's massachusetts

rated: teen

4.9k words

disclaimer: fictional!

notes: well! i'm not exactly coming out of retirement, but according to google docs i started writing this in june 2024 which seems wild to me. i pushed myself to finish it up so i could post it for you guys, if anyone's even still interested in reading my stuff. it's a bit different from stuff i've written before but i hope you guys like it anyways. listen to the song while you read, it's great :)

[AO3 LINK]

When someone tells me they're from Massachusetts, now I always ask, "What part?"

“So, where are you from?” 

Part of Azzi cringes inside as she asks such a cliche and boring question, but this is the second blind date she’s been on in the past month, and her social battery is at an all time low. At this point, her date is lucky that she isn’t talking about the weather.

“Born and raised in Minnesota, but I moved out here after college for work.” Her date, Savannah, takes a sip of water, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop that hangs off the corner of full lips. 

Minnesota. Azzi feels her heart stutter at the word. 

“Oh, where in Minnesota?” 

“It’s a small town, you’ve probably never heard of it.” 

It doesn’t even matter, but Azzi wants to know, needs to know.

“Falcon Heights. It’s where the-“

“The State Fair.” Azzi interrupts. “That’s where the State Fair is held.” 

“You’ve heard of it?” 

“I’ve been before, I had a…” Azzi hesitates for just a moment too long. “A friend from Minnesota. We used to go every year.” 

“Maybe I can take you back someday.” Savannah smiles flirtatiously, but it drops when she sees how Azzi is staring off into the distance, unresponsive and trapped in a memory long since passed. 

Azzi gags as she watches Jose bend over a trash can, emptying the contents of his stomach after a clearly too intense roller coaster. 

Their mom rubs a hand along his back as he finally straightens up, face pale and sweaty. 

“I guess this is a good time to finish up our night.” 

They’ve been at the State Fair for over 12 hours at this point, and even though the place is still fairly packed, Jose and Jon have been visibly flagging for a while, and Jose’s sickness is a clear sign for them to start heading home.

“But we haven’t even gone on the ferris wheel yet.” Azzi complains, pouting.

“The line looks long, honey. I’m not sure your brothers will make it.”

“I’ll stay with her.” Paige pipes up. “And my dad can pick us up after we’re done.” 

Azzi bounces excitedly on her heels, gripping Paige’s arm with both hands. 

“Please, please, please?” 

Tim and Katie exchange a look, clearly having an unspoken discussion. Soon Tim shrugs, leaving the decision up to his wife. 

“She’ll be safe with me, Mrs. Fudd.” Paige says, so sweetly earnest in the way only a 16 year old can be. She still hasn’t gotten used to calling Azzi’s parents by their first names.

“Oh, I know that, sweetheart. I’m just worried about what sorts of trouble she might get you into.” 

Katie laughs as Azzi sticks her tongue at her.

“Okay, fine. Just keep an eye on your phones in case we need to get a hold of you.” 

“Thank you!” Azzi gives her parents kisses goodbye and hugs her little brothers before grabbing Paige by the hand and dragging her over to the ferris wheel. 

She’s so excited to ride that she doesn’t notice how quiet Paige is. Her friend normally hardly shuts up, but Azzi doesn’t realize how unlike herself Paige is acting until they’re being ushered into the gondola.

The metal car creaks loudly as it moves, sending them slowly up into the sky. 

“Paige? Are you okay?” 

Paige’s hands are tight around the metal lap bar, fingers pale as she squeezes it tight.

“Yeah!” She says, squeaking when they jolt to a sudden stop, about halfway to the top. 

“Are you afraid of heights?” Azzi asks, almost incredulously. Paige isn’t afraid of anything. She’s always ready to jump in head first, with hardly a thought to the consequences. They’d already ridden most of the roller coasters here without a problem.

“Hell no!” 

Azzi might be more convinced if her eyes weren’t squeezed shut as they started moving again.

“Why’d you agree to come on if you’re so scared?” 

“You wanted to.” 

Azzi feels blood rush to her face. She smiles shyly in response. No one has ever made her feel as special as Paige does, like everything she says matters. She presses close to Paige’s side as the ferris wheel screeches to a stop at the top. 

The view is spectacular. The lights from the rides, nothing compared to the brightness of the stars above them. But Azzi doesn’t look.

“Hey.”

She reaches over and grabs Paige’s hand with her left hand, pulling it from the bar and intertwining their fingers. With her right hand, she reaches up to gently grasp Paige’s chin. 

“Don’t look out there. Just look at me.” 

Paige’s eyes flutter open. Azzi’s mouth feels dry suddenly. She licks her lips watching as Paige’s gaze darts from Azzi’s eyes to her lips and back again. 

Her eyes shine under the light of the moon. They’re beautiful. Paige is so beautiful. Azzi’s heart pounds in her chest. This moment feels more dangerous than sitting hundreds of feet in the air with only a bar of metal keeping you safe. 

Paige leans in, so slow that Azzi knows she could pull away if she wanted to. She doesn’t. She leans in the rest of the way instead, and puts her heart in Paige Bueckers’ hands. 

//

I wonder if you kept the pilgrim ashtray if it's still propped up on your bar cart

“You’re home pretty early, how was it?” 

Colleen had called Azzi almost as soon as she had stepped through the door, which told Azzi that she had likely been checking her location through the night. She had been encouraging about it when Azzi had told her that a teammate was setting her up with a friend of theirs, someone from outside the basketball world. 

But Azzi knows Colleen is still holding out hope that she and Paige are meant to be. She hasn’t mentioned her to Azzi in months, not since the last time she’d had to comfort a drunk Azzi who had broken down just from hearing her name. 

“It was fine. I fucked it up, the usual.” 

Azzi pops the fridge open, pulling out a bottle of wine and grabbing the bottle opener on the door. The bottle opens with a pop and Azzi pours a full glass, takes a few big sips from it, before filling it again. 

“Oh, babe. What happened?” 

How can she explain that the mere mention of Paige’s home state had sent her into a spiral and that she’d had to make a stupid excuse to leave and now probably wouldn’t be able to face her teammate without making a fool of herself. 

“No biggie. We just weren’t compatible.” She takes another swig of wine. “I’m just gonna take a bath and go to bed.” 

“Okay, Azzi. I love you. You know I’m always here if you wanna talk.” 

“Love you too.” Azzi doesn’t know how she would have gotten through these past two years without her. 

Azzi heads into the bathroom, running the faucet to fill the tub. She goes to light one of the many scented candles she’s been gifted over the years, this one that claims to release a relaxing scent, just what she needs tonight. 

The lighter sputters weakly and doesn’t ignite. With a sigh, she heads back into the kitchen, digging into the junk drawer where she knows she has seen a box of matches. 

She finally finds it under a pile of old charging cables, but stops short when she sees what’s printed on it. It’s faded and worn, but the word Ted’s is still visible. 

She rubs her thumb over it. This pack of matches has somehow made the journey from Storrs all the way to her home in San Francisco. 

Azzi slides the cover off. There’s only one match left inside. 

The candle goes unlit. The match untouched. 

“Who wants shots!” Paige’s voice echoes through the bar.

It’s Azzi’s first time at Ted’s as an official member of the team, and Paige is clearly dedicating herself to making sure she has the best possible time. 

Azzi isn’t sure she’s seen Paige stop smiling since she moved into the dorms, and it must be infectious, because the butterflies in her stomach haven’t rested since the moment Paige showed up at her door to help move her in. 

“Paige, relax!” Christyn says, patting Paige on the head and laughing when Paige swats her away to fix her displaced hair.

“Here we go!” Liv comes back to the table holding a tray full of shots. 

The team gathers around, each taking a hold of one of the glasses. 

“To our new teammates. Welcome to UConn, and let’s win a national championship. Go Huskies!” They all throw back their shots at once. 

A few hours later, as Azzi dances with Caroline and Amari, Paige comes bouncing up to them, slipping her arms around Azzi’s waist and swaying behind her. 

She presses her face into the side of Azzi’s neck. “Come outside with me for a sec. Nika gave me a lil’ somethin’ if you wanna try.” 

Azzi nods and lets Paige lead her outside by the hand. It’s a lot less crowded outside, and the light breeze feels good against her sweat slicked skin. 

Paige guides her to a more secluded corner where a lone picnic table sits underneath some fairy lights strung along the patio. Paige sits with the bench between her legs, pulling Azzi to sit next to her. 

She pulls out a joint and wiggles her eyebrows at Azzi. 

“You wanna?” 

Azzi had never dared to try it in high school with her parents always around, but she wants to now. The season doesn’t start for months, and practice not for another week. She nods, eagerly. She knows that there’s no safer person for her to try this with than Paige, who would never let her get hurt. 

Paige passes the joint over. “Hold this for me for a sec.”

She pulls out a fresh box of matches, pulling one out and lighting it with a quick flick of her wrist. She holds it to the tip until it glows. 

“Go ahead.” 

Azzi hesitates for a moment. “I just breathe in?” 

“Mmhm.” Paige nods, watching with rapt attention as Azzi brings the joint up to her lips and inhales. 

A hacking cough bursts out of her throat before the smoke can even hit her lungs. 

Paige laughs as she rubs Azzi’s back. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she chokes out when she can finally breathe.

“Okay, okay,” Paige holds up her hands in apology. “Here, let’s try another way.” 

She takes hold of the joint, sliding closer until their legs are touching. She brings it to her lips, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in her chest. Then she leans in, giving Azzi a chance to pull away. When she edges just a bit closer instead, Paige seals their lips together, exhaling when Azzi’s mouth opens against hers. 

She keeps them pressed together until she feels Azzi breathe in deep. When she pulls back, Paige keeps their foreheads pressed together.

“How was that?” She asks, voice raspy. 

In response, Azzi just hooks a hand around Paige’s neck and kisses her again. 

//

Could make a grand off of the chain you bought me, but goddamn, it's not for sale

“Azzi!” 

Azzi barely has a moment to steel herself before Nika nearly bowls her over in a hug. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” Azzi says, returning the hug. They hadn’t seen each other since the last time their teams had matched up, but with both teams now out of playoff contention, they had decided to get dinner while Nika was in town.

They spend the night catching up, telling stories and reminiscing about old times, both often changing the subject when it approached the elephant in the room. 

When they’re both three cocktails deep, Nika finally asks, “Do you think you’ll go to the Finals?” 

Azzi knows that the girls have been planning a reunion to see Paige play in her first Finals. She’s sure that it hasn’t gone unnoticed that she hasn’t said anything in the group chat. 

“Of course.” 

She hadn’t told anyone, but she’d booked the ticket the minute the Lynx had clinched their series. Nothing could keep her away. Her hand goes up to fiddle with her necklace subconsciously. 

“That’s great, Azzi. I know she wants you there, more than anything.” 

Nika’s eyes flicker down to where her fingers are toying with the chain. She drops her hand. The charm bounces against her chest. To this day, she can’t explain why she still wears it, just that it’s become like a part of her.

The first thing that Azzi notices when she wakes up, is that there’s someone asleep beside her. It isn’t the strangest occurrence in this house. Sometimes one of her brothers will fall asleep next to her, or one of the dogs will come in seeking her warmth. 

But this body is pressed against her back, a heavy arm slung around her waist. Even the way their breath puffs against her neck is familiar. But the only person Azzi wants to be sharing a bed with is hundreds of miles away, so Azzi turns to lay on her back, her wrapped leg only protesting a little. A wave of blonde hair covers her face. 

“What?” She whispers, because this shouldn’t be possible. She swears she had just fallen asleep talking with Paige about the team’s resounding victory in Aaliyah’s home country. 

Her phone still rests next to her head. When she wakes the screen up, there’s one unread message from the night before. 

Paige💗

See you soon, baby 💗😘

She nudges at Paige’s side, suddenly too impatient to wait for her to wake up. Paige groans, but she opens her eyes, blinking blearily and clearly exhausted. She smiles wide when she sees Azzi. 

“Hey.”

“What the fuck?” Azzi murmurs, still a little bit stunned, and presses close to kiss Paige deeply. 

“Never been happier to miss a night of sleep.” Paige says when they part, smirking.

Azzi whacks her on the shoulder, but gives her another light peck. “What are you doing here?” 

“I missed you. Merry Christmas.” 

Azzi is leaning in to kiss her again when her dad’s voice comes echoing down the stairs. “If y’all are awake, breakfast is almost ready.” 

“Okay!” 

Azzi throws the blanket off of her body, sitting up. 

“Hold on a sec.” Paige walks over to where her duffel bag has been dumped by the door, digging through it. 

She walks back and sits down next to Azzi, holding onto a black box. 

“I know Christmas isn’t actually for a few days, but I can’t wait any longer.” 

Azzi takes the box in her hands, feeling the softness of the velvet under her fingers. She opens it to reveal a silver heart encrusted with diamonds dangling from a delicate chain. It looks a lot like a necklace that already sits in her jewelry box, except this one has an infinity symbol embedded within the heart. 

Azzi feels choked up all of a sudden. The meaning of the symbol is not lost on her. She puts the box down on her lap and raises a hand to cup Paige’s cheek. 

“I love it. I love you.” 

Paige leans their foreheads together. “It’s a forever kinda thing. Just like us.” 

//

You broke me to pieces, but I root for you even though everything went up in flames

The buzzer sounds, and the Minnesota crowd is silent. It’s the end of the third quarter, and the Liberty are leading the Lynx by seventeen. Even from up in the suite, Azzi can see how bad Paige’s body language is, how she’s already beating herself up for the loss even though there’s still ten minutes left in the game. 

The camera focuses on Paige, seated at the bench, staring off into the distance even as her coach speaks in the huddle. Azzi stands suddenly, startling KK. 

“Where are you going?” 

“I have to get down there.” She’s not quite sure how she’ll get to the bench, but she’ll figure it out when she gets there.

Luckily when she makes it down there, she bumps into Paige’s agent Lindsay, who greets her with a hug. 

“Azzi!” She looks surprised to see Azzi. “What are you doing down here? I thought you and the other girls were up in one of the boxes.”

“Hey.” She replies, distractedly. “Do you think you could get me courtside?”

Lindsay gives her a slightly pitying look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” 

“I know it is.” Azzi says, absolutely certain. She knows, at least, that she has to try. 

Lindsay leads her to her seat, just a few rows behind the home bench. The Lynx have cut the lead to thirteen, but there’s still a steep hill to climb with less than half a quarter of the game left. When one of the Liberty passes skips out of bounds, the Paige’s coach calls a timeout to steady the team. 

Paige stomps back to the bench, clearly frustrated and lifts her jersey to wipe the sweat from her face. As she reaches the bench, she finally looks up, eyes locking with Azzi’s. She freezes. 

Azzi smiles at her, and taps a hand on her chest where the number 5 rests proudly on her chest. 

“Breathe.” She mouths. “You got this.” 

Paige finally blinks. Azzi sees her take a deep breath, and then another. She nods at Azzi before taking a seat on the bench and listening as her coach speaks. Then she’s sticking her head in the huddle and taking charge. 

Her teammates all watch with attention, swept up in her emotions. Azzi misses it sometimes, the way Paige could make you believe you could accomplish anything just because she believed in you.

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the timeout. As she heads back onto the floor, Paige turns back toward Azzi. She rests a hand over her heart and then points back to Azzi. Her teammate inbounds the ball to her. 

In the remaining minutes, Paige outscores the Liberty all by herself, and the Lynx come back to win game one.

“Congratulations, Ms. Rookie of the Year.” 

Azzi steps up to Paige, wrapping her arms around her neck and leaning in to kiss her. Paige has been talking with the press all day, and Azzi hasn’t seen her since she left the apartment this morning.

Paige turns her head, and Azzi’s lips land on her cheek as she turns her head to check one end of the hallway, and then the other. They can hear the sound of a door opening in the distance, and Paige flinches minutely. 

Azzi drops her arms and steps back, eyes focusing on the ground.

“Hey.” Paige looks down, making eye contact with her. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know.” And Azzi does know. She knows Paige really is sorry, and that it’s not just something she’s saying to appease her. It doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

Still, she throws a smile on her face. “You ready to head out?” She’d made a reservation, at one of Paige’s favorite restaurants, a few weeks ago for them to celebrate. 

Paige’s expression shifts again, just barely, but Azzi knows every inch of her. 

“What is it?”

“The team invited me out to celebrate. Phee got a hook up at a restaurant. You’ll get to hang with Dorka.” Paige says, like it’s a consolation prize.

Azzi feels that familiar disappointment swell within her, but she pushes it down. They’re going to celebrate Paige, so Azzi will go along with a smile on her face.

It’s not even 11 PM when Azzi decides that it’s time for her to go. Her head is pounding and she’s barely spent even five minutes with Paige since they got to the club. She finds Paige by the bar, grabbing another round for the team.

“I’m going home,” Azzi says, trying to avoid looking into Paige’s hazy, glazed over eyes. 

“What?” Paige frowns. “We barely just got here.” 

“I know, you should stay and celebrate, but I’m going.” Azzi pushes past, not letting Paige talk, she can’t have this conversation, not here. 

She pushes out the door, breathing in cool air. A quick peek at her phone shows that her Uber will be here in just a few minutes. She jumps when a hand clasps her shoulder and turns to find Paige. 

“What’s the matter? You’re upset.” Paige looks so worried, and it makes Azzi almost want to laugh, if it didn’t hurt, just how clueless Paige could be sometimes. 

“I’m fine. Go back inside,” she replies, voice short.

“What happened? You barely talked to anyone the whole night.” 

“I’m tired, Paige.” Azzi blinks furiously as tears fill her eyes. “Sometimes, I just want to be able to hold your hand, and I can’t, and I can’t even be mad at you about it. I’m so tired, so please, just let me go home.” 

Paige freezes. Her hand is outstretched, but she’s stopped short of making contact. For a moment, Azzi wishes Paige would just grab her, hold on, tell her to stay. But she doesn’t, and Azzi just gets into the Uber and drives off, leaving Paige behind on the sidewalk.

When Azzi wakes up the next morning, she feels hungover, even though she had barely drank the night before. Her eyes feel swollen from crying and her body sore from being curled up in a ball all night. Paige isn’t asleep beside her, but that’s no surprise. Sometimes the blonde will sleep on the couch when she gets home late because she doesn’t want to disrupt Azzi’s sleep. 

She finally drags herself out of bed, heading toward the kitchen in search of caffeine. She stops short when she sees Paige sitting at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee. 

“I’m surprised you’re awake already.” Azzi offers, feeling regretful at her harsh tone from the night before as she looks at Paige’s drawn, tired face. 

“Haven’t slept.” Paige takes a sip of her coffee. 

She finally looks up, into Azzi’s eyes, and before she can even speak, Azzi knows. 

“Paige…” She starts, voice already wobbling. She sits gingerly in the chair next to Paige.

“Azzi.” Paige responds, sounding so steady Azzi shouldn’t be able to suspect that she is about to break Azzi’s heart. But Azzi knows Paige, and can see the pain in her expression. 

“Don’t do this.” 

“I’m doing this for you.” Paige reaches out for Azzi’s hand, and when she holds it gently, they’re both shaking.  

“Don’t.” Azzi chokes out again.

“You deserve so much more than what I can give you.” Azzi notices how Paige stares behind her head, unable to even make eye contact with her. 

“I know you are a lot of things Paige Bueckers, but I never thought you were a coward.” Azzi jerks her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“I’m sorry.” 

//

The fire in my gut that I've chased ever since

“Azzi! Wait!” 

Azzi almost doesn’t hear her over the constant hum of people moving about the arena. But she’s always had a sense for Paige, from the moment they met, like a thread connecting them no matter where they were. She stops in the hallway where she had fled after the final buzzer had sounded.

“Congratulations, Paige.” 

“Thank you.” Paige pants, still catching her breath.

There’s a beat of silence, but it’s almost comfortable, in a way the space between them hasn’t been for years. 

“Azzi-” 

“Paige-” 

They laugh when they both speak in unison. Azzi puts a hand out, gesturing for Paige to talk.

Paige steps forward, reaching her hand out, a question in her eyes. 

Azzi almost says yes, almost reaches out to answer. But she’s been burned before, and it’s not always easy to be brave. So she takes the easy way out. 

“Win this thing, and then we can talk.” 

“‘Win this thing?’ The championship?” Paige asks, almost incredulous. 

“Yeah.” Azzi smirks at her, already drawn back into a familiar banter. “Unless you don’t think you can do it.” 

Paige scoffs immediately. “I’ll see you when I lift that trophy.” 

Paige had already known she was going to play her heart out, but nothing gets her competitive spirit going more than Azzi challenging her. 

Paige stares at Azzi for a moment, just drinking in the sight of her with her number on her chest, knowing that when Azzi turned from her that she would see her name stretched across her back. 

She smiles at Azzi, and it feels almost unfamiliar, smiling and knowing it’s true and sincere. 

Azzi smiles back, and Paige knows this championship is hers. 

“Azzi! Hold up!” Azzi freezes in place, recognizing that voice. She rubs a hand over her forehead. She almost wants to keep going, just jog down the hallway and right out of the arena. 

Instead, she just takes a deep breath and then another, and turns around. Her traitorous heart still quickens at the sight of Paige Bueckers smiling at her. 

“Hey,” Paige says, voice soft as she runs her eyes down Azzi’s chest, lingering on the purple logo and #35 bold on her chest.

“Hi.” Azzi replies, eyes darting to and from Paige’s face. There have been a few unanswered and clearly drunk texts, from both sides, and a huge bouquet at her doorstep after she had been drafted, but this is the closest they’ve been in nearly a year.

“You kicked our asses huh?” 

It had been Azzi’s first time matching up against the Lynx, but it’s just their luck that Paige hadn’t even been able to play, a hand injury keeping her out of the line up. It had been a hard fought game, with Azzi’s Valkyries coming out on top, but it hadn’t been what Azzi had wanted.

“I missed you out there.” 

It’s the truth. Despite their distance, Azzi has long dreamed of the moment she and Paige would face off in the WNBA, and it was disappointing that it had been delayed like so many of their on the court moments. 

Paige gives her that crooked smile. “I’m so proud of you.” 

Every emotion floods through Azzi at that moment. Anger, sadness, joy, hope, love. This is what she’d wanted. Just her and Paige and the game they loved so much.  

But then she remembers why she’s been miserable for nearly an entire year despite achieving her biggest dreams. She remembers why she hasn’t been able to share her proudest moments with the person she loves the most. 

“What do you want, Paige?” 

Paige steps closer, until they’re within arms reach. 

“I just- I had to talk to you; tell you how happy I am for you.” 

Azzi feels herself softening, like she always has around Paige. 

“Thank you.” Somehow the hallway seems quiet, even though Azzi knows there are thousands of people beyond these walls. 

“I-” 

Paige is interrupted when a voice calls down the hall for Azzi. The team’s PR person is looking for her, and Azzi’s late for media. 

Paige takes a big step back, and Azzi is brought back to that day a year ago, and the heartbreak feels almost as fresh. But she decides then and there that she’s cried enough over Paige Bueckers, and so she just smiles, wistfully. 

“I’ll see you around, Paige,” she says, and then she walks away. 

//

You set the bar, you're gonna stick

“And for the first time since 2017, the Lynx have done it! Minnesota, your Lynx are WNBA Champions once more!” 

The cheers of the fans is near deafening. The Liberty players leave the court in stunned silence as the Lynx players pile on top of each other with joy. 

Azzi whoops, voice hoarse from hours of non stop cheering. She knows it might be a bad look, as a member of another team, to be this excited, but she can’t help it.

Suddenly there’s a loud swell of noise, and the crowd on the court parts. Paige is pushing her way through the throng of people, and a mob of cameras is following her. She finally makes her way to where Azzi is standing, a few rows up from the court. 

She smiles at the fans, who all clamor for her attention, but Paige is on a mission. She pushes her way through the crowd, ignoring how the team’s security is nearly begging her to come back down. 

“Paige! What are you doing?”

“I did it!” Paige beams, blue eyes brimming with joyful tears.

Azzi throws her arms around her, barely registering the noise around them.

“I love you!” Paige cups her hand around Azzi’s ear as she speaks, and Azzi feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. 

“What?” Azzi laughs, in disbelief. “Paige, you just won a championship! They’re about to announce you as Finals MVP.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Paige pulls back and presses their foreheads together. “All of this is empty without you with me.” 

Cameras flash all around them. The entire world is watching, and Azzi knows that this is impulsive and that they have so much they need to talk about, but in this moment, it feels like they’re just kids again, sitting atop a creaky ferris wheel with their whole future ahead of them. 

This time, Azzi leans in first, lets Paige decide. 

This time, she doesn’t hesitate. 

[rosemariiaa]

~Touch~

𐙚— pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚— rosie’s note: this was written in like 25 min, not my best but something to read while i work on other requests and the rmh series, i’ll most likely have something out tmr before or after the game so be patient with me please! happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚— themes: slight sexual content

𐙚— links: rosie’s bookshelf

Touch.

A simple word, but never just one thing.

Touch can be fleeting, an accidental brush of fingertips, a casual press of a hand against a shoulder. It can be comfort, the kind of familiarity that makes a person feel at home. It can be possessive, lingering, a wordless claim spoken through the slide of palms and the press of bodies.

There are so many types of touch. The friendly, casual touch that everyone uses—hugs, high-fives, pats on the back. The accidental touch that lingers too long—someone brushing against you in a crowded room, fingers grazing your arm as they reach for something. But then there’s the other kind. The kind that says something without words, that carries weight in every second it lasts. The kind that isn’t about comfort, but about wanting. Needing.

Touch can be anything. But when it comes to Paige Bueckers, it’s everything.

She’s always been like this, always had the need to be close—to feel, to connect. A hand at the small of someone’s back, an arm thrown around a shoulder, fingers idly tracing patterns against exposed skin. It’s not even a conscious thing most of the time. It’s just her.

At least, that’s how it is with everyone. But with Azzi? With Azzi, it’s different. More.

It’s absentminded most of the time, the way Paige’s hand finds the small of Azzi’s back when they walk side by side. Or how she tugs on the hem of Azzi’s hoodie when she wants attention, thumb grazing the fabric long after she has it. How she tucks herself into Azzi’s side during film, arms folded, cheek pressed against her shoulder. It’s normal. Easy. Something that could be passed off as nothing if not for the sheer consistency of it.

And Azzi—Azzi lets her. Maybe because she’s used to it, maybe because it’s Paige and she’s never questioned it before. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because she likes it.

Maybe she always has.

Like now, when they’re sitting on Paige’s bed, post-practice exhaustion settling into their bones. Paige sprawls out beside Azzi, back against the headboard, knee knocking into Azzi’s thigh. Her hand rests lazily on Azzi’s knee, fingers tracing slow, mindless circles through the fabric of her sweatpants. It’s not unusual. But then she shifts, her palm sliding higher and a little firmer. Azzi stills.

“Paige.”

Paige hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t move her hand. If anything, her fingers flex slightly, squeezing just enough for Azzi to notice.

Azzi exhales, eyes flicking down to the point of contact, then back up to Paige’s face. “You’re doing that thing again.”

Paige tilts her head, feigning innocence. “What thing?”

Azzi narrows her eyes. “You know what thing.”

Paige grins, slow and lazy. She lifts her hand, only to drag it back down, fingertips brushing against Azzi’s inner thigh this time. “Oh, you mean this?”

Azzi’s breath hitches. Paige’s touch is featherlight, teasing, and it sends a shiver down her spine. She doesn’t move away, doesn’t tell her to stop. And Paige—Paige notices.

“You never tell me to stop,” Paige murmurs, voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

Azzi swallows hard, pulse thrumming in her ears. Paige is close enough that she can feel her breath, warm against her cheek.

“Do you want me to?” Paige asks. A real question.

Azzi meets her gaze, searching, and finds something there—something unspoken, something waiting.

Paige’s free hand move, slow and teasing, slipping under the hem of Azzi’s hoodie, ghosting over bare skin. The touch is light, barely there, but it sets every nerve in Azzi’s body on fire.

“You gon stop me?” Paige murmurs, voice low, lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below Azzi’s ear.

Azzi should. She really should. But when Paige’s hands settle against her waist, fingers pressing firm against her skin, grounding her, claiming her—she doesn’t move.

She doesn’t want to.

Paige exhales a quiet laugh, like she already knew the answer, like she was just waiting for Azzi to admit it. And then she’s tilting her head, dragging her lips down Azzi’s neck, slow and deliberate. She lingers at her pulse point, nipping just enough to make Azzi shudder.

Azzi grips Paige’s arms, her nails digging in slightly. “Paige,” she breathes, half warning, half plea.

The blonde hums against her skin, unfazed, her hands sliding higher, fingers pressing into the dip of Azzi’s spine, her thumb brushing just beneath the band of her sports bra.

Azzi’s breath catches.

She should push Paige away. Should remind her that best friends don’t do this. But then Paige is gripping her hips, pulling her in so their bodies are flush, her thigh slotting between Azzi’s like it belongs there, and Azzi—Azzi can’t think straight anymore.

Paige presses closer, her nose brushing against Azzi’s jaw before she tilts her head, capturing her lips without hesitation, without pretense.

Azzi melts before she can stop herself.

The kiss is slow, deep, like Paige has all the time in the world to unravel her, like she enjoys taking her apart piece by piece. And Azzi lets her.

Paige’s hands tighten against her waist, guiding her, keeping her exactly where she wants her. Her lips move with intent, teasing, testing, before she bites down gently on Azzi’s bottom lip, pulling slightly, then letting go.

Azzi lets out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the fabric of Paige’s hoodie. Azzi doesn’t respond right away, not because she doesn’t want to, but because the way Paige touches her has her breathless, her thoughts jumbled and her pulse racing.

Paige presses her thigh harder between Azzi’s legs, forcing a small gasp from her. Her hands trail down to Azzi’s hips, then slide lower, fingertips brushing the waistband of her shorts.

Azzi swallows hard, eyes fluttering shut as she feels the pressure build, the heat pooling between her thighs, making her ache for more. “Paige…” she breathes, her voice shaky, a mix of longing and hesitation.

But Paige doesn’t stop. She never does.

“I got you, Az,” she murmurs against her skin, her voice low and soothing, even as her hands wander further, claiming Azzi’s body with every touch.

Azzi’s breath catches in her throat, her heart thudding faster. She’s never felt anything like this—so alive, so attuned to Paige’s every move.

“Don’t fight it,” Paige whispers, her lips brushing Azzi’s ear as her hands slip beneath the fabric of Azzi’s shorts and panties. “Just relax , Az. Let me take care of you.”

Azzi’s hands find their way to Paige’s back, fingers pressing into her muscles, pulling her closer. “I don’t—” she starts, but Paige’s lips are on hers again, silencing any protest.

It’s like time slows as Paige deepens the kiss, her fingers running up and down Azzi’s wetness. Azzi can feel the weight of every moment building between them, She can’t think—can’t focus—only feel.

Paige doesn’t rush. She moves her fingers in tight circles around Azzis clit, making the brunette let out a whimper, her free hand exploring Azzi’s back, her lips marking Azzi’s skin, her breath warm against her neck. She knows what she’s doing, knows how to make Azzi fall apart, bit by bit, without even trying.

Azzi can’t stop herself anymore, her body leaning into Paige’s touch, pressing against her, needing her closer. She wants more.

But Paige? Paige is in control.

She pulls back for a moment, eyes locking with Azzi’s, dark with desire. “You want me to keep going?” she asks, voice teasing, knowing the effect she has on her.

Azzi can barely find her voice, but she manages to nod, lips trembling. “Yes…please.”

Paige grins, her fingers moving again now thrusting into Azzi’s tight hole, slow and deliberate. “Good girl.”

Azzi feels the heat rise in her chest, a blush creeping up her neck as she tries to steady her breathing. She’s never been this open, this vulnerable, and she’s not sure when that happened—but it’s Paige, and she trusts her.

Her world narrows to just this—just Paige, just touch. It’s all-consuming, a tide of sensation she can’t escape, and part of her doesn’t want to.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Paige whispers, her words like a soft caress as she speeds up her pace, her thumb now rubbing Azzi’s clit hard. “You have no idea how much I-.”

Azzi cutting her off with a choked moan, her body trembling as she pulls Paige back into a kiss, this time desperate, hungry. She needs to feel this, needs to feel her more.

And when Paige pulls back, Azzi can’t help but whine, not wanting to lose the contact, the closeness, the electric pulse that’s been building between them.

“Shh,” Paige murmurs, brushing her thumb across Azzi’s lips. “I’ve got you.”

[bonus-links]

MY TIME HAS COME please discuss in great detail the GrooZeLink dynamics in prologue part 5. I am so intrigued by the stark differences between this shot:

And this shot:

The scar on triforce. The hiding. Please tell me everything there is to know

this is 4 u groozelinkers

why did i do text bubbles this way. how did anyone read this comic. god bless.

this is essentially Loft Monologues His Feelings The Update. It was very important to me that the audience understands where Loft's head is at from the get-go. and like listen, sometimes u have to have a bestie debrief even if ur bestie is a dormant sword spirit who can't talk to u. if bonus links was a musical this would be Loft's I want song lol

jokes aside I think Loft comes here to talk to Fi a lot. it makes him feel both better and worse

LOFTS FI IMPRESSION i feel like he used to do this a lot and thought it was so funny and every time Fi would be like. objectively that is not what i sound like. also, peep the textbox pattern!

even though Loft has trouble acclimating to life on the surface, it was important to me to show that it's not all like. angst and doom and gloom. But that's kind of the problem right? things are good, and he feels like this anyway. also I did my best to include most of the young adult skyloft npcs, I feel like the older one have mostly stayed up on Skyloft for now. LAKE TRIP!!

this is a direct reference to this shot from the game. this line of dialogue is an important thing to keep in mind. tbh the entire reason this comic exists is bc i thought too hard about the implications of skyward sword— what if you found out your girlfriend was really your god, who had orchestrated your entire life? wouldn't that make everything feel a little strange, even if you love her more than anything? much to think about

I like the scar through the triforce mark as a kind of symbolic gesture, but there's not really any intended meaning behind the two pieces of the triforce is goes through. feel free to interpret it however u like tho lol

AND THIS SHOT my headcanon is that Loft doesn't actually help much with the early building in Faron. It's partially because he can't- he pushes his body to the limit during his quest, and then completely crashes when it's over, and it takes a loooong time to even start recovering. He spends most of the time sleeping.

But it's also partially because he doesn't actually want to move to the surface. He wants to stay on Skyloft. In my mind it's like. he fought really hard to return to a state of normalcy that doesn't exist anymore, and that's hard to come to terms with. This is Zelda and Groose's project, and while he'll go along with it, he's not that enthusiastic about it. It's a source of tension in their relationship. Combined with Zelda often acting as a mouthpiece for the gods, it starts to grate on Loft that this aspect of his future has also apparently been decided.

tldr groozelink love each other a lot but things are definitely not perfect, and especially not right now

this is actually something I intended to get a little bit more into in ch2, but the chapter kind of. wrote itself away from it. every time I tried to include a scene with it, it felt too much like I was forcing characters to have too many heart-to-hearts too early. we'll get there eventually

this is an important update in the grand scheme of things :-) mystery mouseketool etc etc

[vettelsvee]

TWO SHY IDIOTS IN LOVE | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Reader

SUMMARY: You and Oscar, your classmate back when you were in high school, and two shy idiots that might have feelings for the other, go on a "date"

WORD COUNT: 1471

WARNINGS: Mentions of drowning on a pool. Apart from that, I don't think anything else

VEE'S NOTES: I had this on my drafts for a while (more than a year I'd say) and since I'm a bit sick today and can't really move from bed I had to take it out. Anyways, it's short and one of the first things I ever wrote for Oscar, so I hope you like it! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You were excited, perhaps, for your first date with Oscar Piastri, the famous Formula 1 driver whom you had been following since his early days in the motorsport world simply because he hailed from your hometown and was also a former classmate.

You had spent days preparing for the big day when finally, the Aussie was going to take you on what you hoped would be the first of many dates. You had never lost contact with the other, although your didn't talk very often, so when Oscar surprised you by inviting you to Monza for the Italian Grand Prix, and despite having university exams, you didn't hesitate to accept the proposal.

It would be a bit hypocritical to say you hadn't prepared for the occasion. You had literally spent days choosing the perfect dress, along with the ideal hairstyle and makeup to look as best as possible just for him.

Finally, after patiently waiting for the blessed Friday to arrive, the time came to leave your hotel room and head to the circuit's paddock, where you had agreed to meet Oscar to watch the two Free Practice sessions and then go for lunch.

When you arrived at the agreed-upon location, your former classmate greeted you with a shy, but nice and comfortable, smile, then followed it with a warm hug that made you travel back to those school days when you used to spend most of your time with the guy in front of you.

"Y/N, you look stunning" exclaimed Oscar, a bit shyly and his cheeks turning instantly red. "I'll take you to McLaren’s garage and introduce you to my team quickly," he explained, almost without pausing. "They'll be taking great care of you while I'm driving, alright?"

As you walked towards the garage, after a brief stroll through the paddock due to the imminent start of the Free Practice sessions, you could feel the excitement in the air, the deafening noise of the engines and the adrenaline rush making you feel even more thrilled.

After introductions were made, and also hearing the scolding Lando started giving Oscar for being late, Piastri quickly showed you, while explaining it briefly, his race car, while getting into the gear to drive it.

"Don't you feel overwhelmed in there?" you asked with quite some curiosity.

"I've been doing this for most of my life, dear," replied Oscar. "Do you really think I get overwhelmed at this point?"

"Don't you?"

"Well, to be honest… yes," Oscar answered, "I get pretty overwhelmed, but it’s part of the job."

With that said, he turned on the engine and set out to achieve the best possible position for both himself and his team, mainly with the intention of surprising you, who ended up being more than impressed with his performance. Oscar didn’t only finish on the podium, but was also the faster driver of the day. 

Oscar parked the car, and a team of mechanics immediately appeared to start moving it into the garage. You barely had time to congratulate him because he seemed to disappear into some sort of private room and didn’t even bother to tell you something, and you also didn't want to disturb him. You felt somewhat relieved when about five minutes after that, a woman, in a very pleasant tone, mentioned that Oscar liked to take a shower as soon as he got out of his vehicle and also apologised for not having mentioned it earlier.

You thought that it made sense, and felt somewhat relieved. If you were going to eat at a restaurant, it wasn't the best idea to go all sweaty.

As soon as he finished, about just ten minutes later, he approached you and, after quickly apologizing and without saying anything else, simply took your hand. You knew Oscar was shy, and even you tried to keep as calm as possible to help him somehow, your anxiety increased more and more, but it dissipated when the brown-eyed man began to tell you anecdotes from your school days, causing more than one laugh, while also mixing in details about his career and his expectations for his future as a driver.

There was no doubt, you were fascinated by the passion with which your companion spoke about his work and, above all, by his great dedication to it.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Oscar took you once again by your hand and led you to the table, where a bouquet of roses rested next to a flickering candle.

"This is for you," he commented, handing the bouquet to you. "To be honest… I didn't know what to get you, and I didn’t know if you even liked flowers, so… I hope you like them and aren't allergic."

You didn't know what to say. Nervousness started going thought your body, and you could feel Oscar’s as well.

"It's amazing," you ended up replying. "Thank you… I've always loved flowers and no one has ever given me a bouquet before."

You smiled back at him shyly, lowering your head as you couldn’t stop thanking him while sitting in the seat Oscar had pulled out for you.

Throughout the lunch, the conversation flowed easily, with Oscar telling funny stories about incidents with other Formula 1 drivers, and you laughing back while listening actively. Also, you started sharing anecdotes from your university life because beyond that, there wasn't many exciting stories to tell him compared to the ones he was telling you.

After finishing the meal, Oscar paid even though you insisted multiple times to do it, and assured you that you’ll have another moment to pay something else for him. Then, he took your hand while stroking it softly and led you out of the restaurant, going back to the paddock for a walk through it.

"Do you remember when I almost drowned in the swimming pool during Physical Education class, and you jumped in to help me without even hesitating?" Oscar said as he laughed, trying to break the awkward silence. "From that moment on, you really became my hero. Also… my mum made me join swimming lessons.”

"It wasn’t that much, Oscar," you replied sarcastically due to your shyness, "but I really appreciate the compliment…."

"So…," the driver pointed out, changing the topic since he was quite ashamed of himself after revealing that, pointing towards the track. "Every time there's a Grand Prix, it's surreal to me that I have a car out there, ready for a race, and I get to drive it..."

Noah looked ahead, imagining Oscar’s car racing at high speed, exuding elegance, with him on it smiling behind the helmet while focusing.

"It's a dream come true, isn't it?" you said, turning your gaze back to your friend.

"Definitely," he replied. "It's what I've always wanted to do, and what I've sacrificed so much for, so it's amazing to be part of this sport not only competing with the best drivers in the world but also forming friendships with them."

You looked at Oscar and saw the passion with which he spoke of his life in his eyes.

"You're amazing," you said, smiling. "I'm so proud of you."

He approached you and took your hand for the umpteenth time that day. No matter how many times he did it, he came to the conclusion that it would never be enough for him. 

"Y/N, you've always been special to me," he said. "Although I've never told you, I've always admired your intelligence, your strength, and your beauty, and I've thought about you every day of my life, especially on race days. And now, here with you, I feel more in love than ever."

You felt your heart pounding.

"I feel something for you too, Oscar. Actually, most of your high school years…" you confessed, getting closer to him while trying not to die from embarrassment. "I never thought this could happen, but here we are…"

Oscar, trying to keep his cool, ended up leaning in carefully and kissing you gently. You felt everything around you stop. At that moment, you realized that you were a fool for not trying to do this earlier, for not confessing how you really feel about Oscar, convincing yourself he wouldn’t feel the same, but promised yourself to never deny your feelings anymore.

As you separated, still eyes locked on each other, Oscar put his arm around your waist and led you back to his car, ready to head to the hotel where you were both staying, with many thoughts in mind that included him cuddling with you for the rest of the night and, hopefully, for the very first time.

"Y/N… Do you think we could do this again… somehow?"

"I don’t think so, Oscar: I’m absolutely, completely sure, of that… Just if you want us to.”

[moonchild1]

okay so the first thing that caught my eye was the warning yoon why????? a whole jk and ady warning i can't i don't think i can make it through them fucking 😩😩😩 like oc and nel i can handle but jk and ady ugh nooooooo our boy our prince not her please anyone else i can take but not her (i just realized the hate train towards ady is strong damn my loyalty to oc ain't cracking) so i am just going to power through that part and take the angst that comes with it (which I welcome) i did notice that subtle hint at of using someone and the fantasies uhmmmmm ok that must be the upside... I honestly wonder why oc isn't mentioning her friendship with jk I honestly love it it's giving me little tingles, i don't think i mentioned it but uhm this slow burn is everything its freaking burning and i think oc is definitely feeling it now that jk is with someone, the little encounter at the cafe and the texting they are just adorable and fluffy my face hurts from the smiles... I just love how they have these opinions about each other's partners like the red flags they each see but they are all about each other's happiness, oc held back with ady but oooh jk isn't 😂 you go boy you tell her gosh i love his character in that scene.... oc and nel's scene had me pausing cause i literally went why the heck is she thinking about jk at a time like this and then she said it too it was epic oh oc you give me the giggles😂

wait what she didn't finish?!?!??!?!?! THIS IS MY ACTUAL REACTION IT'S LIKE OC IS IN MY HEAD ANSWERING ALL MY QUESTIONS OC BABYGIRL NO DIDN'T YOU LITERALLY GIVE YURI ADVICE ABOUT HER DATE AND NOW THIS 😩😩😩

and we jump straight into jk's horror I can't help it this back to back is amazing, not me shouting no through out his entire scene why jk why, here's oc is having trouble and ady on her fourth whyyyyyyyy he better have oc on his mind

i love how jungkook says nels name in full i can literally picture the disgust and the face he would pull (cue oc eye roll) italics and all..

i am writing this as i read so everything scene/sentence i go to write something on my notepad so i hope it all makes sense and let's just say when he shut her up the scene was better to read ugh jungkook likes oc he likes her fuck can they get together already i am dying here this chapter was perfect (even if ady was in it) like the build up and their thoughts both being on each other oh that tension is building i love the progression between them and the next chapter is gone be golden ahhhhhh lemme run over

yoon you beautiful genius you have my heart this fic is everything and it's getting more and more captivating as it goes along i can't wait to see what more you do in this series seriously yoon with every update i go back and re-read everything again and I am in awe every single time and your talent, like this should be printed like i want a physical copy when it's done you are brilliant and such a star for coming up with this ily yoon i hope you know that 🥹🖤

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 6 | M

Title: Eastern Arrivals and Unwanted Doubt

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel's here for the week and you couldn't be more excited!! Jungkook's another story though...

Warnings: M, fluff, smut, swearing, drinking, pining, angsstt, slight boundary pushing (not sexual), unwanted/ unneeded overprotectiveness, jealousy, lying, [reader eats bacon and eggs but it's not specified what kind or where it's from, just bacon and eggs, so whether that means veggie, vegan or normal is up to you], intentional pissing off of Nel, a little spat between major characters, sex as a plot device.

Mature warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 6,945

Release Date: April 20, 2:00PM

A/N 1: 6 months later and we have chapter 6! slow updates, but they will be written and they will be posted. I have no plans to abandon this, I just, very unfortunately, have a bit of an outernet life now. So not a lot of free time to be creative which I hate. But it's here!!

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Mature Warnings: Consensual sex x 2, both reader with Nel and JK with Ady -> sorry not sorry cuz it's plot sex. We got us some: kissing, protected sex (as we should), missionary, fingering, oral (f. rec), tiny bit of groping (consenual), multiple orgasms, loud sex, like annoyingly, sex as a terrible coping mechanism (imo), fantasizing.

Bouncing lightly from foot to foot, you’re buzzing after finally receiving the text you were waiting on a few minutes ago.

Nelly <3 [10:10pm]: Landed. See you soon 😘

He’s almost here. He’s almost here!

Just a few more seconds until—

The gates slide open. A flood of people in a mixture of sweats and business casual wear with luggage of all sizes and neck pillows walk through. You hold up the sign above your head with both hands, a smile that could outshine the sun plastered on your face, and search.

Where is he? Where is he, where is he, where is he, you think as you scour the bodies filing out of the automatic doors. You can’t see him. He’s none of the nameless faces that pass you by as they find their family, friends or rides. 

Is this even the right group of people? What if his luggage got lost and he won’t be out with this group. What if he got taken aside for some reason, and now he’s being held in some dusty room being asked a bunch of stupid questions he doesn’t know how to answer? What if he’s fig—

But then there’s a gap in the crowd, and the boy you’ve spent the last half decade of your life with comes into perfect, crystalline view. His lips pulled taught, teeth beautifully bared as he sets his sights on your sign high in the air, then down to you.

And you're running. 

You’re running and dodging and swerving until you’re jumping into Nels arms as he abandons his suitcase in favour of keeping you both up right. He buries his face into your neck, holding you so tightly you think he’ll never let go. And that’s just fine with you as you hold on just as tight, taking in a big breath of him too. 

He smells like airplane and coastal breeze and most importantly, home. 

Nel smells like home.

A muffled, “Ohhhhhhh, I missed you,” greets your ears, and you melt into him even more if that's even possible.

“I missed you too,” you say, pulling back and kissing him. You don’t really care if there’s an audience or not right now. Not when Nel’s here, and he’s in your arms, and he’s yours for a whole 9 days and life is as it should be once again.

He releases his hold slightly, but your arms don’t leave his shoulders. The sign still clutched, now crushed and crinkled, in one hand. 

“Car?” he asks, a kiss to your nose.

“This way,” you lead, releasing your hold.

Luckily, his suitcase is small, so he forgoes rolling it, instead gripping the handle at the top and carrying it in one hand. Your own reaching for his other and not letting go. He’s going to have to peel you off him if he wants space right now. 

Nel’s wearing his usual fall attire; a dark green school sweater that has ‘ECAD’ written over the chest in a large, academic looking mustard yellow font, regular old blue jeans, and dark brown lace up boots. His short, dirty blond hair's covered by a hat you’d gotten him as a highschool graduation present, and his ocean blue eyes remain as gorgeous as they were the day you met. 

Passing through doors to the outside and back to lot J, you hop in the car as he puts his bag in the trunk.

“How have you been? What’s new? What’s not? Tell me everything,” he asks as he climbs in and sits beside you, hand finding yours again. 

Never gone for too long. You relish in the comfort and happiness that alone brings you. 

He’s finally here. You finally have him back.

“I’m great. Yuri’s still Yuri, classes are only a little more challenging this year, but I’m still at the top of them,” Nel slips in a ‘not surprised’ and you smile brighter as you continue. “They’re already telling us to start brainstorming ideas for our thesis show next year,” you have no idea what you’re going to do, but you’re working on it. “Campus is the same, dorms are the same, the cafe’s the same. Though, they have the egg tarts I like in more, which is awesome for my taste buds and terrible for my bank account.” 

Vivian stayed true to her word, and now they had the tarts in every week. 

“I can only imagine,” Nel jokes.

“Uhhmm, what else…” a thought pops up, and you guess you can tell him. It doesn’t reveal anything the whole world doesn’t already know. “The prince is dating Adaline Dupree.”

His eyebrows raise, remembering, “Oh yeah, that’s right, the prince goes to your school now.”

“Yep.”

“Have you met him?”

Is he seriously not completely shocked at the prince dating Adaline? You only bitched about her to him all the time.

“Uhhh… yep, once or twice, I guess.” 

You hate it. You hate lying, especially to Nel. You hate it so much, but it’s for the greater good. It’s to keep the peace. But that doesn’t stop the burning feeling in your chest nor the roil in your belly.

“The day he arrived Yuri dragged me down to see him speak. She made us sit front row because Yuri,” Nel nods, knowing exactly what you mean. “He had everyone assemble to hear why he was at school and tell us not to treat him like a prince. He wants to be able to study without his title getting in the way.”

You hit your blinker, making a one handed left turn. 

“Makes sense. Is he nice at least?” Nel doesn’t sound at all suspicious, and why should he? You’ve never given him reason to not believe you at your word before. Never lied to him before.

Fuck you hate this so much. It was so much easier when he was 5000 miles away. But now that he's right beside you? This week may end up being more difficult than you thought.

“He was very princely. Tried to kiss my hand like he did like every other girl there, but I made it a handshake instead. Figured if he wants to be treated like everyone else, I would liste—Oh!” you laugh before you can even get the words out.

“What?” he asks, intrigued but confused.

You can barely speak coherently. “You should have seen Yuri’s face when I called him Jungkook and not Prince or Your Highness...her eyes nearly fell out of her head,” tears are starting to form from laughing so hard. “It was great.”

“He didn’t mind?” Nel asks and you shake your head. Yuri’s face that day will forever be seared into your brain for whenever you need a pick-me-up. 

“No, he was grateful actually. I was the first person that had addressed him like that, the way he’d asked to be.” Stopping at a red light, you're finally regaining yourself.

“Well,” he squeezes your hand, “you always were good at first impressions,” and looks at you so softly you can’t help but smile into the kiss you give him. 

He remembers that school art fair just as fondly as you do. 

Nel pulls away first with a thought. “Is Yuri with us this time?” 

Yuri hadn’t been able to go home last year, her parents too busy on a work trip, so she stayed back and kicked it with you two, but also gave you your space when needed.

Lots and lots of space.

“Nope! Parents welcomed her with open arms this afternoon, I’m sure. They’re all on some tropical island down south. She’s bringing me an ocean bottle though, so I’m excited for that. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to add a new one.”

Everytime you travelled somewhere with a beach you got a glass bottle and filled it with half sand, half water, added in some shells or rocks and labelled it. Instead of towels, keychains, or magnets, you did ocean bottles. They lined a shelf in your room back home. 

You probably have at least fifteen of them by now. Your mum likes to travel and make sure you experience the world around you, not just your little corner of it.

“Oh that’s great babe! I know how much you love those.”

“Yeah, it is.” You lean your head on his shoulder, basking in his presence for as long as the light remains red. 

He’s here. He’s yours. 

You only have to do this for a couple more years and then you’ll be together all the time. God you can’t wait. But you are nothing if not disciplined. 

And it’s going to be so worth it in the end.

The rest of the ride to your dorm goes by quickly. 

Some more red lights, some more kisses. You point out the same things you always do on the way back, and Nel acts like it’s the first time he’s seen them, just like he always does.

His hand never leaves yours over the center console. 

Soon enough, you find yourselves flopping down on your bed. Bags, jackets and shoes, scattered. Nel pulls you into him, his head on your pillow, yours lying on his chest. True peace settling in for the first time in months.

“I can't wait until we’re done school and I have more than four and a half months with you a year,” he sighs.  “It’s not enough. I want more. Need more.”

“Me too. But good things come to those who wait.”

“Yeah…I’m just really sick of waiting.” 

“Me too,” you repeat in a yawn. 

Nel’s breathing slowly evens out as you lie there, content to be in your arms again. And you look up to see his eyes closed, warm exhales brushing over your face from his nose. 

You can’t blame him for being so tired. He’d had an early morning exam before flying out, even brought his suitcase to it so he could leave the second he was done. Then, the flight alone was ten hours, plus travel times to and from the airports was about an hour each way, and the wait time before boarding was another two. 

Shit, he’s probably been awake for around eighteen hours straight at this point because he’s also the type that can’t sleep on planes no matter what he tries. 

Oh, Nel...Of course he’s exhausted.

Giving him a squeeze before getting up, you take off his socks and jeans carefully, then tuck him into bed as much as you can. You’d try the sweater, but it involved too many working parts and you didn’t want to wake him, so you figure it’s best to have the window open tonight instead. 

Grabbing your phone, you tiptoe to the bathroom and do your night time routine. It’s not an overly complicated one, just brushing your teeth, washing your face and a simple 3 step skincare routine of cleanser, toner and moisturizer. Short and sweet, but it does the job. 

Halfway through brushing, you do your friend due diligence and send Yuri a ‘back safe’ text, just like she’d sent you her own ‘here safe’ when she’d landed.

You spit and rinse, moving onto washing your face and applying cleanser.

Teeth clean and face moisturized, you sneak into your room again. Nel's still out cold. 

You sneak out of habit—your mom wakes at the sound of a pin dropping. But absolutely nothing could wake Nel now outside of his mother’s voice and his morning alarm. It’s a talent of his you’ve always been jealous of.  

Removing today's clothes and tossing them in your overflowing hamper—reminder to self: do laundry—you slide on your pjs and climb into bed beside him, plugging in your phone and setting it down. 

A thought pops into your head and you pick it back up, shooting a quick text before you can think twice. 

You [11:26pm]: home safe

It pings not seconds later.

PJK [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso  PJK [11:27pm]: glad ur home safe

Your heart beats a little louder at the nickname, and you chalk it up to the excitement still in you at having Nel here and being tired. 

But you sleep better that night than you have in a long time. 

A short, repetitive, rhythmic vibration. 

Picasso [11:26pm]: home safe

Jungkook is still standing in the same corner by the wall, Adaline somewhere in the crowd in front of him dancing with her friends. She asked him to join her, but he declined. He doesn’t need to see himself more than half drunk and dancing on the cover of tomorrow’s news cycles. Not to mention his security team would shut the party down the second a camera flashed.

His guards are carefully stationed throughout the house, all dressed down in casual wear, a few with empty cups in their hands. One is watching some sort of beer pong like game in the corner, another is mingling with some guys over in the kitchen. Three he can’t immediately see. And he knows his head guard is outside in a black car ready to get him out at a moment's notice.

Nobody can tell they aren’t here for the party, not unless they’re sober enough to notice watchful eyes continually making their way over the crowd as the night goes on. 

Your text woke him from the stillness he’s adapted from standing so long, trying hard not to draw attention to himself. 

You were home safe. Home safe from the airport. Home safe from picking up Cornelius. 

Your boyfriend. 

Cornelius, your boyfriend. 

He doesn’t acknowledge his teeth grinding.

You were home from picking up your beau but even then, you’d texted him to let him know you were back on campus safely. To let him know you were okay. 

It’s the first thing that makes him smile all night.

So he sends back, a bit to quickly: 

Me [11:26pm]: Thanks Picasso Me [11:26pm]: glad ur home safe

Because it means something to him that you deem him close enough to send a ‘home safe’ text too. 

That you want him to know you’re back.  

Want him to know you’re safe.

Whether you know it or not, your safety means a lot to Jungkook, so that little two word text makes his heart lurch. 

He needs to leave. 

He needs to get out of this fucking house and back to his dorm. He came, he drank, he observed, he fulfilled his boyfriend duty.

That’s enough for him. 

He shoots Adaline a text that says he isn’t feeling well and gets out as fast as he possibly can, dodging bodies left and right and doing his best to hide his face. 

Once he’s out, security team in tow, the cooling midnight air does him some good. 

“Someone make sure she gets back to her dorm safe,” he says in their general direction, brain too muddled to be polite in this exact moment, but it’s nothing they haven’t seen before. 

This is going to be such a long week.

He can’t wait till it’s over. Till he doesn’t have to share anymore. 

He was never very good at it anyway. 

The smell of bacon wakes you. 

And toast, and…

Eggs? 

You think, at least. Since when do you have bacon? Or eggs? Toast is a given, it’s part of your life’s blood.

Opening your eyes, you blindly reach for your phone, successfully unplugging it and bringing it to your face.

The screen is too bright but you suffer through it, squinting.

9:27am. 

9:27? 

You slept for ten hours!?

You can’t remember the last time you slept more than 6 consecutively, aside from recovery nights, and even then it was fitful.

Nel comes in with two plates, his full with a very Eastern breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon. Yours with two pieces of toast, lots of bacon, a bit of eggs and some fruit. Where did he—?

He smiles at your confusion, “You have a cafeteria that sells breakfast food, you know.”

You know that.

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because the look on your face says otherwise.”

You flop back down and pull the pillow over your head, mumbling incoherent nonsense. You rarely used the dorm cafeteria for breakfast. Much preferring the greenhouse cafe or simple toast and juice that you can make in your dorm.

He chuckles. “Two breakfasts for me then, okay, if you insist,” Nel moves to leave but you screech, uncovering your face.

“Noo! I want it. Please, sweet nutrition,” he hands the plate over when you sit up, arms out stretched, and you dig in. 

After a piece of bacon, you ask, “How long have you been up?”

Nel’s sitting with his legs crossed at the end of your bed, munching away, “Long enough to get changed, grab my wallet, get food and come back.”

The bacon is really good. You’ve never been so glad he knew you so well as you grab another piece from the dwindling pile.

“You slept well then, too? That’s good, I’m glad. You needed the rest.”

“Having you around always makes it easier to fall asleep,” he nudges your knee with his elbow.

Even after five years he can still make you blush.

“I know the feeling.”

You two fall into step, starting your weeks in advance prepared plans, the rest of your day passing quickly. 

Too quickly. 

And so does the next day, and the next, and the next. 

All of your activities are going great. The zoo, picnics, study dates, restaurant dates, historical, artistic and architectural museum tours. Even a swim at the school’s indoor pool, and there’s plenty more to come. 

Things slip back into being easy, just as they always have been with Nel, ever since that first day back in tenth grade. 

He knows you like the back of his hand and predicts your moves before you make them, just like you do for him. 

You know his favourite foods, and where he prefers to park when driving—always avoiding open curbs—you know his dream travel destinations, and who his favourite musicians are. You know his favourite pencils to design with and his favourite pencils to shade with, that he always put on his right sock first, then right shoe, then left sock and left shoe. You know that his drink order is an iced coffee with two cream and two sugar, that he prefers loose shirts over fitted ones, and that his favourite colour is orange.

It’s a pretty orange too, not just any orange. You wonder if it’s anything like Jungkook's–

Wait. 

You search your memory for the information, going through favourite foods, drinks, music—all discussed previously, because you know their answers. But colour?

Nothing.

How have you never asked what Jungkook’s favourite colour is?

Isn’t that usually one of the first things people ask when they’re trying to get to know one another? Funny. Guess you’ll have to inquire the next time you see him. 

Anyways, just like you know everything there is to know about Nel, he knows everything about you too, including your routines. 

Which is why at twelve noon every day, he starts getting ready to go to the greenhouse for your afternoon study session.

Including today.  

Your week’s already half over and you hate it. Time always moves far to fast when all you want it to do is slow the fuck down. 

You only have five days left. Five days.

You’re lucky the greenhouse cafe is open during break, some places on campus are required to stay open for the students who can’t make it home, but greenhouse chooses to. 

As you and Nel turn the corner you see a familiar figure sitting in his old spot at the back of the patio. The same hat, mask and hoodie, now paired with a leather jacket on top due to the weather starting to cool down.

You can tell Jungkook wasn’t expecting to see you by the way he stiffens before those all too familiar brown eyes of his meet your own. Which is fair, your schedule shifts a bit when you’re on break, he isn’t used to you being here at twelve on Wednesdays. 

But as quickly as he sees you, his gaze is back on his laptop, like he never saw you in the first place. 

Like you asked him to do. 

And a sharp pain stings inside your chest.

When you and Nel get to your table, he sits in the seat opposite to where you always do, leaving where Jungkook usually sits beside you, empty. 

A part of you is grateful for that, though you can’t figure out why and table that self discussion for a later date. 

Setting down your things, you ask Nel if he wants coffee. He answers yes, like always, and after a quick visit with Viv, you're pulling out your chair and setting down your cups. Your back faces Jungkook. It’s a small mercy you can’t see him. Maybe you can forget he’s here and actually focus on your work. 

But it’s also exactly because of your position, that you can’t see as Jungkook subtly watches you over the rim of his laptop while you and Nel talk quietly and study. 

Nel can though. 

It feels weird to ignore him. To pretend you don’t know one another when for the better part of the last seven weeks all you’ve done is talk, hang out, study or a mixture of the three, every day. 

When having him sit behind you and not beside you feels so wrong and so foreign. 

But this is your own doing, you caused this. So you need to suck it up and get used to it. 

This is exactly what you asked for all those weeks ago. The perfect solution to your problem. 

No one can know. 

Not Nel. 

Not anyone. 

But fuck, if it didn’t absolutely suck in practice. 

Setting some of your books out around you and on the table Jungkook usually uses, you dig into your business homework. Having a major and a minor are great for job prospects, on paper, and in practice after you’ve completed them.

But getting them? It takes years of hard work and dedication with no distractions. 

None.  

You spend almost every free moment you have doing homework or practicing, trying to get ahead, trying to stay on top.

…Trying to beat Adaline. 

But you just use that as fuel for your drive to be better. To be the best. 

Competition is healthy. Especially when you’re winning against the rich brat who’s used to getting what she wants. 

Not that you're petty.

Ehh…You are. But only a little bit. At least you can admit it.

Nel gets to work as well, the sunlight from his spot is great for drawing. He’s working on a rough version of his thesis project that’s due at the end of the year. He has to have multiple completed renderings as well as a scale model, and he’s been brainstorming since last year about what he wants to do.

Currently, he’s drawing up an airport, trying to design so that it’s not confusing and complicated for first time users. 

However, his occasional swearing and muttering to himself makes you think he’s having a tough time with it. 

You try not to laugh, but a small giggle slips out. 

“What,” Nel asks, a little distracted.

“Nothing.”

“No really, what’s up? I could use a laugh right now,” he insists, eyes on you at first. But then something behind you steals their attention every few seconds. 

Someone. 

“You just…you still make funny sounds when you're frustrated with a drawing. It’s endearing.” You reach to place your hand on his knee, trying to gain back his full attention. 

Ignore him, Nel. Please ignore him. 

“Yeah...” he exhales. “I guess airports are out,” his hand covers yours quickly and you hear a faint chair screech from behind you. Nel doesn’t miss it as he says. “But I do have a much bigger appreciation and understanding for all those who came before me,” pupils now unmoving from their target behind you. 

Fine. 

You’ll acknowledge it. 

“Is everything okay? You keep looking at something? Is there an animal or…” You know what he’s looking at, but go so far as to turn anyway, playing up the ‘confused girlfriend’ role. But Nel squeezes your hand, stopping you. 

He leans in, placing a fake mask of serene on and lowers his voice. “That guy keeps looking at us, moreso you. And he looks pissed off.”

Fuck, think of something.

Anything. Anythi—Oh!

You lean in too, so close your noses almost touch. “He’s probably just upset we’re talking. The greenhouse cafe is usually a quiet place to work,” good enough, you think. That’s believable, right?. “It’ll be fine. Let’s just ignore him and get back to work.”

You place a quick kiss on his lips but Nel isn’t letting up on his unnecessary vigilance. But then again, he doesn’t know that Jungkook is the opposite of a threat to you. So you reassure him, in your own way.  

“Babe, seriously. If you’re going to be all protective or whatever, don’t. I come here everyday when you're not here and I’m still alive and unharmed. Go get a sandwich or a refill to get your head off of it and say hi to Viv. She’s still here, and I’m betting she remembers you. You’re kinda hard to forget.” 

You can tell Nel’s about to reject the idea when you insist. “I’ll be fine, Nel. Promise. Three years and not a scratch on me.” 

He sighs through his nose, but relents. 

Placing his drawing pad on the table, he gets up, but not before placing another kiss to your forehead and mumbling, “Scream ‘cumquat’ if you’re in danger and I’ll come running, okay?” 

You laugh outright at that. “Will do.”

You watch him as he goes, and the second he’s inside, you’re racing for your phone, typing at an astounding speed.

You [1:45pm]: Didn’t your royal upbringing teach you not to stare so blatantly!??? Nel caught you

You hear a quiet ping from behind you followed by a small exhale that sounds more like a disguised chuckle. 

PJK [1:45pm]: Yes.  

You [1:45pm]: So you intentionally got caught?

PJK [1:45pm]: Maybe

You [1:45pm]: Shithead

PJK [1:46pm]: Rude

You [1:46pm]: You deserve it

PJK [1:46pm]: I know. I’m just making sure he’s treating you right.  PJK [1:47pm]: and trying to see if he acts differently when he knows he’s being watched. He’s very protective you know 

Jungkook saw the second Nel noticed he was watching you. 

His posture changed from easy going to on alert. His hand went so quickly to yours on his knee and his public displays of affection increased significantly. 

It was pathetic, really. It went above a normal amount of protection. Nel was claiming his ‘property’, making sure Jungkook knew not to touch. 

And the nasty look Nel gave him as he entered the cafe—gratefully still unrecognizable in his disguise—was another silent way to say back off, stay away, and don’t try anything or you’ll regret it. 

It was a red flag in Jungkook's mind. A small one, but it’s still there because his efforts are completely unneeded. After five years together, Nel should know that you can handle yourself. 

Hell, Jungkook knows that and it’s only been two months. 

You [1:47pm]: yes I know he is, and I already told you he treats me well because he always. Does. Not just in public or under watchful eyes  You [1:48pm]: and since when does my boyfriend of half a decade need your ~princely~ seal approval?

He ignores the small jab. You only ever brought up his title when you were mocking or upset with him. And he knows that in this case it's the latter.

PJK [1:48pm]: Since now PJK [1:49pm]: And it’s not that I don’t trust you at your word, but I usually like to decide for myself

That has you reeling. 

Where does he get the audacity to think he has any say in or about your relationship? Your very solidly built, five years strong, healthy, happy relationship?

Because he’s the Prince? You’re pretty sure you established on day one that you didn’t and still don’t give a fuck about his birthright. 

If he thinks he gets an opinion on any of this he’s got another thing coming the second he asks you anything about Adaline again. 

You’re in the middle of typing out a paragraph explaining all of this when another text comes in.  

PJK [1:49pm]: Because I’ve seen far too many women in love who are blind to certain things PJK [1:50pm]: And far too many hurt in the end because of it. 

You pause. Fingers frozen mid swipe.

Blind to what?

How many women did he know that were in love but missing something about their partner? Surely there couldn't be that many. Right? 

But this was Jungkook you were talking to, he’s lived numerous lifetimes already. That fancy birthright of his you don’t care about having given him far too many life experiences to have at his age. And they’re only going to increase from here.

So instead of hitting send and cursing him out quite spectacularly, you stop and think for a moment. 

What did he see that they didn’t? 

That you might… not?

You’re a decent judge of character if your record tracks. And it does. 

So your curiosity gets the better of you as you delete your rage paragraph and settle for a simple two word question instead. 

You [1:50pm]: Like what?

You can see that he’s typing out a response but the bell on the cafe door rings and you put your phone down. It buzzes with his response a few seconds after. 

You’ll check it later.

Nel takes his seat again, and you notice he has his sandwich, but also that he’s moved his chair and starts sketching from the new position giving him a direct eye line with Jungkook. 

You internally scoff at that. 

Nel has always been protective. But he was raised that way and you don’t mind too much. You don’t expect him to change his core values for you, just like he never expects you to change yours for him, even when a couple of his are just the slightest bit overbearing. 

But that’s part of a relationship. Give and take and compromise. No one person is going to be perfect for another. It’s healthy to have differences. 

That being said, Nel doesn’t change positions for the rest of the hour. Even as Jungkook packs up and leaves, Nel eyeballs him until he’s out of sight. 

That night while Nel is brushing his teeth and you're lying in bed, you check the text from Jungkook. 

PJK [1:51pm]: Like if they’re getting treated the way they should be or if they’re settling for the best they think they can get or for the first guy that showed interest. The one who hasn’t grown up even though time has passed. The one who’s holding her back by not setting her free

You stare at your phone. At the text. At his words. 

And dismiss it. 

You aren’t one of those women. 

You know yourself. 

You know what you deserve and how you should be treated. You didn’t settle, you just happened to find your love at a young age. That’s something special and rare and should be protected. And Nel has most certainly grown up as time passed. 

Jungkook is being ridiculous for absolutely no reason. Surely he’ll have seen that today. Seen how Nel loves you, treats you how you deserve to be treated, holds you up. Supports you. 

You’re confident he’ll be eating his words soon enough.

Finished brushing, Nel comes back to the bedroom and snuggles up behind you and you put down your phone. 

He cuddles you for a minute before placing a kiss at your neck. Then another. And another before he’s mouthing up your neck, and sliding a hand up your thigh and to your waist. It pauses on your stomach with teasing caresses, before dipping lower and lower, beneath the fabric of your sleep shorts, and under the elastic of your underwear. 

A small moan sounds in your throat at the touch. His fingers meeting your folds and the sensitive bundle of nerves at their apex.

You wanted this. 

Need it. 

He’s grown, you think; as a finger slips in you and you gasp at the stretch, legs opening wider for him. A second finger plunges in and you can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every thrust. Just like you can feel a bulge forming behind you. 

You know what you deserve; as he uses them to scissor you open, making sure you’re ready. You roll over, now on your back with Nel over you as he pulls your shorts and underwear down to get better access, your own hands removing your shirt.

You’re not settling; as Nel moves down, tongue making a couple swipes at your entrance and you hiss in pleasure before he’s reaching over, grabbing a condom from the nightstand drawer and sliding it on, length hard and dripping at the sight of you bared before him. 

Nel wasn’t the first guy who’d shown interest, just the first you’d said yes to; and he slides in. Both of you moaning at the snug fit.

“Fuck...” he says and you nod, agreeing, before pulling him down into a deep kiss.

He eases into a slow, steady rhythm that has you breathy and his abs tensing. 

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need to erase these past two months without him, and take enough to last for the next two. It’s never enough, but you try. 

“Faster baby,” you beg, “Please…faster.”

Nel isn’t holding you back. Jungkook doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. 

Nel picks up the pace and you start moaning, louder like you know he likes. Likes to hear he’s doing a good job. He’s grabbing your breast and sucking in a nipple, tongue swirling and you're bringing your hips to meet his with every thrust. 

It feels good. It always feels good with Nel. 

He was your first everything. First kiss, first intimate touch, first love. 

Only love.

And he makes you feel good with that love. That touch. His kiss.

He makes you feel safe, inside and out. 

Jungkook can go eat grass. He doesn’t know your relationship. Doesn’t know the first thing about it. 

“There, right there!” you whine as Nel hits your sweet spot once and you arch. He tries again but misses, continuing faster, his peak coming quickly. 

Jungkook can never understand what you two have. What you two have built in these five years. The understanding and security that comes with it. 

He’s being an unrightfully opinionated ass on something he knows nothing about and— 

Fuck! Why are you thinking about Jungkook? You’re having sex with Nel. You shouldn’t be thinking about anything or anyone other than that. 

Than him. 

So why can’t you get what Jungkook said out of your fucking head?

“Ahhh… oh fuck. I’m cumming.” Nel’s hips stutter, his face contorting in pleasure as he releases, filling the condom.

You kiss him passionately to rid yourself of your princely plagued thoughts, the ones filling you with unwanted and unnecessary doubt. You want them gone, gone, gone. Nothing but Nel in their place. 

And you slip an, “I love you,” in between kisses for good measure. 

Jungkook could never understand. 

Nel kisses you back just as hard, dramatically slowing his thrusts, drawing out his high for as long as possible. 

“I love you too.”

Jungkook doesn’t know anything. 

Nel groans into your lips when it becomes too much and pulls out. 

Removing and tying off the condom, Nel goes to the washroom to throw it out and starts the shower he knows you’ll be joining him for when you're done. 

A routine you’re all too familiar with. 

One you created. 

He knows you need a few minutes to get yourself off. 

You’ve never been able to cum from sex with a partner. No matter how hard you tried. No matter what you did. 

Most would think Nel wasn’t a good lover or wasn’t trying enough, but it was through years of constantly trying anything and everything that you learned you just…couldn’t. 

No amount of fingering or oral or penetration from your partner could make you orgasm. 

So Nel knows to wait for you in the shower as you finish yourself off, your own fingers making quick work of it, because you always could for some reason. 

It isn’t your ideal situation, and it isn’t anyone’s fault. But it works. You both get the intimacy you crave and you accepted a long time ago that you were just one of the unlucky few. 

Screams fill Jungkook’s ears as a hand finds his hair and nails rake against his scalp. 

Adaline isn’t a quiet receiver. 

“Ohmygod!” She shouts for the twentieth time. “Yes! There…so goo-oohhhh,” the last syllable turning into a loud moan. 

He’s holding her downwith a forearm by her pelvis, mouth full as he brings out her third orgasm of the night, juices flooding his tongue. 

He’s working out earlier frustrations and proving a point to himself in this fucked up version of self therapy. 

He shouldn’t be. 

But he does.

Has to.

Seeing you today with Cornelius spurred feelings within him that he didn’t know he had. Sure, there were bits and pieces of something stirring he refused to name, but today? 

They were in a whole different ballpark. Different than anything else he’s ever felt before, brewing inside him, bubbling up to the surface even though he’s been trying his best to pop them and shove them down.

Anger? 

Feelings he doesn’t want to have. 

Jealousy? 

Does have. 

Wanting you to look at him the way you look at Nel?

Can’t have. 

Not for… 

He admits he provoked Nel because he could. Dick move, but it was because Jungkook knew just by looking at him that giving you any form of attention would piss him off.  He seemed the type. 

Overly possessive, overprotective. 

Overbearingly so. 

Suffocatingly so. 

Because Nel knows how lucky he is. That you chose him. That you still choose him. 

He knows he has to keep others away. 

Knows he isn’t good enough for you, holds you back. But keeps you anyway.

The selfish prick. 

So Jungkook eyed you up and down, leisurely, and for as long as he wanted. Purely out of the need to prove to himself he was right about his little assessment of your boyfriend. At least that’s what he told himself. 

Was it childish and unnecessary? 

Yes. 

But he was right. And that felt good. 

He could see in your posture and your hushed words you didn’t want Nel’s protection, didn’t need it, and that Nel ignored that wish of yours. Did what he wanted to instead of respecting your ability to make decisions for yourself. Bulldozed your opinions. 

It pissed Jungkook off. 

He’d left a little while after sending you that text to read, but you never did. At least not since the last time he checked. And so he’d made plans with Adaline the second he was out of your earshot. Calling her up and setting a time for what’s currently taking up his primary focus. 

Because even though it was Adaline underneath him, for the very first time, that’s not who he imagined it was. 

Not who he just dragged a fourth orgasm out of with his fingers because he could. 

Because he would. He would be so much better. Give so much more. If only… 

Fuck.

Jungkook stands and drags his cock over Adaline’s entrance, whacking it against her clit a couple times before running the tip through her folds and pushing in. He hisses at the feeling. At who he was sinking into in his head, splayed out in front of him. Skin glistening with sweat mixed with arousal. Mouth open, slack jawed in pleasure. 

Adaline moans loudly and it dissolves his visual. 

His tattooed hand moves to hold her hands above her head, the other silences her mouth. 

“Quiet now,” he whispers, low and deep. A bead of sweat dripping off his brow, hair sticking to his neck and temple.

He intends it to be sexy for her, but in reality, he’s just sick of hearing her. It’s ruining his mental image. Not that she’ll ever know that though. 

To Adaline, this session is all about her and making her feel good. 

But constant screams and loud, pornographic moans aren’t appealing to him in the slightest. They're taking him out of the mood. Making him soft. 

Once or twice when it’s genuine? Sure. But the constant assault she loves to give his eardrums? Not even a little bit.

He sets a fast, rough pace, and Adaline’s eyes roll back in pleasure, screams finally subsiding in white hot bliss, replaced by bitten lips and smothered whimpers.

He is going to prove this point to himself over and over again. All night if he has to. 

And he has to.  

To get whatever it is he’s feeling for you out of his system.

To keep his sanity. 

To forget. 

And while it’s Adaline’s name is on his lips when he cums. 

It’s not the name he repeats in his head like a prayer. 

Chapter Seven: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

A/N 2: Thanks for waiting for this chapter. I'll try my best to have 7 out as soon as I can get it. I promise.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[sound-of-scoups]

How Did We End Up Here? | LC | Oneshot

Pairing: Lee Chan x Female!Reader  Genre|tags: Oneshot, non idol!au, comedy, fluff, pinning, down bad Chan, acquaintances to lovers, smut.  Word count: 18.9k+ Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Warnings: Explicit language, alcohol consumption, allusion to use of weed, mentions of cheating, Chan is down bad to the point he is doubting himself, there's a Gilmore Girls reference and several 5sos song lyrics referenced as well (if you know, you know), reader has an unspoken noona kink, switch!chan, switch!reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, face sitting, pussy eating, cum eating, teasing, unprotected sex (you know it’s bad), creampie. If there’s more please let me know. A/N: Happy birthday to my baby (even though he's older than me lol)! I wrote this story in a complete state of mania—the idea hit me, and in less than four days, it was finished. I thought posting it today, for his birthday, would be a good idea. I accidentally posted it earlier while scheduling, but I'm ignoring that little mishap hehe. Please read my final notes!! Enjoy reading, and let me know what you think! <3 🎧 Now listening to: end up here – 5 seconds of summer; i would – one direction; obviously – mcfly; loverboy – a-wall; best friend – rex orange county; espresso – sabrina carpenter; out of my limit – 5 seconds of summer; shup and dance – walk the moon; heart out – the 1975; intoxicated – the cab; wait – dino. Read on AO3

Summary: Lee Chan has had a massive crush on you since the day he first saw you. He never thought he'd have a chance with you, since you were so obviously out of his league, but it turns out life has a way of writing the right things with crooked lines.

He knew the exact moment you walked into the house. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence—like a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.

Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Their expressions made it clear: they were dying to find out.

There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself, though that certainly played a part. It was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something. 

And he—well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.

Tonight, when you walked through the doors of the frat house he was part of, wearing a tight black corset-style top, a short skirt that did little to cover your legs, and black thigh-high boots that made your legs appear even longer than they already were, looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin.

It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t. That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you—orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.

Of course he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.

“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan's voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.

Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.

And him? He was no better than the rest of them.

He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan, who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist, a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three. 

“What?”

Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”

It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it. 

Not that he was openly hitting on you when he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn't even know he had. 

It was a mess. He was a mess. 

Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway. 

Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”

Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a background vocalist for Beyoncé.”

“You do,” Vernon said, deadpanned. “Minho just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”

Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?” 

His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.

Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”

Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips if only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.

“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”

“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”

Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate. 

Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program—linguistics—meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.

You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.

Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times. 

Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”

“Hyung—” Chan groaned. 

“I mean, come on,” Seungkwan interrupted, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”

Chan glared at him. “That is not the same thing.”

“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, smirking.

By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though. 

Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him. 

A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care. 

Not only was he the most lucky dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan without warning if he could peek into his mind and see all the dreams he had about you. 

And the guy irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height, and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.

Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else—someone like him—made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.

“She has a boyfriend,” Chan said out loud, feeling a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did. 

“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”

He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”

Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.

“Look, man,” Seungkwan said, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”

“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

Vernon chimed in, “Seriously, dude. You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”

Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”

“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”

Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.

Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.

Chan froze.

It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.

And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips, marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen, curved into a smile. 

For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred around the edges, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then, just as quickly as it happened, you turned back to your friend, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand as if nothing had transpired.

He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the red cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.

Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” Vernon said, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.

He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”

Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”

He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip on his cup tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.

Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.

“Act normal,” Chan whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so. 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled. 

Chan shot him a sharp look, but before he could tell him to shut up, you were there—standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something that made his breath catch. 

Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the red cup in his hand as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.

“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.

Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix—Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show. 

Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan. 

“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their house. “Full house, I’ve been told.”

It was the first party the three of them had organized since the older members graduated, making them the hosts tonight. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in the house, it seemed they had been wrong.

“Thanks,” The three of them said in unison again and you let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity. 

“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking? I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as the Namsan Tower.” 

He knew you weren't just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body.

It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house; and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.  

Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.

Your laugh—soft, amused, and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face. “What’s your name?”

His world seemed to stop for a second. 

Even though the two of you weren’t close—or even friends—he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was his best friend. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?

This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn't know his name?

Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.

This couldn’t be happening.

“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging looks—surprised, amused, and definitely holding back laughter.

“Oh, I know your name, Channie,” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”

Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.

“Oh,” was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”

You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.” 

Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go upstairs and sleep.

He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long. 

“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.

“He's fine,” Seungkwan said for him. “We're all fine.”

You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”

Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh,” he started, clearly trying to fill the silence. “Are you having fun?”

“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway, as if just finding out. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”

The four of you glanced around the packed house, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable—dismantled, with couches pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in the corner, where a barman served specialty drinks, and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things. 

Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over. 

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, Sigma Vita Tau’s annual homecoming parties were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.

The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you came alone?”

“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”

Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed Don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”

Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.

Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We're great company.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.

“Not here.”

The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory. 

He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really?” He smirked. “No boyfriend? That’s new.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by their teasing. “He’s busy with something, I guess.” 

You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat. 

“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”

You let out a soft hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”

Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile a minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.

“You seem awfully interested in that drink,” you suddenly pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”

Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it—he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.

“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, as if that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”

Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”

You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”

Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name—so casually, so effortlessly—made his brain short-circuit again. 

Everything he wished for—right after you, of course—was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him. 

I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus, hell, he was a member of one of the most exclusive fraternities at university, was the current best dancer on the program since Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.

So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?

It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.

Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”

At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.

“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”

Chan blinked. 

“Oh, you know,” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”

It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.

You laughed softly, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”

Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words. 

“So…” you said, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”

Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”

Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. It’s fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically, as if trying to convince both of you.

You hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?

But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams—just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.

Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer. 

“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up as you turned your head to them with a grin so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Two seconds later, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”

You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.

 “I have to go,” you said, pointing with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend. “See you guys around.”

Chan's heart sank a little at the sudden shift, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.

But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan—just him. 

“I love your shirt, by the way.”

And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.

Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”

Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”

You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the few rooms upstairs with an unlocked door.

To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for a party, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them at Sigma Vita Tau’s annual homecoming party.

So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.

That person was currently downstairs, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone under the staircase, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.

With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name. 

That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much. 

You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

It was almost two in the morning when Chan decided he’d had enough of the party. You had already disappeared minutes ago to God knows where, and even though your friends were still downstairs playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home. Your boyfriend had probably come by to pick you up at some point, like he always did, and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.

All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten. You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much... out of reach.

Now, he was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed up to his room.

After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head. 

He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right; this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every move. 

He was such a big fool. 

A fool for you, apparently. 

For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on the figure. The silhouette was unmistakable, even in the dim light—your figure, perched on the balcony railing, legs dangling, one hand resting on your knee. He wasn’t sure how long you’d been there, but the sight of you, calm and seemingly lost in thought, made him hesitate. Again. 

The cool night air swept in, ruffling the curtains and causing them to dance with the wind again, almost as if they were beckoning him. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But then the thought of you sitting out there alone made his chest tighten, as if the universe was giving him a second chance to do things right, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was standing up and crossing the room.

He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The cool breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party downstairs still faintly echoing in the distance. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close.

You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.

Chan never liked people invading his space, especially his room, and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But it was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes, as if the hoodie had been made for you to wear too.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance.

“Chan?” You said his name like you couldn’t quite believe it, like maybe you were the one dreaming and not him. He smiled.

“Hey,” he managed to say, his voice gentle, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “You okay there?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering a small smile, grateful for the concern in his eyes. “Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

Chan hesitated for a moment before leaning against the railing next to you, his posture a little stiff but his presence somehow calming. “I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”

You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dancer major?”

He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends' advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, like it belonged to you just as much as it did to him. 

Still, he forced himself to get the words out.

“Yeah, well… dancing is different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense. It’s the kind of noise I can control.”

You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”

“Not so much.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling of the trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet, here you were, in his hoodie, in his bedroom’s balcony. 

Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that's happening. 

You were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action.

You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the cool breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.

You’d known the SVT boys for a while now, and they always carried this… chaotic energy, like one was constantly balancing and matching out the other’s freaks without the slightest trace of embarrassment or shame. That, in fact, was the reason why you liked being around them so much; they were different from the guys in the other fraternities at this university. Not to mention their parties were the best on campus and probably the most female-friendly and safe.

Every now and then, you found yourself in the company of one of them. Whether it was Vernon, who was already your friend and classmate, or Joshua, who once served as the english literature tutor for your study group back in freshman year, or even Seungkwan, in the one ancient studies class you share this semester.

Sometimes, it seemed like they were everywhere on campus, as if, whenever you needed one, they would magically appear—like when Abby blew out a candle in that Disney Channel movie 16 Wishes, except in this case, there were only 13. 

Lee Chan, however, was the member you hardly ever heard the voice of. You just couldn’t tell if he was always like that or if the problem was you, specifically. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you asked, your tone light, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.

Chan chuckled at your question, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He forced himself to say something, anything, before he made even more of a fool of himself. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”

Brilliant. Just brilliant. 

For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, he hoped you wouldn't notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.

Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.

He couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more at ease despite the awkwardness that lingered. You weren’t making him feel self-conscious about his words, just... making him feel seen by you in a way that made his chest tighten, because that never happened before. 

“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he added, his voice lighter this time, trying to steer the awkwardness away. “Just... not always the best at small talk.” 

He gave a shrug, hoping you would take it as more of a self-aware joke than anything else.

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway. It’s the big stuff that matters.”

Chan tilted his head slightly, studying your expression. 

“What kind of big stuff are we talking about here?” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but inside, he was celebrating wildly; not just because he was managing to talk to you, but because you were talking to him too.

Perched on the railing, you shifted slightly to face him fully, your hands gripping the edge as you met his gaze. 

“Like... real conversations. The kind where you actually get to know someone,” you said, your voice softer now, almost a little serious. 

Suddenly, Chan felt like the air between you two shifted, and he couldn’t decide whether it was the wind or something else making him feel more aware of every movement you made and every word you said. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the rush of thoughts flooding his mind. “I guess... I guess you're right.”

You smiled, pleased with his answer, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd downstairs faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like you’re both in another world entirely. 

Up here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something that Chan didn’t even know what. 

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room.

The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.

Instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind since the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”

Chan watched as you froze, your eyes slowly widening while your brain processed his question. Your gaze followed his, and the moment you registered what you were wearing, a soft laugh escaped your lips—one that sent his pulse into overdrive. 

“Oh, shit,” you said, blinking, voice showing your very obvious surprise. 

You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. 

“Wait, no—” you started, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear.” Your hands gripped the hem of the hoodie as if it might disappear if you didn’t hold onto it. “I—I didn’t know this was your room. I promise I wasn’t—I mean, I just—”

“You just… what?” he managed to ask, still amazed that you were standing in front of him, in his hoodie—did he stress this enough?—after a night of him avoiding you because he was convinced he had lost every chance he had after your interaction earlier. 

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. Found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and, uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”

Chan stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”

It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.

He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all.

You were still seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.

Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he said, forcing a small smirk. “Guess it looks better on you anyway.”

He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.

Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”

Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his hoodie, looking at him like that…

Yeah. He was completely screwed.

“No, stay,” he said, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”

You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Unless you want to go back?”

You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”

Chan tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.

“Okay,” you said after a beat. Then, with a teasing smile, you added, “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”

Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. You can keep it.”

You grinned. “Thanks.”

“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”

“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.

And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.

There was a comfortable silence between you after that, the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges. 

You tilted your head slightly, as if studying him, and Chan felt his pulse quicken again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way he wanted you to look at him the way you looked at your boyfriend.

At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.

Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“So where's your boyfriend?”

If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose. 

The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.

And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He's...not my boyfriend anymore.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words. 

Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.

“Not your boyfriend anymore?” He repeated after you. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn't want to be.”

That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with your step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already. 

Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?

“He’s an idiot then.” Chan spoke, bringing you out of your thoughts. When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion.

Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”

You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”

The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it. 

He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”

You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was sharp when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”

Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him—a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”

“And what finally made you leave? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Channie”

“Yeah?”

Chan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even if he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative and more responsive. 

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”

His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment. Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head? 

Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him—the asshole who never let you breathe.

“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk,” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them. 

“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?” 

Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. 

“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly, the weight of your response settling in the space between you. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.

“Yeah,” you continued, voice soft but steady, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”

Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.

Something you truly deserved.

“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”

He hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled. 

“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”

Chan’s heart beats faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before. It felt real.

“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment. But your expression softened in a way that made his heart skip another beat.

“Maybe,” you said, voice low but deliberate, eyes never leaving his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”

Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility. 

Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing and sitting on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable against his skin, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air. 

Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you—not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart. 

He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the rain before it returned to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he was giving you an escape from the moment, if you needed it.

You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”

Chan turned to face you, his expression softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, the hesitation that lingered in your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience, that he wanted you there more than anything. 

“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.” 

“Never,” you said, your voice light, but there was something else in it, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Especially when you said, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”

Chan froze, his heart giving a sharp, involuntary lurch at your words. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.

He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.

As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips. 

What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went upstairs and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends? 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said simply, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs. 

Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric. 

So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care. 

He couldn't help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.

The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life. 

There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance unit with the frat’s past members, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.

Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely. 

“Lee Jung Chan?” you asked, curious as you read the name on one of the trophies from a children's dance competition. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time. 

Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It's my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”

“You went by your full name back then?”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”

“It's cute,” you said, looking at him over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”

“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”

You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you'd only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation. 

“What? Jimmy Neutron?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn't help.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips. 

“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.

He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it's adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it perfectly.”

Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look perfect now?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”

He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”

You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you've probably never seen anything so lovely before.

“Well, I think you were adorable,” you murmured, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”

He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”

Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”

“She is,” he said, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”

Something about the way he said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but intense. The soft glow of the streetlights made his features sharper, casting shadows along his well-defined jawline.

If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.

Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure—he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.

“You still are, you know,” you said, voice quieter now. “A star.”

His lips parted slightly, but for a moment, he didn't say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out.

And then, with a small, almost shy smile, he said, “I like it better when you call me cute.”

You laughed, the sudden tension between you easing just a little. “Noted.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”

You didn't have to say his name like that, or move your lips like that. His eyes traveled to your mouth for a moment, and for a second, something flickered in his expression, something unspoken, but not entirely hidden. 

His eyes met yours as he said, “Yeah,” he murmured. “You are.”

To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”

As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued your exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he standed between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly. 

“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture. 

“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”

“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”

Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”

You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?” 

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”

“That’s love.”

He looked at you then, his gaze steady. “Yeah, it is.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.

He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.

Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.

“I was there that day, you know?” you said, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to. 

Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.

“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo—and then at him.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.” 

He felt a warmth spread through him at your words, the kind of warmth that made his chest tighten. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you. 

“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn't see you?”

“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”

He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”

There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”

He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”

Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter. You noticed him. Not just that night, but every time after. 

He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had—every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do. 

How did you end up here?

Chan felt lightheaded.

He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.

“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you murmured, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”

Chan swallowed. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different? 

But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”

Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night—to scan every face in the crowd, to find you standing by the side stage, watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time. 

Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken. 

The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, something that made his head spin in the best way.

“Can I ask you something?” You sank your hands on the mattress and stared at the wall in front of you, like you were avoiding his gaze for some reason. 

“Mhmm.”

You wet your lips, hesitating for a moment before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”

Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.

You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. “That’s what I thought.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He hesitated, his eyes flickering over to you. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”

You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious. “I make you nervous?” you echoed, tilting your head slightly. “That’s a first.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”

“That is just an act,” he admitted. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you then, meeting your gaze fully. “You’re real. You’re right here.”

And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.

Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew the way your stomach flipped at the way he was looking at you, like you were something impossible and undeniable all at once. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words. 

“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie” you said, your voice softer now, more careful.

“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan murmured, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”

Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things. 

And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.

Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you'd heard him right.

Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, his voice lighter, trying to sound nonchalant.

Something inside you fluttered at the thought. You hadn't expected this at all—not from him, not tonight. And definitely not in this way.

“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”

“But you never said anything,” you pointed out.

“Didn’t think you’d be interested,” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.” 

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. 

Didn’t think you’d be interested?

It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around. 

Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.

So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. It was now or never.

“Is it just in the past?” 

Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”

“Your crush.”

“Uhh..”

“Because it would be so sad if it was,” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his. 

His voice was softer when he spoke again. “Really?”

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”

He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting again at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what he had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.

“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”

Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t—because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous in the best way.

“Would it?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Your smile again, nodding. 

He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”

“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

You didn't say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real. 

He was messing with your head? Well, that’s a first. 

“Noted,” he simply murmured.

“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.

Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed. 

He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this charged, uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.

Chan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His instinct was to deflect, to joke, to brush it off like it was nothing. To play nonchalant. But the way you were looking at him—with quiet anticipation, with something that felt dangerously like hope—made it impossible to lie.

And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him. You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips.

“Good.” 

Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash. “Good?”

You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing impossibly small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”

A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe.

“Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.

You tilted your head, eyes glinting with something warm, something teasing. “What do you think?”

“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”

You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”

“Noted,” he replied again, huffing a quiet laugh and shaking his head. But this time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful. 

You bit your lip for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.

“Chan.”

“Yes, noona?”

“Do you wanna kiss me?”

He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.

Did he hear you right?

Did you—did you really just ask him that?

But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.

His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, because suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.

He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”

“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, your voice softer now. “And if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”

Chan let out a shaky breath. He was absolutely, utterly doomed.

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”

“Why not?” You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping just enough to make his pulse go haywire. 

Chan let out another nervous laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”

You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning. 

Yeah, he was probably overthinking this—scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this—but the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him. 

He didn’t want to screw this up.

But at the same time…

God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again. 

So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.

“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”

Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His heart pounded as he closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. The moment was slow, tentative at first, like he was memorizing the feel of you, engraving it to his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped. 

Chan exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it. 

If the party outside still carried on, now it felt distant, muted. The only thing that existed in this moment was your lips and the way they mold together, the way your fingers slid up into his hair, the soft sound you made when he nipped at your bottom lip.

Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed. 

And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else. 

Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side—and that was it. You were lost too.

When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs. 

Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him. A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter—if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.

One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.

Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time. 

Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hops to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.

His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by the heat of the moment, consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from. 

As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him: you looked like a goddess on top of him.  

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he said, voice was low, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you. 

Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling the full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him. 

Chan’s breath came in sharp, uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His voice was raw, thick with desire, and it sent a pulse of heat through you.

You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.

Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away. 

His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours. 

“You,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you.”

The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. Your fingers splayed over his abdomen, feeling the way his stomach tensed beneath your touch, the way his breathing hitched with every slow, deliberate movement of your hands.

“Then take me, baby” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.

Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.

“You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”

He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.

The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.

His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to remember this, just in case he never got the chance to do it again.

Your hips rolled instinctively, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.

You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.

Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”

His hands roamed higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.

“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”

You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you. 

“I want you to sit on my face,” he says with certainty, eyes darkened with something you’ve never seen before, but you love it. The sheer existence of it sends a whimper tumbling from your lips. 

Still, you can't help but think about his safety.

“Are you sure” you asked, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt. 

“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please” 

“Fuck. Okay.”

You get off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you step out of the bed. You pull off your skirt and panties, while Chan gets up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returns to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burn with desire as he watches you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset—on purpose.

When your breasts finally spill free, his mouth parts slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world. 

“Come here, baby.”

You slowly crawl across the bed toward where he’s lying close to the headboard, and Chan helps you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settles on either side of his head as you both adjust, ensuring the position is comfortable for both of you.

“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against your pussy, followed by a groan, and you feel his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.

You knew that you’re so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you’re sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill runned through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you’re the last and most delicious meal he's ever going to have in his life. 

“You smell delicious, noona,” The way he speaks makes you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”

Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat is right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips find your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate. 

When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him. 

The gasp that left your lips is a sound you’ve never done before, completely immersed in the pleasure he is giving you. His nose nudges against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moves over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who has been starving for far too long.

“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”

The way Chan’s mouth moves on you is pure, unrestrained hunger, and it feels so good that, only for a moment, you entertain your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cup your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that make you shiver around him. 

His tongue circles your entrance, sliding in as more of you slick spills into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wants this to end. All day, every day, Chan is sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wants is to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that is you with your pussy right in his face.

Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans was the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty fucking sure this is the soundtrack of paradise and he can’t wait to get there. 

When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sessions. 

“Oh my god, Chan,” you choke out, closing your eyes shut. 

“Hmm.” His hum sended vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would fall forward on the bed. 

Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.

He was done. Gone. 

There was no one else for him in this world. 

Only you.

You.

You.

You. 

You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.

“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low. 

That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.

Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.

When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn't resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.

Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.

He could only be dreaming.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your lips.

Normally, words like that spoken so close would make you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants—aching, neglected, and probably leaking.

Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing seconds. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.

The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and and you arched into him, desperate to feel more—to press him even more against you, to take him in.

“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm. 

Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.

“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”

“I want it,” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.” 

“Okay, noona.”

Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips. 

“You're driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you. 

You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”

Chan didn't argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his tights in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.

You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you. 

You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.

After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake. 

“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said,“There's a condom on the nightstand.”

He didn't move, didn't break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive. 

“Don't you wanna take me raw, Channie?” you pouted, sliding forward again. “I'm on birth control, and I'm clean.”

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.

The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn't sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint. 

“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze. 

“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender. 

Then, with another soft moan, you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance, before lowering yourself onto him, the fit perfect, as if you were made for each other.

Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support. 

“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”

You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan's hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don't stop. Please, don't stop.”

Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn't planning on it.”

You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you intensified, a primal dance of pleasure and need.  

You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan's eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him, the pressure mounting with each thrust.  

You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.

A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.

He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”

One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.

“Chan!” you cried, your voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and desperation.  

The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.

The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison. 

The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you'd run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together. 

Still inside you, Chan almost couldn't believe it at this moment. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment. 

He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.

Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it. 

He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Mmm," you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.” 

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Certainly, he hadn't expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him. 

You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,�� you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I've been wanting this...for longer than I care to admit.” 

He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him. 

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.  “I...I didn't think…”

“Didn't think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn't think you felt the same way. I thought...I thought I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”

Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on. 

Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.

His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he'd been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”

He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”

“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something...that made me want to get to know you better.”

Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren't scared off by my…awkwardness around you?”

You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”

He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you'll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I'm willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”

“Mhmm.”

“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”

You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.

“Honestly, Channie?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn't think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was…persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed…distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”

He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He'd been so afraid of rejection that he'd inadvertently pushed you away. “I…I was an idiot.” 

You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we're not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”

Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“For giving me a second chance.”

You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”

A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…” 

You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest. 

“Don't get any ideas, Mr. Lee” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I'm a tough negotiator. You'll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that. I'm a very hard worker. And, I'm more than happy to put in the overtime.”

“We'll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You're incredible, Lee Chan. Don't ever forget that.”

He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won't,” he promised. “Not anymore.” 

©sound-of-scoups

If you liked this feel free to let me know with a like, reblog, comment, whatever you prefer! ❤️

A/N: The next morning + Vernon and Seungkwan's reactions to finding out about them were in my plans for the story, but in the end, I thought this ending was perfect and decided not to include. If you'd like to read about it, please let me know here.

[thechaoticcherub]

Love your writing!!! 💕 Could you pretty please write a soft, domestic, doting daddy Joel and his college baby girl who is just so exhausted from all her studying. (Smutty) thank you love!

Hello!!!!! This turned super smutty honestly with some power dynamics and I less sweet and more...horny. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Study For Me

Pairing: Daddy!Joel x student reader

Summary: Joel helps you study for your econ exam

Warnings: 18+, AU no cordyceps, fingering, pussy spanking, dd/lg dynamic, power dynamics, bad econ terms lmao, studying, edging, joel is a lil mean, joel is a strict daddy, reader says no a few times but doesn't really mean it.

Word Count: 2.6K

Notes: I always mean for these to be shorter but I cant manage it. This is not edited AT ALL. I'm so sorry about my lack of knowledge of econ.

Wanna read something specific for Joel Miller? Send me a request!!

You were lying on your tummy in front of the fireplace in Joel’s living room, your economics book was open in front of you and you were trying your hardest to study for the test you had on Monday. In retrospect maybe spending the weekend at Joel’s place when you should be studying wasn’t the best idea but you didn’t want to be away from him. The backdoor opened and Joel came in tracking mud from the rain and bringing in more firewood. 

You watched as he walked in front of you, bent down and  put another log on the fire. 

“Daddy,” you whined, letting your head drop onto your book. Joel looked around at you and sighed, 

“Babygirl, you gotta finish that chapter,” He instructed. “I ain’t goin’ to be able to forgive myself if ya fail your exam ‘cause you spent all weekend at your daddy’s place.” He reached over and stroked your hair back, your forehead still resting against your book. You whined and wiggled your bottom hoping to entice him to distract you further. 

“I hate econ,” You whined, all you wanted was for him to tell you that you could close the book but you knew that he would be strict with you and make sure you did your studying. 

“I know, little girl, you’re bein’ so brave and good, workin’ your little tushy off,” Joel ran his hand from the back of your head down your back and onto your bottom. He gave it a squeeze and you pressed your hips back towards his hand. “Uh-uh-uh,” he tsked. “Do your work,” he said. 

You looked back at your econ  text book and pouted, trying to highlight important passages and answer the prep questions correctly. You were quiet, working and listening to the rain while Joel walked around the house doing little things, changing the batteries in the fire alarm, changing a lightbulb in the kitchen and turning the oven on to make a pizza for dinner. Ever since Joel had grabbed your bottom you had felt a little warm, you didn’t want to finish the chapter even though you were getting closer. You still had all your prep questions to answer. 

“Daddy!!!” You called from the living room. Joel appeared behind the couch a moment later. 

“What is it, babygirl?” He asked, looking down at you while you kicked your feet back, looking up at him from where you were lounging while you attempted to finish studying. 

“Can you help me with my prep questions?” You asked. Joel sighed and walked around the couch, he leaned down to look over your shoulder at the questions. He blew a breath as he thought, most of the time when you were working on schoolwork, or telling him about classes, the things you were learning made him feel stupid but you seemed desperate for some help. 

“Okay, babygirl, why don’t I quiz ya?” He said, and then he had an idea and smiled to  himself, looking at you. Joel sat down by your legs and then  reached over to your hips and tugged you down, turning you over so you were on your back. 

“Oof,” You said as he did it and you giggled. 

“Hand me your book, babygirl.” He said. You reached behind you and picked up your book, handing it off to him. He laid it next to him, open to the page with the questions and then wrapped his arms under your knees and tugged you down so your body was closer to his. “Daddy’s got an idea to make studyin’ a bit more fun.” He said. You giggled and looked up at him from where you were lying, 

“Yeah, daddy?” You asked. He nodded and reached up under your skirt, he tucked his fingers into your undies and started to tug them down, 

“Lift you hips up for me, little girl,” he instructed. You lifted your hips up and he slipped your undies down off of you. “Good girl, open your legs up for daddy and I’ll explain the rules for my studyin’ game,” He waited patiently for you. You tentatively pulled your legs open, exposing your pussy to him. Joel reached down and stroked over your pubic mound, watching as you started to squirm. 

“I’ll ask you one of your questions, if you get it right…I work ya up, strokin’ you and gettin’ you all excited.” He said. You nodded excitedly. 

“Okay!” You said

“But,” He tapped his finger against the very apex of your slit. You wiggled again. “If you get somethin’ wrong, Daddy gives you a spank…” he tapped your cunt again, ‘Right here,” he added. You shuddered but nodded. 

“Okay, Daddy,” you agreed. 

“Once you get five questions right, Daddy will make you come,” Joel smiled and you could see a mischievous glint in his eye.  You nodded and felt warmth pool in your belly at the thought. “Keep your pretty legs spread for Daddy,” He warned you and you tugged your knees even further apart.  Joel watched your slit open slightly, starting to expose the pretty folds of your pussy. 

“First question,” He said, glancing at the book next to him. “What do you give up to get a specific item?” He asked. You knew this one right away, you remembered reading it. You grinned,

“Opportunity cost!” You said excitedly. It took Joel a second to find where the answer key was and he nodded.

“Good girl,” He praised, he moved his thick fingers to your slit and watched as he gently began to spread your lips open, showing off your soft, folds and your pretty clit. “aw, look at that,” Joel cooed and started to stroke your clit in wide circles, being careful not to brush over your clit. Joel watched you clench and press your hips up towards him. 

“Oooh Daddy!” You moaned, “Thats…oh thats good,” You whined. Your wetness started to spread from your leaking hole all round your slit, glistening over your clit. Your eyes connected with Joel and you smiled, “Daddy, please just…keep going,” You begged. Joel chuckled and stroked his pointer finger across your clit, watching it twitch as you let out a moan. 

“Sorry, darlin’, gotta keep asking’ you questions,” He laughed and you wiggled your hips closer to him as he tugged his hand back away from you.

“But what if you didn’t and we just played instead?” you tried and Joel shook his head seriously,

“Be a good girl,” He warned, “next question:” He cleared his throat, “What is physical capital?” He asked. Your grinned, again, you knew the answer and you were suddenly feeling better about getting to give right answers. That would be easy, 

“Labor!” You said. Joel checked your answer and immediately started to praise you,

“You’re such a smart girl,” He cooed as Joel began to stroke you again, first circling your clit in a slow and easy, dizzying pattern. You wanted to beg for more but you knew he was going to stick to his word. Then he traced his thick finger down to your hole, leaking all over your pussy, dripping down onto the floor. Joel stroked over your entrance, watching your pussy, his eyes examining you as you tugged your legs open more. 

“Please put it in, Daddy.” You said, your voice sweet and needy. 

“I know ya want that babygirl,” He said, nodding. “But you’re going to have to wait.” he tugged his hand away from you just before the tip of his finger would have sunk into you. You whined. and pulled your legs back more, trying to expose more of yourself to him to get him to touch you more. “Next question:” He continued and you humped up into the air. 

“When the entire demand curve shifts due to change in factors effect supply other than price?” He asked and your heart immediately sank because it could easily be two answers but you were horny and confused. You couldn’t think straight. You just wanted to say the right thing so that you could get him to touch you more. You tried to remember the section you were reading about this. The thought of getting spanked instead of more touches scared you, your brain wasn’t working and so you blurted out,

“Shift in demand,” 

Joel looked down at the book and you knew instantly you were wrong. “Sorry, babygirl, keep those legs open.” He told you. You whined,

“No! No! it’s the other one! Shift in…sh-shift in su-supply!” You whined. 

“I’m sorry, babygirl, ya got it wrong.” He explained. You wiggled and whined and he took your thigh and forced it open. Smack, smack, smack. Three sharp, fast smacks landed against your pussy lips and you let out a gasping cry. “Shh, shh,” Joel said, “Reach down and spread your lips open for me, babygirl. Lemme see that lil’ clit and then we’ll be done.” You tentatively reached down and took your lips in your fingers, gently spreading yourself open to him. It felt so vulgar and wrong and you knew he was about to slap your clit but you didn’t really have a choice. Smack. Smack. Two more stinging smacks directly over your clit made you squirm in pain and need. Joel’s big hand sweetly cupped your vulva, thumb stroking over your lips as he soothed the pain, “Good girl, remember that sting when you’re takin’ your exam.” he said. You nodded and let go of your lips, moving your hand up to cover your face and take a deep breath, trying to clear your head some. 

“Next question,” Joel said, he looked down at the book, “What is the law of supply?” He asked. You whined, you weren’t sure if you knew it and everything felt on fire, your brain, your pussy. Your breath hitched in your chest and you pressed your hips up, 

“I don’t know, daddy.” You whined. 

“Try to think, sweet girl,” Joels hand rubbed your hip softly, soothingly. “You can do this,” He said. You kept thinking, you weren’t sure if you knew it but you could see the section in the book that talked about it. 

“I can’t…I don’t…please…” You begged and watched as Joel shook his head. 

“Come up with the answer in five seconds, babygirl or Daddy’s goin’ to have to spank ya again,” he said. You whined even louder, getting frustrated. “Five…four…” Your brow furrowed and you remembered you highlighted it, knowing it would be on the test. “Three…two…”

“As price of good increases, quantity of supply decreases!” You spewed the answer as the imagine of the highlighted words entered your minds eye. 

“Good girl!” Joel said as he looked at the book, a grin breaking out of over his lips. He immediately began the gentle stroking over your clitoris once again. He softly reached down with his other hand and spread your lips, tugging the hood of your clit back so he could very precisely stroke directly over your clit over and over again. Burning pleasure seared through you, you felt like it was too much but you knew better than to try and close your legs. You let out a loud moan, wanting more. This time Joel didn’t stop stroking you as he read the next question,

“What is the tool that measures cost of living and inflation rate? It was created by bureau of labor statistics.” He asked as his thumb stayed on your clit, stroking up and around it, watching it swell up. You needed to get this right, you wouldn’t be able to take it if he had to slap your pussy again.

“Con-con….consumer price…in-index!” you whined out and Joel nodded, continuing to stroke you. He gave your clit a break by starting to stroke your hole with his middle finger, creamy wetness made soft noises while he teased your entrance, just barely pushing the tip of his finger into you. “Daddy’s got you, good girl, let’s keep going. Almost there.” He said. You nodded desperately. 

“What is the amount of a good sellers are able & willing to sell at a particular price?” He asked and your brain was complete mush so you spoke before you thought, 

“Quantity of  demand,” You immediately knew you misspoke, “No!” You cried. “No! Thats wrong,” You moaned and Joel nodded, 

“I know it’s wrong,” he cooed stopping his gentle ministrations at your hole. “Aw sweetie,” he said, pulling  his hand back, “You were so close.” He said. You whined and shook your head, 

“No! Daddy! Please! Please! Do another question! No! Please!” You cried out and he sighed. 

“I’m sorry babygirl, you know Daddy doesn’t like to hurt you,” He lied. You could see the glint in his eyes and you squirmed. He lifted his hand and you watched, nervous as his hand came down hard on your  cunt. Smack, smack, smack, smack. Repeatedly, over and over he smacked the lips of your pulsing pussy. It burned. Your cunt lips were turning red and your clit was aching with need. Three more slow smacks were administered to your pussy, each harder than the last. You whimpered and whined, squirmed while Joel held your thighs apart with one hand. 

“Good girl,” he said. “Daddy knows it hurts, I know.” He teased. “But you gotta get another answer right.” Joel soothingly stroked the mound of your pussy. Joel looked down at the book and smirked, 

“What is economics?” He asked and relief flooded through you. 

“The study of how a society manages it’s scarce resourses,” You answered right away and you watched Joel’s eyes soften and he grinned. 

“There’s my smart lil’ lady,” he said. He dragged his hand from your low tummy and down onto your pubic mound and finally to your lips. “Do you want to come?” He asked. You nodded vigorously. “That’s my cute girl,” He said, Joel eyes seemed to drink you up as you pulled your legs open wider, showing off your glistening cunt to him. Joel’s fingers teased around your clit, “Ohh my sweet honey, girl.” He said, “Your lil clits peekin’ out at me, she’s gettin’ pretty swollen for me, aint she?” He asked as he used the wetness from your pussy to wet your clit and circled it. You whined, your voice needy, your pussy aching. You were twitching as Joel watched himself tease you towards a frenzy. 

“How’s your cunt, babygirl? She needy too?” He asked. You nodded. “Use your words for me, darlin’” He laughed. 

“Yes Daddy, she’s so needy.” You whined. Joel traced his finger down your folds to your entrance and slowly eased the thick finger into you, feeling you stretch open. You let out a moan. He dragged his finger back out only to add a second one and shove them back in, plugging you up. 

“Good girl, take daddy’s fingers.” He said. “You earned this, didn’t ya?” he said, “Bein’ so smart,” He rocked his fingers in and out of you now, his thumb pressing into your clit with each thrust. You squealed as the feeling mounted in your pussy. Your orgasm had been teased out of you for so long while you answered your questions that you were desperate for it. Joel could feel that your orgasm was close, “Ask for what you need, babygirl.” He said. 

“Daddy! Please make me come! Please! PLEASE!” You begged, your voice raising to practically a cry. Joel nodded, 

“You’re such a good girl, take my fingers,” he said as his finger pushed in and out of you, pressing against your g-spot while his thumb swirled against your clit. 

“I’m coming, daddy! I’m coming!” You cried as the feeling burst over you and something inside you snapped. You bucked your hips against his fingers and you let out a needy sob. Joel stroked you through your orgasm, pumping his fingers into you and only slowing down as you collapsed back. Joel leaned over you and pressed his lips to yours, 

“You are such a smart girl,” He said into your lips, “We’re going to have to make this a habit for studying time,” he said. 

[jelloapocalypse]

Any thoughts or feelings to share about your work as a voice director? Heard you talk about voice direction briefly before and it was very interesting! And what's important for you to achieve when working in that role?

I actually want to make a video about voice direction one day. It's such a specialized thing that I don't think people can tell when it's good or bad unless they've done it, but it's something that REALLY affects a game's quality in small and pervasive ways.

To massively oversimplfy, here's a couple things a good voice director should be doing:

Keeping the actors as informed of the situation as they can possibly be. Explaining scenes and plot elements that could have any bearing on the choices their character is making so they have full context for every line.

Making sure the actors know how to pronounce everything, holy shit, please

Keeping the tone consistent from line to line. If one actor is a little too peppy and the other is too serious, even by a little bit, it doesn't sound like they're talking to each other in the final mix. It sounds like they're talking past each other.

If possible, the voice director should play the game themselves or read the script beforehand. They should never have to check what is going on mid-session. Directors need to do homework.

Every actor acts differently. Figuring out how to get the performance you want out of people is a little different. My favorite go-to is to offer physicality, like "Say this while looking to the side." "On this word, I want you to stretch." For Potionomics we would often have Morgan "do fingerguns" for Sylvia's sillier lines, especially her flirty ones. We did this so many times that we had a sliding scale of finger guns. "That was like a 6/10 finger gun. Give me an 8."

[sleepymothafterhours]

Anyone but you

Check out ---> M.List for more of my fics <3

If you haven't yet please go read Part One <3 as this is a direct continuation

Divider credit in my pinned post

fic warnings: angst (with a happy ending) , probably wrong medical descriptions, wound descriptions, grief, zayne lowkey has a mental breakdown, hospitals, unhappy marriages? lmk if i missed something

Word count: 2,300

(yes its shorter than the other, I didn't have a whole lot more to say but i did wanna make a part two,)

Check out sleepy moths after thoughts at the end for everythign els + taglist

The Incident (AKA before reader met Zayne)

You had called her, on the way to her place already because you knew your hunter friend would never say no. When she picked up you were about a block away. "Hey, hope I didn't interrupt your date. You home?' You could hear her giggle into the receiver before she told you she'd be ready in a minute. It wasn't uncommon for you to call each other on the way to a mission where you knew you'd need backup. You never regret making a phone call more than you did after that night. You giggled with each other when she got in the car, you asked her about the guy, all she gave you was a sly smile and told you he was "Just an old friend".

The wanderer you'd found was bigger than you had expected. Everything happened so fast. There was fire everywhere, yours, the monsters, it had collapsed a building. You didn't hear her tell you to watch out before you felt its talons slash at your front.

"I'm alright." You yelled but fuck it stung. The thing had some weird tail on the end of it, like a scorpion from the hell. You took it down, you thought. You were trying to put of a fire before you heard it. The schlick sound of a talon impaling human flesh.

She was on the ground before you could take the thing out once and for all. "Shit shit shit." You swore under breath dropping to your knees with a wince. The adrenaline was wearing off and all your wounds were hitting you at once. Your hands shook as you reached for bandages, something, anything, from your bag. "You're okay. Its okay." You said holding her hand, she was cold, she only seemed to get colder. You did everything you knew to do from your training, this wasn't your first time tying a tourniquet but you knew death when you saw it and she was going to die. There was only so much you could do, after all your evol only "blessed" you with the power to destroy. Not to fix.

Paramedics found you after what felt like an eternity, one of them tried to pry you away, tried to get you into an ambulance. "I'm fine help her." You said trying to get the man to go away, he was persistent, your wounds were easy to cover with your jacket. "Get off of me. Help her." She died holding your hand. You hadn't registered it in your shock.

----------

Present day

You push all thoughts out of your head about this fight and its parallels to the last. Dwelling would only get you killed.

This fight was quick but the wanderer was strong. It had knocked through you a couple times, your head ached with the effort it took to stay conscious. Your heart sank as you watched the girl fighting alongside you collapse when the wander turned to dust. You crawled your way over to her checking her for any injuries she may have sustained. "You okay?" You asked foolishly.

"Okay enough to live. Glad you're still in one piece." She said with a chuckle as paramedics arrived. The same scene played through your mind again. You shook off paramedics demanding they help her and now they knew better than to try and get you to cooperate. Plus you weren't bleeding. At least not that noticeably.

"I'm going home. Call me when she wakes up." You said limping back to the girls car to drive yourself home.

You leaned on the bathroom wall for support as you peeled off your shirt to inspect the damages, the scarring from the incident years ago just above a new gash in your abdomen. It didn't look like it would kill you. If anything what might kill you were your knees, which felt like they were crumbling with each step you took. The stench of blood hitting your nose nauseated you, you cleaned and bandaged the wound to the best of your ability but you knew you needed a doctor.

Something in you told you to wake him but you didn't. Couldn't.

You slid down the wall with shaking hands as you tried stapling the wound together. There was no choice but to get your husband.

"Zayne.." You called your voice sounding more meek than you wanted it to. He slept on the side away from the bathroom there was no way he'd hear it. "Zayne!" You tried yelling you heard the bed shift as he seemed to wake. "I need your help." You said, voice cracking on your words.

He was on you in a moment, the light from the bathroom seeping into your bedroom as he flung the door open and knelt down beside you. "What is it?" His voice, normally so soft spoken was firm, and serious now. He looked up at the first aid kit on the counter and back down at you. "My love.."

"I didn't know what else to do." You winced when he got to work disinfecting it, it was freezing, you never did good with the cold. You tried to stay still as he bandaged your wound but the chill was in your bones you couldn't stop shaking. "its so.. fucking..cold." You chattered.

"I know love." he said checking you for any other more serious injuries, the bleeding hadn't stopped, you were tired, god you were tired. "No no. Stay awake for me sweetie." he said patting your face gently until your eyes opened up again. "You need a hospital." He stood despite your protests and lifted you gingerly in his arms.

"No. I'm okay. No hospitals. Please." Your head felt heavy as you rested it on his chest. Your eyes closing again for just a moment.

"Lemme see those pretty eyes sweetheart, c'mon, open your eyes."

"I'm S'posed to be mad at you." You murmured as he took you to the car, he set you down, somehow managing to buckle you in without bumping your injuries, He adjusted the mirror so he could make sure you were awake. "M so sleepy..n cold, I'm so cold." He put a hand on your forehead checking for fever, just in case.

"Need you to try and stay awake for me my love. Can you do that for me?" He felt so far away, you nodded and he chided you for a verbal answer.

He asked you so many questions in the car it made your head throb more than it already was. Until he ran out, until he found he couldn't say anything without potentially crying. Zayne couldn't do this again. He wouldn't survive losing another person he loved so dearly.

Your voice took him out of his thoughts and what you said just about shattered his heart. "Do you hate me?" He couldn't ever.

"Quite the contrary sweetie. Love you so much I put a ring on your pretty finger. Eyes." He couldn't bear seeing you cry like this.

"But your so far away all the time.." Neither you nor him can figure out why this is what your so fixated on talking about. "Like you never wanna see me no more."

It's cause I'm petrified at the thought of this exact scenario. Zayne thinks, he barely survived losing her but gods not you. Anyone but you. He would beg the gods for it for the rest of his life so long as you stayed.

He's lifting you up out of the car apologizing under his breath when you cry out in pain, there's nurses rushing to you both.

"I'm sorry I went back. And I'm sorry she's gone. Wasn't s'posed to be like that." You can barely talk and your eyes feel heavy as nurses are helping him put you on a gurney. "Hush now my love, focus on getting better." He says following the nurses inside. He's not used to being the one waiting. The one sitting in the waiting room, trembling in the plastic seats and waiting for something. Anything. He's filling out paperwork he doesn't even remember being handed, coworkers are asking him why he is here, why he is shaking and he waves them off.

He stays that way until he can't stand it anymore. He goes to his office and waits some more. Zayne is enraged but not with you, somehow never with you. He is enraged at himself and the universe and it's cruel ways and the wanderers that dare try and touch you and now especially he is angry at the one that dared to hurt you like this. Your words play back at him. Had he really been so distant with you? He's throwing the papers off his desk with something that could only be described as a roar of pain. He hates that he's the reason those questions graced your mind. He was losing you and it was his fault.

For the first time since she died Zayne's found himself on the floor of his office, papers scattered haphazardly around him, knees tucked to his chest, he's sobbing.

He falls asleep on his office floor waiting for news about you. He's found the next morning by a concerned nurse. She takes him to your room. You're awake, who knows what time it is by now Zayne hadn't bothered to check.

"You have a concussion." He says matter of factly, "As well as a broken rib."

"Are you here as my doctor or my husband." You say looking out the window, you seemed to look directly anywhere but him.

"That depends. Are you more mad at your doctor or your husband." You crack a smile at the dry humor. You always did.

"Well I'm pretty furious with my husband, but I think I told my doctor specifically no hospitals, so they're tied." Zayne reaches out and brushes a hair out of your face.

"You were going to die if I didn't. I couldn't lose you." He says softly.

"You hardly spare me a glance these days. I doubt you'd notice." Even injured your rage seemed to never die out. "But hearing you don't hate me was nice." So you did remember that conversation. Zayne placed his hand over yours, you were still shivering.

"You're still cold?" He pulls a blanket up closer to you, your tempted to smack his hand away. You don't. He's grateful for this, you can see it in his eyes.

"I meant what I said you know. I do love you. Just as much as the day I married you maybe even more. I was scared when you took your hunting job back. I was cowardly and it pushed you away from me instead of keeping you safe." His hand cups your cheek, hands you water from the hospital standard water bottle you were given. "If you decide to keep hunting I understand and I respect-"

"I'm quitting." You interrupted his statement, he seems shocked right back into his seat. "I never wanted to go back. Everyone wanted me to go back. To honor Her. I thought it was the right thing to do. I hate it now. I want a desk job, or a teaching job. I want you. And our routine and I want you holding me to sleep instead of going to bed with a cold note and waking up without you." For a moment he doesn't seem to believe you.

"You don't have to do this my love."

"Going back has done nothing but royally fuck our marriage. I miss what we were. I want it back. I'm so sick of this shit Zayne, getting hurt, watching people die. Getting fuckin' oggled cause everyone knows I was supposed to die." You might as well be babbling nonsense, he listens nonetheless, like he always does.

"So unless they plan to promote me to a job where I command people and I don't go out anymore. I am quitting." You say finally, leaning back on the hospital bed. He nods. This is what he wants, there's no talking you out of this and he knows that much.

"You asked me if I hate you." He speaks matter of factly again, "I never have. Never. I have been extremely unfair to you these past few months and I am so so sorry my love. I was afraid to lose you and instead of dealing with it I pushed you away. I stopped seeing you in front of me." He gets up to kiss you gently. The first in months and oh how you missed his lips on yours. "I will never miss what's right in front of me again."

-----------

You're released from the hospital 3 weeks after this. You made good on your word. Your boss tried to keep you, but you refused. She ended up giving you a promotion, an office job, your status just a step below hers, you went home ever day at nearly 5pm and made dinner and your life went back to semi-normal.

You found Zayne in the kitchen one night getting home late. He holds you close to him, kissing the top of your head gently and swaying the two of you back and fourth in the kitchen. You missed this. You missed him. Everything finally felt right again.

He had you, and you had him, you loved him so deeply it hurt and he never felt so strongly for anyone but you.

Sleepy Moths afterthoughts: so if there's one thing you need to know its that I have to make my angst end well,

one day I'll write angst with a sad ending but today is not gonna be that day. I loved writing this fic so much, I love Zayne so much oh my god i just wanna ewptsdfhjickmaegpluh. (He's not even my main)

anyway its midnight thirty and I am fucking exhausted, goodnight, i hope you all enjoyed this fic <3

Taglist: @theink-stainedfolk , @alfredosaws , @sylv-1a , @cordidy , @leighsartworks216 , @midiplier , @melonssoup , @sw3etfawn111 , @dhunhdchrih , @i-messed-up-big-time , @fandomenbylover , @notisekais , @jeonjenny , @heeknow , @syluslittlecrows , @sleep-all-day-everyday , @yumi-34 , @k-u-m-a-c-h-a-n , @holywolfsstuff

[hello-gloomy]

Can I request Stanley snyder with a breath taking beauty s/o ?????? Please 😭😭😭 ( add dr.xeno and senku if u are comfortable )

Ofc ofc, I do hope you enjoy it!

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

Stanley Snyder with Breathtaking! S/O

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

Warnings: OOC, sex jokes, corny compliments, mildly uncomfortable attention at the beginning. SCIENCE. SPOLIERS IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE MANGA!!

A/N: I thought doing a short drabble would suit this request. I hope you enjoy it. ;^

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

After Xeno and Stanley reached a truce with Senku's group, things started to mellow for all parties involved. You built a larger building for everyone to live in, made plans for the moon project, and planned a celebration for all the progress made.

You had a plenitude of people surrounding you from both colonies, and you had to keep your face from screwing up from having the same compliments over and over again.

Stanley noticed your discomfort and excused himself from the two mad scientists he associated with, along with the ex-magician( with a few witty marks from the latter)

The crowd started to back off as he moved closer to you. When he got to where you were, he cleared his throat while crossing his arms, giving a cold stare to the last few men who were bothering you.

"Mind If I sit here?"

You give your savior a sweet smile and tell him yes; he politely puts out his cigarette and sits beside you, leaving a space between them. You fidget briefly before mustering up some courage and moving closer to him. He glances around before swiping his arm and pulling you by the hip to flush you against his side. You giggle at his antics and whisper a thank you just for him.

"Anything for you, my love."

You feel a few glares from other guys and a bit of grumbling about Stanley taking your attention for himself; the two of you whisper to yourselves in your little world, Stanley showering you with compliments, much more original than the previous ones.

"You sure you weren't a model in the old world?"

"Keep looking at me with those eyes, and you might turn me back to stone."

You heard a groan and some movement beside you: Xeno, Gen, and Senku have joined your originally exclusive party. Gen passes the two drinks with a smirk.

"I feel bad for Ukyo and what he just had to hear." -Senku

"Feel bad, I had to read his lips." -Gen

"On account of his previous remarks, I'm sure something turned to stone alright with how close the two of you are." -Gen

Xeno choked on his drink while Senku and his partner-in-crime cackled at the nosy quips. You pat the doctor on his back while Stan claps the two young adults on the back of their heads.

"Maybe I should make Ukyo some noise-canceling headphones." -Xeno

"I hate kids." -Stan

"Watch it boomer" -Senku

You give Senku a look and ask who he's calling old, and he goes on to tell you the age categories and where you and the other gentleman lie at.

"And in reality, you are closer to our age category." -Senku

"Oh yeah, Sen, keep talking. I'm gonna stroke it to this later." -Gen

"I think I'm needed at the lab." -Xeno

You are starting to miss when everyone was slightly at each other's throats. Another friend comes over and catches the younger two, giving the three of you a leisurely getaway. Hand in hand with your lover, you notice Xeno's gaze on you. And ask him what's on his mind.

"Did you know the brain activates areas linked to pleasure and reward when taking in beautiful things?" -Xeno

"I don't need science to tell me how breathtaking she is when I can see her daily to remind myself." -Stanley ♡

[dualityvn]

After your answer to my ask about the boys meeting MC by pretending to be their boyfriend, I couldn't get the idea out of my head. So even though it's scary, I wanted to share with you my first ever fanfic. I hope I did Keith justice in it. I'll send the Tenebris one in a separate ask so it doesn't get too long.

x x x

“Shit shit shit shit shit! Why me?!” you mutter, sneaking a glance into the reflection of a shop window. It’d been a couple blocks since you left the cafe where you’d been trying to enjoy your afternoon off. Some rando had approached you, ignored all signs that you wanted to be left alone, and asked for your number. You’d turned him down. Politely even! He’d insisted. You’d turned him down again. He left and you’d assumed that was that. Now he’s following you. Not wanting him to find where you live, you try to lose him.

That’s when you spot a tall blonde man exiting a flower shop just up ahead. “See you tomorrow, Melissa!” he calls in a friendly voice. A desperate idea forms in your mind and you break into a jog hoping this will work.

“Surprise!” The man startles as you wrap your arms around him. He turns to face you with a look of bewilderment on his handsome face. “Oh shit, he’s cute.” you think belatedly.

“Wha-” he starts to say as you stretch up to frantically whisper in his ear.

“Please play along! I’m being followed,” You subtly tilt your head and that’s when he notices the man behind you. The florist’s gorgeous blue eyes dart back to you and he gives the smallest nod before gently wrapping his arms around you. You force yourself not to collapse from relief into his warmth.

“Well now, what brings you here, my dear?” he says with a smile you definitely wouldn’t mind seeing again in better circumstances. The affection in his voice is impressive, considering he had zero time to prepare.

“Thank fuck,” you think breaking into the most radiant smile you can manage. “I thought I’d come pick you up from work, love! You’re done for today, right?”

He flushes when you call him love, but replies smoothly enough. “I just finished actually. Why don’t we go on that date I promised you the other day?” You notice him shoot a glare over your shoulder, but you don’t dare turn around.

“You read my mind!” You reach up to gently fluff his hair before sliding down to cup his face. His eyes snap back to yours and you hear his breath hitch a little. Mentally apologizing, you softly stroke his cheek with your thumb as you give him your most convincing lovestruck look. The poor man’s clearly blushing now, but you need to make sure the creep behind you gets the message loud and clear. 

Angling your bodies carefully, you stretch up on tiptoe and plant a kiss on what you hope appears to be the (understandably surprised) florist’s lips. In reality you move your thumb to cover his mouth at the last moment. To his credit, your accomplice cups the back of your head with one hand while the other wraps around your waist, really selling the moment. You hear a scoff behind you and the sound of footsteps retreating. You linger in place a few moments more just to be sure.

“Is he gone?” you breathe mere centimeters from his face. 

Your savior’s eyes flick away from your face and back before he clears his throat to mutter a “Y-yes.” You step back, your breath leaving you in a whoosh. If you didn’t know better you’d say he released you reluctantly, but that’s probably wishful thinking on your part.

“Oh my god! Thank you so much, um…,” you pause realizing you don’t even know your rescuer’s name.

“Keith,” he supplies warmly, cheeks still tinged pink.

“Right. Keith, I am SO sorry, but thank you! I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t spotted you,” you tell him earnestly.

“It’s alright. I’m glad I could help,” he reassures you. Now that you’ve had a moment to calm down you realize just how up close and personal you got with a total stranger. You feel yourself flushing, and turn away shyly. You hear him give a gentle chuckle.

“Will you be alright on your own? I can walk with you for a bit if you’d like,” Keith asks. You look up and take in his kind gaze, still concerned, and find yourself nodding, “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like that.” He assures you it’s not and the two of you set off. Keith is a perfect gentleman as he escorts you part of the way home. You try to ask for his number so you can ask him on a date buy him a coffee as a thank you, but he turns you down. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, a touch of sadness in his voice. You’re disappointed, but accept it. “Then I’ll come buy a houseplant from your shop!” you offer, “You really were my hero back there.” Keith seems a little flustered by your praise, but brightens when he realizes you like plants. As you take your leave you turn back to look at him once more. For a moment, you feel like there’s something off about his eyes as he watches you go. You give yourself a mental shake, chalk it up to the afternoon’s events, and give him one final wave before turning towards home. You definitely don’t have anything to worry about anymore, right?

Just like the Tenebris one, I really enjoyed reading this!

[gladiaralla]

Dark Red☾⟡꙳⋆

Part 2 - Dark Geta x !fem reader / Dark Caracalla x oc

warnings: +18 swearing, cruelty + b!ood mentioned, NSFW (slightly),

Disclaimer: In general, I will not pay attention to historical accuracy in my stories. Besides, English is not my first language! Nevertheless, I hope you have a great reading experience. Make yourselve comfortable. 🤎 [Feedback is appreciated.] Hope y’all like it. <3

"Spilling blood? In my name?,” you said indignantly as you looked into the bath and let your maid Helena comb your hair. You slowly leaned back and looked at the mosaic-decorated wall. Helena gasped and was about to speak when you interrupted her again. "Helena, I don't need any games!,” you replied, as if she could do anything about it.

She carefully ran the comb through your hair and tilted her head. "These are the customs, traditions," she explained in a calm voice until you turned and looked at her, beads dripping down your chin. “Did you see the way he looked at me?,” you began almost indignantly, waiting for her reaction. "Emperor Geta?," she asked and you immediately continued as if you had no time to lose. "Like I'm a... a prize or one of his..concubines!”

You paused for a moment and looked at your reflection in the slightly steaming water. When you looked at yourself like that, you couldn't imagine sitting next to him in front of a crowd of Roman citizens and being his beloved, his wife or the mother of his sons.

Helena took the sponge in her hand and let it slide over your shoulders. The warm water slid down your breast. "He scares me Helena. His brother too. That laugh...did you hear his laugh?," you mumbled and took your previous place in the bath. "I heard it too. It didn't make me any less uncomfortable. But you and I will have to live with that."

The brown-haired girl behind you stopped and took the black comb in her hand again. "We can't change any of that. We are all...property of Rome now. Their property..." Helena began carefully to not frighten you. You looked at her face in the mirror on the wooden stool. She lost herself in her task and her encounters became slower. Still looking at her reflection, you grabbed her wrist and stopped her. "What...what are you trying to say?,” you asked, no less cautiously, and she slumped her shoulders, snorting briefly as she looked at the curtains that led to the terrace of your room. “Oh, it's nothing...,” she whispered, shaking her head. She didn't want you worrying about her life when you were already going through enough with your own. "No Helena. What do you want to tell me. You can speak freely, you know that," you encouraged her, but she rose from her crouch and smoothed the fabric of her dress. Her golden bangles jingled as she moved. Slowly, she sat down on the edge of the tub. "I belong to Rome now too," she repeated and you shook your head, taking her hand in yours. You knew what she was getting at now.. "You are my maid. My friend. I would never let that happen,” you replied, shaking her hand now. "What would you do?...," she mumbled and put the back of her hand over her mouth. "Helena..."

"What would you do if one of them...took me? They can do that! And there's nothing you can do about it!"

You recognized how she lost her composure. "Excuse me...," she wanted to begin, but her voice broke. You paused, not knowing what to say to reassure her when you were scared yourself.

That unpleasant feeling when you thought of his black eyes, which had been staring at you all evening, ate you up from the inside. "Don't talk about such things, please...," you begged and looked at her cautiously. She raised her hands defensively. "No. Forgive me..."

Silence fell between you and it was accompanied by this uncomfortable feeling. It was rare that there were no words between you. She knew you and you knew her.

You swallowed your words and saw the marble bust. "I wish I had the spirit of Arsames. So full of life and wisdom," Helena suddenly spoke and you couldn't take your eyes off the white eyes, but you listened to her voice. "Where is he?," you asked, "He wanted to check on me tonight. Just like he always does."

Helena looked out unsuspectingly, but then a thought occurred to her and she smiled slightly. "He's probably wandering around. Remember when he came to stay with us for the first time? He spent all night exploring the house. He was almost unstoppable," Helena floated into memory and shared the thought with you. You also had a grin on your lips now.

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ⋆☾⋆ ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

Arsames did the same the second you spoke about him.

Slowly, still dressed in the garb of the past celebration, he trotted through the corridors of the imperial palace. He turned his head curiously, looking up at the walls and the ceiling above him.

These were the nights when he remembered his homeland. Even if it wasn't longing, he felt this deep connection with the images that plagued his mind at night. He remembered every moment of his childhood there in the alleys between the mud bricks and stone buildings or the bazaars and markets. Spices, ceramics or precious stones from India filled the stalls of the traders, who tried to get rid of their goods by shouting. He never had enough thalers to buy something.

He often lingered by the fountains and water inside the rich gardens and stole the fruits that grew there. A smile crossed his full lips and he strolled along the corridors, past the busts that eyed him skeptically. He read the engraved names of each one.

Augustus, Marcus Aurelius, Domitian, Commodus.

He stopped and looked at the emperor, who had found his death in the Colosseum - buried by the sand and dust.

Slowly he stretched out his hand and ran it over the cold and rigidly chiseled cheek. He bowed his head, scrutinizing the appearance of the once living man.

The increased giggling of young men at the end of the corridor brought him out of his thoughts and he shook his head briefly. Curious as he was, he followed the noises and walked past the torches with creeping steps. As if he was walking on fragile ice, he made his way forward until he stopped in front of the ornate door. The patterns allowed him to see through the holes.

As his eyes traveled through the room, lit by large torches and small candles, he recognized the activity in the shadows. He swallowed and a shiver ran through his body as he saw the Emperor Caracalla lying there on a bed covered with silk sheets. Beside him, those concubines who had already sat around him at the feast.

The one with the darkest hair ran his hand along his upper body, which was still covered in the robe. However, it lay loosely against his body.

Arsames’ fingers gripped the bars of the door and his pupils widened at the unfamiliar sight. He heard the red-haired emperor chuckle in that familiar shrill tone. He gently slapped his concubine's cheek before taking his chin in his hand and pulling him towards him. His lips brushed across his neck and Arsames heard the gasp it caused. The other two placed kisses on his shoulder or the parts of his torso that the robe exposed.

Arsames didn't want to stand here, but he couldn't turn away. It was as if he wanted to see what they were doing here. He wanted to take in every single word, every single touch, like the scent of incense wafting from the room. He gripped the curved metal of the door tighter to distract himself from the tingling in his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe in deeply. What was he doing here? What was wrong with him that he was stuck here, watching the emperor?

It was a silent battle against his innermost desires, it seemed.

At that moment, he opened his charcoal-framed eyes and managed to let go of the door. Caracalla's voice broke the silence and he flinched. His heart beat faster when he heard the words.

“Look. A Persian night owl!,” his voice called out and the boys next to him, who had all snuggled up to his body, fell into almost cute laughter. Arsames stood still, stiff as one of the many statues of past lords and emperors. Only his hand managed to give the door a nudge so that it opened slowly and tearfully.

Caracalla sat up slightly, facing the strange guest, as his concubines did. One of them turned onto his stomach and put his grinning head in his hands. He looked at the gleaming back as if he were lost in thought. He stretched out his arm to run his fingers over the accentuated muscles and vertebrae.

"It's late, isn't it?," Caracalla asked and prompting, he stepped closer, his hands behind his back. He looked around the room, which was fogged with scents and smoke. "It...was not my intention to snoop around, my Emperor," he explained carefully, considering his words. Caracalla chuckled briefly and pulled the curly-haired man's head towards him by his jaw, brushing his lips over his glistening cheek.

"Oh, we'll take your word for it, won't we? What do you mean, my dear?," he asked the young man with clear irony, whose face he was still holding in his hand. He gave a short gasp and ran his hand over the emperor's red hair. "Dearest...he is suspicious," he said, as if he was his fiancé. Caracalla slapped the thigh of the man laying next to him, laughing, and Arsames recognized the gilded tooth gleaming in the light of the candles. There was also the sound of rippling water in which spotted koi swam.

He tried to remain calm and not let anything show. Caracalla looked at him for a while until he cleared his throat and bit his lip. "Join us. Show us what you learned in Persia," he said, chuckling and tapping his hand on the blanket next to him. Arsame's stomach tightened with a feeling he couldn't interpret. His eyes twitched back and forth and his hands trembled behind his back. It seemed like he was feeling everything life had to offer at that moment. The surge of adrenaline made his knees weak and he looked at Caracalla with his eyes wide open. "My Emperor, It looks like I'm going to have to disappoint you because these are not the kind of games you learn there...," he began, but he only clicked his tongue. "Oh, that wasn't a request," he replied with a wry smile.

Arsames was that intelligent. He should have known that. He wasn’t in Persia anymore.

Hesitantly, he stepped closer to the bed, hardly knowing what to do next. One of the concubines must have seen it because he stood up and began to run his hand over Arsames’ body, which was still in the noble robe. Caracalla merely grinned with his thin lips abd the Persian couldn't help but let out a nervous and wheezing laugh. "Don't be afraid. You're not...," Caracalla began, stopping in the middle of his words to look at Arsames calmly under the light of the candles, "undesirable."

He swallowed hard. The concubine behind him whispered in his ear, "Have you ever satisfied an emperor?" he asked sensually, letting his lips brush against his ears. Arsames jerked and gasped. "No, I...," he began, stammering, hardly daring to look into the eyes of the red-haired man in front of him. He leaned back and watched Arsame's uncertainty in front of him. "Then let me show you..."

He took his hand and guided it over the exposed skin of his freewheeling shoulders. Caracalla looked at him, again with that absorbed look, as if considering.

“Do…you have names?,” Arsames asked suddenly and the two other concubines looked at him. The one who was still lingering behind him replied, "I am Nonus. This is Javaran and Seneca."

Seneca, who had been lying on his stomach until then, rose and sat on his knees, took Arsames' hand in his and let it slide down Caracalla's upper body under his guidance. He swallowed hard, his hand trembling. This did not go unnoticed by Seneca and he hissed calmly.

Now it was Caracalla who moved his hand to Arsames’ cheek. He let his thumb glide over the bone. "Pretty face you have...," he said, his thumb slowly running over his lower lips. "I wonder what kind of damage those lips could do," he muttered, more to himself than to him. Arsames couldn't help the twitching of the corners of his mouth.

"Don't you want to take this off?," Javaran asked, pulling at the robe. Arsames shook his head cautiously. "I prefer to keep it on...," he said honestly and while the others looked disappointed, Caracalla's eyes sparkled with a little less understanding. "A pity...," his voice rang out and his upper body straightened. Arsames swallowed the lump in his throat. Meanwhile, Javaran and Nonus cuddled up to the emperor and nibbled on his neck.

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ⋆☾⋆ ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

During this time, you tossed and turned in your bed. It was soft and well made, but it was the thoughts that kept you awake, as they had done for weeks. You stood up and put your face in your hands. The door to the next room, where Helena had slept, was open - just as you had asked.

Slowly, your bare feet touched the floor and you walked out onto the terrace with the shawl you had pulled over your shoulders. You looked down into the garden of the palace. In other circumstances, this view would have been an enrichment that you would not have wanted to miss. A tranquil pond with water lilies reflected the blue light of the moon, while small torches shone along the walkways. Magnificent statues stood surrounded by dense greenery and flowers.

Your eyes looked up to the towering Colosseum, where the games would be inaugurated tomorrow in honor of your family's arrival and the union between you and Geta. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and looked up at the enormous building. What would it be like to sit there among the cheering crowd? You leaned your upper body over the site, drew in the night air and closed your eyes. With all these thoughts, you realized that sleeping was no longer an option.

Suddenly, under the pale glow of the moon, a single rider pushed through the gates of the garden. The gentle snorting of his horse and the soft rustling of leaves reached you on the terrace.

The guards, clad in dark armor, sat around a small fire. They murmured among themselves about days gone by and the games to come.

When they caught sight of the rider, their voices fell silent. Their gazes followed him and some of their fingers instinctively clasped the hilts of their swords.

You gripped the terrain tensely as the rider - wrapped in a dark cloak, turned to the guards. His eyes rested coldly on the soldiers, his expression impassive, as if he knew his arrival was not to be questioned. Then they recognized him in the glow of the fire. You narrowed your eyes, but barely saw his face, which still lingered under the pulled-down hood.

The wind carried the soft creak of leather as he dismounted his impatient, stamping horse. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but curious as you were, you let yourself off the grounds, closing past Helena's room. Slowly, you stepped through your door and walked down the white stairs to the hall, which was still covered in traces of the festivities.

You waited a moment until you heard quick and almost aggressive footsteps on the marbled floor. The man standing in the middle of the hall had now removed his hood from his face and under his brown cloak you recognized a long sword and ornate armor.

You flinched as you saw the figure of Geta approaching the stranger and the guards. He had only a black cloak with gold ornaments around his body. You scrutinized him and saw the exposed skin of his upper body. You knew you probably shouldn't be down here and your curiosity had gotten you into trouble many times before. Often you had heard things that were not meant for your ears.

Accompanied by Praetorians, her future husband now stood there, rubbing his eyes wearily. "“I hope, General Acacius, you have a good excuse. Emperor Geta had some other matters to attend to," declared Numerius, his father's old friend and company. He was still strolling around the court. Geta raised his hand. "I can speak for myself Numerius," he snapped annoyed and now looked with sparkling eyes at the black-haired, older general. "Where's my brother?," Geta shouted, his breaking voice making your knees go weak. "Don't just stand there. Go get him!"

Slowly you moved further behind the shadows of the towering pillar. The emperor stroked his tired eyes again and then looked at Acacius.

This man was, you had to admit, handsome. His black beard, thick and carefully trimmed, was streaked with silver strands.

Deep, dark eyes looked at the emperor.

"Forgive me, Emperor Geta. But there were riots in the streets tonight. Mass fights and deaths too. They were incited...," he explained, standing still without moving a muscle. Geta rolled his eyes and slowly his brother trotted in, also wearing a white robe around his body. He looked confused and also angry at the general. "Have you got the man responsible?," Geta asked and Acacius nodded. "My men were able to catch him and…," he tried to explain, but Caracalla interrupted him. "Bring the troublemaker into the arena! Throw him into the arena! He shall be mauled by...by tigers...no. Hyenas! I want Hyenas!," he shouted, waving his hands around angrily. He clenched them into fists. "Or bring him here! I want to slit his throat myself! That ungrateful heathen! Burn him, peel the skin off his...bones!," his voice rang out and you shook your head as the emperor lost his composure. "That's enough! Caracalla!," Geta shouted and his voice broke.

You are startled by the loud sound and take a deep breath.

"With all due respect, my emperors. Perhaps we should clarify the causes of the uprising. The people seem to be hungry. Perhaps...," Acacius began and Geta interrupted him once more. "Then give them bread. The games will follow tomorrow...," he replied dryly, pressing his lips together.

"My brother has no head for the hungry. He's engaged," Caracalla said almost proudly, sounding as if he had already forgotten his freak-out. He looked at his brother. "I don’t care about this! I was…busy," he lamented and Caracalla shared his pain. Nevertheless, he grinned when his brother said this.

"Which one is it tonight? Aelia?," his brother asked as if they were alone.

You swallowed hard. He had concubines, of course. That shouldn't have been something that unsettled you. Before and during a marriage - at least that's how your mother Briseis explained it - it was normal for an emperor to have concubines.

Still, it did something to you, even though you weren't even a little bit attached to him.

"Enough," Geta now spoke.

Acacius nodded his head in understanding. "My men will take care of this matter."

You noticed the cold air as the guards and Praetorians present now ran out of the hall, followed by the general. The brothers looked at each other until Caracalla, followed by Numerius, disappeared behind the columns.

Geta lingered there alone, panting deeply. You couldn't help but watch him, without his make-up, glamorous robes. His hair fell into his face and he pulled his robe back over his shoulder.

You knew that you were not allowed to be here. The curiosity was gone, a fleeting moment of courage that now froze like ice in your veins.

Slowly you withdrew, careful not to make a sound. But then - a soft clang that cut through the hall.

Your blood froze. The small flower vase that you had carelessly touched lay in shards on the cool stone floor. The sound reverberated.

The emperor raised his head. Only his breathing could be heard in the silence - deep, deliberate.

Slowly, he stepped closer. His fingers stroked the silken curtains that danced gently in the night breeze. His gaze searched the shadows and you pressed yourself even closer to the wall. Your heart was beating so loudly that you felt as if he could hear it.

You swallowed hard, then - with a quick, silent step - you broke free and ran back up the stairs.

Geta already pulled aside the curtain but when his gaze looked into the darkness, he found only the broken shards on the floor.

‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾ ⋆☾⋆ ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾

tag: @quuinyoung

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: "No More Secrets"

Part 3

The journal felt heavy in Marshall’s hands.

He closed it slowly, like shutting it would somehow make the words disappear. But they wouldn’t. They were burned into his brain now—every letter, every I’m sorry, every apology meant for a goodbye that never came.

His throat was dry when he looked up.

Alaina was still staring at the floor, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold something in. Hailie, though—Hailie was watching him, waiting for something, like she needed him to tell her what the fuck they were supposed to do next.

And Marshall didn’t have an answer.

So he did the only thing he could—he reached for them.

"Come here," he muttered, his voice rough.

Neither of them hesitated.

Hailie stepped forward first, practically falling into his arms, her breath uneven as she buried her face in his shoulder. Alaina followed a second later, pressing into his side, her grip tight like she was afraid to let go.

Marshall held them both, closing his eyes for a beat, trying to steady his own breathing.

They were scared.

And fuck, he was too.

But he couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not yet.

He pressed a hand to the back of Hailie’s head, voice quieter now. "She’s still here."

Hailie let out a shaky breath. "But what if she—"

"She won’t." He didn’t know if that was true. But he needed it to be. "I’m not gonna let that happen."

Neither of them responded.

They just held on tighter.

And for a few long minutes, that was enough.

By the time he got upstairs, his anger was boiling.

Not because he was mad at you.

Because he was fucking terrified.

Marshall found you still curled up in bed, exactly where you’d been when he last saw you. You weren’t asleep—you were staring at the ceiling, lost in thought, your face unreadable.

You didn’t even flinch when he walked in.

But when he tossed the journal onto the bed beside you, your entire body went rigid.

"Tell me," he said, voice like gravel. "Tell me why the fuck I had to find out from our kids that you’ve been writing goodbye letters for months."

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

That scared him even more.

"Say something," he demanded. "Fucking look at me."

Slowly, you turned your head, meeting his gaze.

And the look in your eyes wrecked him.

You were tired. Hollow. Like a house abandoned after a fire, walls still standing but everything inside gone.

"I never meant for them to see that," you whispered.

Marshall let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "That’s what you’re worried about?"

You swallowed. "I didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?" His voice cracked, his breathing uneven. "Didn’t think it mattered? Didn’t think you should tell me? Didn’t think I’d fucking care?"

Your jaw tightened. "Of course I knew you’d care—"

"Then why the fuck didn’t you say something?" He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. "Jesus Christ, baby—do you have any fucking clue what it felt like reading that? Knowing you’ve been planning to leave us for months?"

Tears pricked at your eyes. "I wasn’t—"

"Don’t." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Don’t fucking lie to me. Not now."

You blinked quickly, looking away. "I—" You sucked in a shaky breath. "I didn’t want to die."

Marshall’s chest ached. "Then why the fuck were you writing those letters?"

Silence.

Then, finally—

"Because I didn’t know how to live like this anymore."

His breath caught.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, your fingers curling into the sheets like they were the only thing holding you together. "I was tired, Marshall. I still am. And I didn’t want to leave you—I just… I didn’t see another way out."

Marshall stared at you, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Baby…"

You let out a weak laugh, shaking your head. "I told you, I’m trying."

He swallowed hard. "Try harder."

You flinched.

But this time, his voice wasn’t sharp.

This time, it was pleading.

He sat down beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for yours, gripping them tight. "Please." His voice was barely a whisper now, thick with something he couldn’t choke down. "I can’t do this without you. I can’t—fuck, baby, I can’t lose you."

Your face crumpled, your fingers squeezing his like you were desperate to believe him.

"You won’t," you whispered.

But the way you said it—it wasn’t a promise.

And that fucking terrified him.

Marshall didn’t leave your side that night.

Even after the anger had drained from his voice, even after the fight had bled out of you both, he stayed. Just sat there, gripping your hands like if he let go, you might disappear.

You didn’t sleep.

Neither did he.

At some point, you shifted, turning to face him, your eyes red-rimmed but dry. "What now?"

He swallowed, staring at you for a long moment. "We fix this."

You let out a soft, humorless laugh. "Marshall, it’s not that simple."

"I don’t give a fuck." His grip on your hands tightened. "We fix it."

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. "And if we can’t?"

His jaw clenched. "We will."

Silence stretched between you.

Then, after a moment, you exhaled, pressing your forehead into your hands. "I don’t even know where to start."

"Then let me help you." His voice was softer now, but still firm. "Baby, I—I should’ve seen this. I should’ve noticed before it got this bad."

You shook your head. "This isn’t your fault."

"Maybe not," he admitted. "But you’re my fucking wife. And I should’ve been paying more attention."

His voice cracked on the last word.

You looked up at him, something unreadable in your gaze. "You’ve been fighting your own battle, Marshall. I didn’t want to add to it."

His face twisted. "That’s not how this works. That’s not how we work." He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. "Baby, you—fuck, you saved me. You were there for me through every fucking relapse, every time I swore I’d get clean and didn’t. You held me together when I was falling the fuck apart, and you never once made me feel like I was too much. And now you—you think you can’t ask me for help?"

Your eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I didn’t want to be a burden."

"You’re not a fucking burden." His voice was fierce now, unshakable. "You’re my fucking heart. And I can’t—" He cut himself off, inhaling sharply. "I can’t do this without you."

Something in your expression cracked.

And in that moment, something shifted.

You weren’t fixed.

Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.

But for the first time in months, you weren’t carrying this alone.

Marshall wasn’t going to let you.

And for now, that had to be enough.

---

Marshall thought things would get better once the truth was out.

Maybe not overnight, maybe not even quickly, but at least somehow.

But the weight of it didn’t lessen—it shifted.

Now, it wasn’t just him who was scared.

Hailie and Alaina had been quieter since they found the journal. They didn’t say anything, but their eyes lingered too long, their arms wrapped around themselves when they thought no one was watching.

And Whitney—Whitney was watching. She was too young to understand, but she felt it, the way tension thickened the air, the way conversations hushed when she entered the room.

Something was wrong, and she knew it.

And that scared her too.

So now, Marshall wasn’t just trying to figure out how to fix you.

He was trying to keep the kids from falling apart in the process.

And the pressure was crushing him.

It all came to a head one night, late, when the house was too quiet and your eyes were hollow again.

Marshall sat across from you at the kitchen table, his fingers drumming anxiously against the wood.

"I think we should find someone for you to talk to," he said carefully.

Your expression barely flickered. "I’m talking to you."

"I mean someone who knows how to help—"

"And you don’t?"

He exhaled sharply. "Baby, come on."

"No, seriously." Your voice was too calm. Too sharp. "You want me to talk to some stranger and tell them what, exactly? That I’ve been struggling? That I think about dying every day? That I spent months writing those fucking letters?"

Marshall stayed silent, but his jaw tightened.

Your fingers curled into fists. "Tell me, Marshall, who the fuck was I supposed to talk to when I walked into that bathroom and saw you on the fucking floor?"

His stomach dropped.

"Who was supposed to help me when I thought you were dead?" Your voice cracked, rising with every word. "Who the fuck is going to rewrite my brain so I don’t see you like that every time I close my fucking eyes?"

"Baby—"

"No!" You slammed a hand against the table, breath ragged. "You want me to get help? Tell me, Marshall, who’s gonna help me stop feeling like I fucking died that night too?"

He flinched like you had hit him.

"I don’t even know how to wake back up," you whispered. "I don’t know how to move forward from that. And you—you keep asking me to try harder, but I have been. I have been since the fucking hospital, since I spent two weeks so fucking lost in you that I didn’t even know where the kids were—and worse? I didn’t care."

Marshall felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. "What?"

Your laugh was dry, humorless. "You were dying, Marshall. And I—fuck, I wasn’t thinking about anything else. The kids could’ve been anywhere, and I didn’t care. They could’ve needed me, and I wasn’t there."

Marshall’s chest ached. "Baby…"

"You wanna talk about getting help?" you spat, eyes shining with unshed tears. "I needed help years ago, but I didn’t get it. I couldn’t. I had to be strong—for you, for the kids, for everyone. And now—now, you want me to just—just go talk to someone like that’ll make it all disappear?"

He swallowed hard. "I just—I just want you to get better."

"I don’t know how," you whispered.

And that scared him more than anything.

Because he didn’t know how either.

Marshall had never felt so fucking helpless.

He sat there, watching you tremble, watching the fight leave your body like a balloon slowly deflating. You looked exhausted—not just from the yelling, not just from the weight of the conversation, but from everything. From living.

And that terrified him.

Because he’d been there.

He knew what it felt like to be so fucking tired that even breathing felt like a chore. To look at the world and feel nothing but exhaustion.

He just never thought you would.

And worse—he never fucking saw it.

"Baby…" His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. "I should’ve known. I should’ve fucking seen it."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "It’s not your fault."

"Like hell it’s not." His fists clenched on the table. "I was so caught up in my own shit, I didn’t even notice you were drowning."

Your breath hitched. "I was hiding it."

"You shouldn’t have had to."

Silence stretched between you.

Then, after a long moment, you exhaled shakily, dropping your head into your hands. "I don’t know what to do, Marshall."

His heart twisted.

Because fuck—he didn’t either.

He wasn’t a therapist. He wasn’t a doctor. He wasn’t some miracle worker who could snap his fingers and take your pain away.

But he was your husband.

And if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was fight.

So he reached across the table, carefully prying your hands away from your face and holding them tight. "Then we figure it out together."

You didn’t pull away.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t say anything at all.

You just stared at him, eyes hollow but searching, like you were trying to decide whether or not you could believe him.

And for now—that was enough.

Because he wasn’t going to stop until you did.

The silence between you and Marshall was thick, heavy with everything that had been said and everything that still lingered unspoken. Neither of you noticed the small figure standing just beyond the doorway, tiny fingers curled around the edge of the wall.

Whitney had only come downstairs for a drink.

She hadn’t meant to hear anything.

But now, she stood frozen, heart pounding in her little chest, staring at the two of you across the dimly lit kitchen.

Mommy looked sad.

Daddy looked scared.

And neither of them had noticed her yet.

She didn’t understand everything you had said. She didn’t know what all of it meant. But she knew something was wrong.

And that was scarier than anything.

"Mommy?"

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. Marshall turned so fast his chair scraped against the floor.

Whitney stood in the hallway, bare feet pressed to the hardwood, clutching the hem of her oversized pajama shirt.

"Baby, what are you doing up?" Marshall asked, his voice softer now, careful.

Whitney hesitated. "I—" Her voice was small. "I was thirsty."

You moved first, standing quickly, the chair legs scraping against the tile. "Come here, sweetheart."

She hesitated for only a second before hurrying forward, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist. You ran a shaky hand over her hair, trying to ignore the way your throat felt tight.

"What’s wrong with Mommy?"

Your heart stopped.

Marshall exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. "Baby, it’s—"

"I heard you yelling." Her voice wobbled, muffled against your stomach. "I heard Daddy say he didn’t know you were drowning." She tilted her head up, eyes big and glassy. "Mommy, did you almost drown like the girls said?"

Your breath caught.

Marshall stiffened. "What?"

Whitney fidgeted, shifting her weight. "Lainie said Daddy had to pull you out of the pool ‘cause you didn't want to swim. She said you swim with us all summer and you don't have a problem, but sometimes grown ups get sick and don't swim."

You swallowed hard. "Oh, baby…"

She sniffled. "Are you sick?"

You didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t know how to explain something like this to a child.

But before you could think of anything, Marshall was moving. He stood, stepping closer, one big hand smoothing over Whitney’s back.

"Mommy’s not sick, sweetheart," he said gently. "She’s just really, really tired. That’s all."

Whitney blinked up at him, brows furrowing. "Like when you were sick?"

Marshall’s lips pressed into a thin line. "Not exactly."

Whitney chewed on her lip. "Can she get better?"

Marshall’s gaze flickered to you. His fingers twitched against his jeans.

You inhaled shakily. "Yeah, baby," you whispered. "I can get better."

It didn’t feel like the truth.

But when Whitney threw her arms around your neck, burying her face into you, it was the only thing you could say.

Because now—now it wasn’t just Marshall watching you closely.

It was all of them.

And if you couldn’t fight for yourself, you had to fight for them.

[the-universal-sun]

little lee waking up from night terrors and ford and fidds comforting him?

Hey guys, sorry it’s been a while, I’ve had my first and therefore worst ever case of writer’s block, but I really wanted to get something out for you guys! I figured making them head canons rather than a cohesive story would help get me past some of the writer’s block. I don’t think this is the best work, but you guys have been waiting long enough! Again, thank you for sticking around with me! Please enjoy reading these head canons as much as I have enjoyed writing them! Please stay safe and warm and healthy!

As always, I am open to helpful comments and critiques on my writing! Sending all my Love!

-_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-_ -_-

-Stan never likes Ford and F to know he gets nightmares. He's not embarrassed, but the old fashioned sentiments and being manly their father drilled into him are still present. Talking about his emotions makes him feel weird. He'll hide that he had a nightmare if they ask him about it, about what he was mumbling in his sleep for, and avoid them for the rest of the day

-When feeling smaller, it's both the same and different. It really depends on what the nightmare was about. If Lee had a nightmare about a scary movie someone (Ford) let him watch or about some of the specimens around the house that someone (Ford) showed him while little, those are the nightmares he'll wake up crying from, getting up and searching for comfort from his caregivers

-He'll go and stumble into Ford's room, clutching Poindexter in a death grip, his crying waking up Fidds who blearily makes his way out of his room and into Ford's, too. Stan will climb into Ford's bed and shake him until he wakes up, crying and sobbing, babbling about "Scawy Monsters" with 12 eyes.

-It takes Ford a while to wake up and comprehend what's happening, Fidds giving his a small slap upside the head, for "showin' Lee those devil creatures" while he was in his headspace. Ford will jump to action, pulling Stan up in his arms and into his lap, frantically trying to console the loud sobs

-It does not work, Lee will hide his head in Ford's neck and sob and rock, his brother just shushing and petting his hair, rocking with him in efforts to calm him down, but failing in his efforts. Ford's still not quite used to understanding the reasonings behind peoples emotions and action, so he kept trying to explain away what Stan had a nightmare about

-It's not until Fidds brushes Lee's hair back and kisses his forehead, softly murmuring "you must have been pretty scared, huh, Pumpkin Pie. Don't worry, we've got ya', we'll protect ya'." and Stan calms down that Ford realizes oh, he just wanted some comfort

-Once Stan has mostly calmed down, hiccupping and clutching Poindexter and Ford's arms, being gently rocked and soothed by both of them, he'll gently clamber out of Ford's lap and sit in between him and Fidds, sniffling and rubbing the tears away from his eyes

-If Lee wasn't sacred and sad, it would've been the cutest sight either of them have ever seen

-They just there for in silence, Lee hiccupping and sniffling, feeling so embarrassed for crying over a stupid nightmare like a stupid baby. Sometimes, he'll get too into his own head, mean and nasty thoughts getting the best of him. Ford and Fidds are quick to notice, crushing him their arms, whispering sweet words in his ears, telling Lee how sweet he is, and how he's so good and smart.

-It doesn't clear up his thoughts all the way, but it does make Lee feel better, a small smile growing behind the pacifier Fidds slipped in his mouth

-When Lee’s all calmed down, he's exhausted, poor little thing is just tuckered out from all the crying, but he's too antsy to go to sleep again; what if he has another nightmare?

-No need to fear, though, Fidds snagged some books before he left his room to console Little Lee. He presents 3 books: Goodnight Moon, Babe, or Mister Magnolia. Lee, of course, chose Goodnight Moon. It's his favorite bed time book and he needed the comfort after such scary nightmares!

-Lee gets settled in Ford's bed, pulling his twins arm over him, clutching Poindexter, and snuggling into Fidds' side, ready to be read to

-Let's be real, he doesn't make it past the second page, he was already exhausted from his nightmare and the crying, all he needed was the comfort of his Sixer and his Fidds to feel comfortable enough to go to sleep

-If the nightmare while Little is about his Pa' or about his decade of homelessness, those are the kind of nightmares that he wakes up from silently, still crying, but in the way someone who's had to learn to be quiet cries, silent hiccups and heavy breathing.

-He muffles his sobs into Poindexter’s fuzzy stomach, holding his breath as long as he can to get his crying under control

-It’s nightmares like these that leave him his most vulnerable, teetering on the edge of being Big or Little; he’s either almost ripped out of his headspace or plunged right into it, depending on his headspace when he went to bed

-Lee won’t go to Ford or Fidds, too scared and upset to leave his bed, he cries and cries, it’s only if either of them check in him that they see their Little Lee crying himself sick

-If that happens, he’s being immediately scooped up and carried to Ford’s bed (it’s the biggest) to be tucked into to his brother’s side and coddles and cuddled until his Big Tears have settle down some

-Ford and Fidds pet and pat him, talking about their latest project over his head, he doesn’t comprehend what they’re saying, but Lee likes hearing their voices and feeling their chests move under him

-When these nightmares happen, Lee doesn’t need a story to lull him to sleep, he’s already exhausted, the warmth and sound of his caregivers easing him enough to slip off, cuddling his Teddy Bear

[sitepathos]

Hello. I really enjoy your story, "From Mold to Gold". The story is very well written that I could feel the emotions the reader is feeling. Please keep up the good work, but take your time. The real world can be overwhelming, and sometimes, writer's block can get in the way.

I was wondering if you have heard a song called "Thank You for Hating Me" by Citizen Soldier. When I heard that song, it made me think of your story. I imagine the reader going to a karaoke bar in Las Vegas to blow off some steam or something, and when they noticed the batfam there, the reader decided to show them how they feel (takes place after chapter 11). With this song, it would show that the reader is the bigger person form moving on from their past and growing into someone better. At the same time, telling the batfam to leave them alone and paint them in a bad light, even though everyone read The Daily Planet.

I thought this would be a good little one-shot or thought that I had. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Love your story. I can't wait for the next chapter.

#ask #from gold to mold

I swear, when you sent that ask, I was already halfway done with 12 and when I saw Vegas, I legit thought you had future sight, or something! I’m serious, I freaked out a little!

Also, I have to thank you for introducing me to this song! It’s amazing and I swear it could be the song of this entire series! It fits Reader to a T!

But as for your ask, you’d actually do amazing at a karaoke bar since the Megamycete has absorbed so countless people with musical abilities from across the ages, many of them quite talented at singing. If you wanted to, you could easily make a career of it if you wanted to.

But, if you were to perform “Thank You for Hating Me,” you’d definitely look them in the eye the entire time.

While you’re on stage, they can hear the pain, suffering, and hatred in every word. They knew they treated you wrong, but hearing you sing really drives home just how much they hurt you all those years.

Bruce would keep his emotionless mask intact (mostly), but he nearly cries when he hears the line “for making me feel I’m not enough.” It’s then he realizes that he really never took the time to get to know you. When he first met you, he was dealing with Jason’s death by burying himself in his work and he was too stupid to see himself in you that night in Crime Alley; and when his family grew, he still treated you like an outsider because he knew you weren’t fit to be a vigilante with them and you lacked the capability to aid them like Barbara. No matter what excuses he can muster, he made you feel like you were worthless and there’s no changing that.

Dick cries practically during the entire time. Seriously, this song just puts all his insecurities about his treatment of you on blast and he feels even more of a failure of a big brother. The title is what started it and he’s just blubbering, “I can never hate you, baby bird!” If there’s one thing in this life Dick holds dear to his heart, it’s his title as the big brother of the Wayne Family and you singing this song emphasizes that he failed and it’s haunted him ever since Alfred reminded him that you exist.

Jason, while upset over you putting your feelings about them in song form, feels closer to you as the song gives him a glimpse into how you see things. Ever since he learned that you were kidnapped (in his territory, no less) and were beaten to near death and then shot in the head like an animal, he’s been a powder keg just waiting to blow as it brought up all the memories of his death at the hands of Joker. To him, the two of you are kindred spirits, especially since you were brought back to life just like him. He also feels a connection to you when you say the line “for seething me off like a loaded gun” because he’s known his temper has always been his greatest weakness, even before meeting Bruce and when he hears the anger in your voice while you’re on stage, he sees a younger version of himself in you. He’s spent years running his mouth about how there’s no one in the family he can relate to and he was too fucking stupid to see how alike the two of you are.

Tim, while feeling like shit during your performance, spends the time to analyze your singing and he ponders if you were always capable of singing like this (how could he have missed that?!) or if the Megamycete has given you the ability to sing like this? He also can’t help but feel targeted when you look him in the eye when you say the lines “to hide how much you hate yourself,” “go get some help,” and “cause you’re always gonna be alone.” It’s like you know all his insecurities and you know just how to pick at them. Of course, with how they treated you like you didn’t exist for years, it would make sense that you more about them then they previously thought. He’ll have to update his profile on you when he gets back home… after he gets done crying in the shower, of course.

Steph and Cass are both in the same boat because they both cringe at the line “for showing no love” because they’re both guilty of that. Steph used you when she first got to the manor, showing you affection for a week and then discarding you like some toy when she eventually got bored with you because you weren’t a vigilante and Cass didn’t give you a second glance when she deemed you weak and not a threat. Back then, you weren’t a part of the family or even a person to them and now, they’d give anything to go back and fix their mistakes.

Damian, like Bruce, keeps a mask on the entire time, but on the inside, he’s torn up. He knows when he first arrived, he wasn’t the friendliest person and his upbringing with the LoA didn’t have room for any familiar affections. He grew up with knowledge that he was the rightful heir to the Bat and the Demon, but when he learned of your existence, he felt threatened as it would make sense that the firstborn son would inherit his legacy and so he attacked you. And once he found out you had no training and no way to defend yourself, he went out of his way to demean you so you would never rise above your station and threaten his position as the next head of the Wayne Family. But, in recent years, he’s learned the importance of family and has slowly come to respect and build a rapport with each of his siblings… even Drake. But due to his arrogance, he scorned you, his only blood brother, and has no idea on how he’s going to fix it.

Will this change their minds about bringing you back to Gotham and convince them to leave you alone once and for all? Hell no. They’re too far into their delusions and there’s no way of bringing them out of it. All it does is just add fuel to the fire.

Also, people record this and post it online, one video titled “Forgotten Wayne Blasts Neglectful Family.” It gets 50m views within an hour of its posting.