#not counting the little guys in the last one

[hottiesforhockey]

may the best brother win pt 3 ⏐ h.brothers

pairings: jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜angst ⎜friends-to-lovers ⎜smut? ⎜ warnings: starts off nice and sweet ⎜ luke is giving possessive ⎜ oral (f!recieving) ⎜ more of jack saying dumb things ⎜ prepare for tense brotherly relationships moving forwards ⎜ synopsis: you had spent every summer with the hughes brothers since you were ten years old ... why does this summer feel so different? word count: 10.7k authors note: this is luke's chapter - it's a little steamier then the original so I hope you all enjoy.

part 1 ⎜ part 2 ⎜ part 3 ⎜

(unedited)

“He’s been out there for twenty minutes now.” Luke grumbles as he pauses the movie on your laptop, the sudden silence making the air feel heavier, more suffocating. He shifts, placing the laptop off to the side before rolling onto his side, elbow digging into the mattress as he glares at the shadow pacing back and forth in front of your bedroom door.

The two of you had bundled up in your bedroom for movie night - Quinn down stairs with a few of his friends and neither of you wanting to interrupt the oldest Hughes ‘chill’ time. You had extended an invitation to Jack not wanting to cut him out of your weekly hangouts but honestly you didn’t even expect him to show up. 

You held your chin in your hands as you glance over at Luke, his position casual as he lounges on your mattress, the two of you had been lying on your stomach watching Happy Gilmore for what seems like the hundredth time this summer, but neither of you could ignore the slow shuffle outside your door any longer. 

You don’t move. You try not to look. You just stare blankly at the frozen screen, eyes unfocused, fingers curling against the blanket as your pulse thuds steadily beneath your ribs. Loud. Unrelenting.

Because you knew. You felt it.

The weight of Jack’s presence had been pressing against the door for the last twenty minutes, stretching the space between you into something unbearable. A quiet plea. An unspoken question.

And you hated that you could hear it.

Luke exhales sharply, flopping onto his back with a theatrical groan, arms folding behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. "He either needs to come in or leave, because this? This is pathetic."

Your throat tightens, words tangling behind your teeth. "Luke—"

"No, seriously." He shifts again, this time propping himself up on one elbow, his sharp gaze flicking toward yours with a knowing smirk. "This is the guy you’ve been stressing over? The guy who doesn’t even have the balls to knock?" The tension between the two brothers had become more obvious since your last proper conversation with Jack, aside from the average two word responses you’d get out of him when you asked him a question. 

Luke despite being over friendly and welcoming to all, was loyal to a fault, even if it meant being mad at his own brother. 

His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a challenge. A test. A quiet prove me wrong. You inhale slowly, resisting the urge to pull your blanket higher, to shield yourself from the truth that Luke, as always, is so quick to dig up.

Jack wasn’t like Luke.

He wasn’t the type to barrel into a room, crack a joke, demand attention just to see you react. Jack hesitated. Jack overthought. Jack pulled away when he should have leaned in.

But he was still here.

Still pacing.

Still trying to figure out what to say.

And for some reason, that was almost worse.

Luke clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers against his stomach before sighing dramatically. "Alright, Princess." He turns his head just enough to look at you, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "Your call. You gonna put him out of his misery, or should I go out there and give him a reason to leave?"

Your stomach twists.

Because deep down, you already know your answer, and you think Luke did too, which is why you weren’t surprised when he gave you a rough shove, your body hitting the floor with a thud as he flicks his head towards the door. 

“Get it over with.”  Your palms press flat against the carpet, breath caught in your throat as you shoot a glare up at Luke, who only grins in response, completely unrepentant.

"You're the worst," you mutter, though there’s no real heat behind it. Your pulse is pounding now, a steady drumbeat in your ears as you push yourself upright, shaking out the sting from your elbows. Luke just shrugs, tossing an arm behind his head once more, settling back into the pillows with an infuriating smirk. 

"Yeah, yeah. Just open the damn door." You hesitate for a second too long, nerves a tight knot in your stomach. Because once you open that door, once you let Jack in—what then? But he’s still out there. Still waiting.

With a sharp exhale, you shove yourself to your feet, swiping your hands against your pyjama pants before gripping the doorknob. It’s cold beneath your fingers.

One last breath. Then, you twist it open. Jack freezes mid-step, his sock-clad feet nearly colliding with yours. His head jerks up, wide eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. The hallway light casts soft shadows against his face, the sharp angles of his jaw softened by hesitation, by uncertainty. His hair is a mess, ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it over and over again.

Your heart clenches.

"Hey," you say, barely above a whisper.

Jack exhales sharply, like he’d been holding his breath this entire time. "Hey."

Behind you, Luke snorts. "Oh my God. This is going to be painful."

Jack’s eyes dart over your shoulder, expression shifting instantly. "Luke, shut up."

"Make me." You shoot Luke a warning look, but he just grins, completely content with his role as the instigator. Jack sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face before dropping his arms to his sides. His fingers flex like he wants to do something—reach out, maybe—but he doesn’t. He just stands there, jaw tight, shoulders drawn.

You bite your lip. "You wanna come in?" 

Jack hesitates for only a second before nodding. You step back, making room as he crosses the threshold, shoulders tense as he slips past you. His presence fills the room instantly, the air shifting with something heavy, something unspoken. You shut the door softly behind him, leaning against it for a second longer than necessary before turning back to find Jack standing awkwardly near the foot of your bed, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Wait, I told you to talk to him, not invite him to crash our movie night." Luke whines from the bed, your eyes rolling before you shoot him a glare. 

"Luke, shut up." You hiss, mimicking jacks earlier frustrations. Luke watches you with a lazy kind of amusement, still sprawled across your mattress, arms folded behind his head like he’s watching a sitcom unfold in real-time.

"Well," Luke drawls. "This is cozy."

Jack shoots him a glare. "You don’t have to be here."

Luke’s grin is all teeth. "Yeah, but I want to be." You sigh as you move back to perch on the end of the bed, Luke’s hand automatically smoothing across the mattress and tangling in the hem of your loose t-shirt, a show of silent support. 

A promise. 

“Someone has to make sure you don’t accost her again.” 

“I didn’t acco— how do you even know what that word means?” Jack faces his attention towards his little brother, not noticing the way Luke’s fingers slide under your shirt, the cold tips brushing against the burning heat of your skin, a lazy smile on his face as he just shrugs as his brothers question. 

“Some of us are just naturally smart, Jack.” Luke teases and you can see the irritation bubbling under Jack’s skin - Luke always had a way of frustrating his brothers, and while Quinn usually just found it amusing, Jack was known to get caught up in the antagonising chides. 

Jack exhales through his nose, clearly biting back a retort, his jaw tight. His fingers twitch at his sides again, like he’s still fighting the urge to reach out, to do something, anything other than just stand there and let Luke get under his skin. But he doesn’t take the bait—not this time. Instead, he looks at you, his expression shifting, something uncertain flickering across his face.

You swallow hard. "Jack, what did you—"

He shakes his head before you can finish, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. "I don’t know," he mutters. "I just—I didn’t wanna leave things weird."

Luke snorts. "Buddy, you’ve been making it weird for weeks."

"Luke," you say sharply, shooting him another glare. He only shrugs, fingers still idly playing with the hem of your shirt like he has all the time in the world, like he doesn’t realise—or maybe he does—that every second Jack stands there, looking like that, makes your stomach twist tighter and tighter. Jack sighs again. His hands dangle between his knees, shoulders curled inward as he stares at the floor. 

"I didn’t mean to ignore you." Your breath catches in your throat. Jack’s voice is quieter now, rough around the edges. "I didn’t know what to say. And every time I tried, I just—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "I dunno. I guess I thought if I gave it time, it’d get easier. But it didn’t." Something in your chest clenches painfully. Because you understand. Because you’ve felt the weight of that silence too, pressing in from every angle, thick with things left unsaid. And now that it’s finally breaking, the pieces falling between you like scattered glass, you’re not sure how to pick them up.

Luke hums from beside you, tilting his head. "So, just to clarify," he says, tone deceptively light, "your genius solution to dealing with your wrong doings was to avoid her completely?"

Jack groans, tipping his head back. "Luke—"

"No, no, I’m just making sure I’ve got this right." Luke’s smirk is sharp, eyes glinting with amusement. "Like, instead of actually talking to her, and explain why you kissed her and then ditched her not once but twice, you decided the best move was to pace outside her door like a stray dog and hope that she’d do the hard part for you?"

Luke, shut the fuck up," Jack snaps, frustration spilling over.

"Or what?" Luke challenges, lifting a brow. "You gonna throw a punch? C’mon, man, can you even reach that high?" Jack’s hands curl into fists, but he doesn’t move. You see the moment his anger flares, the moment he almost rises to it—but then his shoulders sag, exhale sharp as he forces himself to let it go. You shift, your hand shooting behind your back, taking hold of Luke's pausing his fiddling as you give his fingers a squeeze before moving them away from you.

"Enough." you say softly.

He glances at you, then back at Jack, before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh, flopping back against your pillows again. "Fine, fine. I’ll be good."

Jack mutters something under his breath, something suspiciously close to "doubt that," but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his expression guarded, hesitant. "Can we talk..." he hesitates, "privately?"

Luke groans. "Oh my God, just say what you need to say and go so we can go back to enjoying our night." You swat at him blindly before nodding at Jack, trying to steady your pulse. Luke makes a big show of sitting up, stretching his arms overhead before throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Well fine, if you two are gonna get all serious, I’m out."

You blink. "Wait, really?"

Luke grins, already halfway to the door. "What? You want me to stay?"

"No!" you and Jack say at the same time, and Luke barks out a laugh, hands up in mock surrender.

"Alright, alright. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Try not to kill each other. Or make out...for the third time" He winks at you, then at Jack, before ducking out the door, closing it behind him with an exaggerated click. Silence settles over the room.

Jack exhales, rubbing at his jaw. "He’s such a dick."

"Yeah," you murmur, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite everything. "But he’s not wrong."

Jack looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like there’s a wall between you. Just hesitation. Just uncertainty. Just Jack, finally willing to stop running. "I fucked up," he says quietly. "I know that. And I know I probably don’t deserve to fix it, but—"

"Jack." You swallow hard, heart hammering.

“I just want to be friends again.” Jack says quickly, “Go back to how things were before I fucked everything up by kissing you.” Your stomach twists, frustration bubbling hot in your chest. Your fingers clench into the fabric of your pyjama pants as you take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. "It wasn’t the kiss, Jack," you say, voice tight, controlled. "It was how you reacted."

Jack blinks, caught off guard. "What—"

“ I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again.” You whisper under your breath, “You kissed me, and then you acted like- " The words are sharper than you intend, and you pause for a minute, taking a deep breath before continuing "You pulled away like I was something you regretted. You avoided me for days. You made me feel like I was the only one who cared about what happened and wanted to fix things. And now, you just want to hit rewind like none of it mattered?"

Jack’s jaw tightens, his shoulders stiff. "That’s not—"

"That’s exactly what you’re doing," you interrupt, shaking your head. "You want things to go back to the way they were, but they can’t. Not when you keep pretending like nothing happened. Like there is nothing going on.” Jack’s mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks away, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The silence stretches between you, thick, heavy. You don’t know what you’re expecting him to say.

Maybe an apology. Maybe an admission. Maybe just something real for once. But instead, Jack just stands there, like he’s waiting for you to tell him how to fix this. And you realise, maybe for the first time, that you can’t be the one to do that for him.

"Jack, I appreciate you trying to come and apologise, and maybe that means that a little bit of what I said last week sunk in, but you're still missing the point." The reminder of your argument with Jack last week was still fresh in your mind, the same way the feeling of his lips searing against yours still keep you awake in your bed some nights. 

"We can still be friends - we will always be friends, but we can't go back to how things were before, because you can't change what happened." Jack nods slowly, his body deflating as he takes in your words. 

"I really am sorry." He sighs and you nod, your own shoulder slouching forwards as you try to shoot him a reassuring smile. 

"I know." 

+

+

Luke had noticed Jack’s arrival to movie night in your bedroom, well before you did — the currently annoying shuffle of his older brother outside the door distracting him from paying attention to the way your face lights up when Adam Sandler does something funny. 

Luke notices when you notice Jack - your shoulders tense, your head flicking towards the door with a frown, Luke’s eyes rolling as he watches the shadow pause for a moment, almost as if his brother has finally worked up the courage to come inside before the pacing restarts. 

“He’s been out there for twenty minutes now.” Luke notes, pausing the movie as sliding the laptop across your bed so it’s out of the way, your body still frozen as he rolls on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. You silence in the room was suffocating, the image of you tensed on the bed, your chin in your hands as you refuse to tear your eyes away from the still shot no the screen of his laptop, his head tilting as he takes you in.

Luke wishes that you’d go back to ignoring his brother, and refuse to play into Jack’s mind games, restarting the movie and going back to laughing with him over the hilarity that is ‘Happy Gilmore’ but Luke’s knows you better than anyone and he knows you can’t let things go. 

He knows he’s being a little harsh as he spits soft insults to you about his brother, your tone chastising as you frown at him, but he can’t help it. As much as Luke loves his brothers, he’s never been afraid to tell them when they’re in the wrong, and Jack is so in the wrong right now. Luke shoots you a quick look before he’s putting a light expression on his face, your body automatically relaxing a little as he does. 

He watches as your eyebrows raise, your mouth letting a small squeak of surprise slip as he shoves your off the mattress and onto the floor, shooting you an amused look as you glare up at him. “Get it over with.” He grumbles with a shrug, pretending to not notice the way you dream of his gruesome murder as you push yourself off the floor and over to the door. 

Luke knows he’s antagonising his brother as you both step back into the room, your body quickly shuffling back over to the bed as you perch on the edge, Luke’s body shifting a little bit closer. 

"Well," Luke drawls. "This is cozy."

Jack shoots him a glare. "You don’t have to be here."

Luke’s grin is all teeth. "Yeah, but I want to be." Luke watches as you let out a small shiver as his cold fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt, the cold skin on his finger tips just grazing the hot skin of your back. Luke’s not sure why he’s touching you, grazing his fingers up and down the bare skin against your spine, still spitting harsh words at his brother as he watches the way you subconsciously relax into his hand, your skin pressing more and more into his own as he hurls another insult at his brother, your hand twisting around your back to get hold of his fingers. 

He stops his movements waiting for you to shove him away — which you do — but not before giving his fingers a tight squeeze, releasing them slowly, hesitantly as you softly hiss at him over your shoulder, “enough.” The word has him nodding, pulling his hand ever so slightly away from you. 

He glances at you, then back at Jack, before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh, flopping back against your pillows again. "Fine, fine. I’ll be good."

Jack mutters something under his breath, something suspiciously close to "doubt that," but Luke doesn’t push anymore — he doesn’t want to upset you.  Instead, he watches as Jack turns his focus back to you, a soft simmer of rage bubbling under Luke’s skin “Can we talk..." Jack hesitates, glancing briefly over at his brother, "privately?"

Luke groans. "Oh my God, just say what you need to say and go so we can go back to enjoying our night." His lips tilt upwards as you swat at him blindly before nodding at Jack. Luke makes a big show of sitting up, stretching his arms overhead before throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Well fine, if you two are gonna get all serious, I’m out."

Luke watches as you turn to blink at him. "Wait, really?"

Luke grins, already halfway to the door. "What? You want me to stay?"

"No!" you and Jack say at the same time, and Luke barks out a laugh, hands up in mock surrender — but he can see the small way your expression falters, your confidence shrinking as he walks to the door way, his eyes shooting Jack a silent warning. 

"Alright, alright. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Try not to kill each other. Or make out...for the third time" He winks at you, then at Jack, before ducking out the door, closing it behind him with an exaggerated click. He lets out a long breath, heading down the hallway to his bedroom, keeping the door open as he waits for any signs that he needs to return to your side, to protect you from his idiot brother. 

Luke had barely settled into his chair when he heard your door creak open again. His eyes shot to the hallway, his hand hovering over the remote control, fingers itching to turn the volume up on the TV and drown out whatever was happening. The sound of footsteps, light but steady, signalled that Jack had already made his exit.

He didn't expect the weight of the quiet in the room to hit him like a truck. He stood and took a few quick steps down the hallway, his heart quickening when he reached your door. The soft click of the door as it pushed open was followed by a sigh that told him exactly what he needed to know. "Luke," your voice broke through the stillness, so quiet, but there was a palpable tension there. "I—I'm fine." 

You weren’t, and Luke knew that. He could hear it in the way your words trembled, in the way your breathing had gotten just a little more shallow. His brother had left you upset again, and though Luke had done everything to push his presence between you both, Jack still managed to worm his way into your thoughts.

Luke stood there for a moment, staring at the door that still hung slightly ajar but not fully opened, his sight of you still sitting on the edge of your bed slightly blocked. He knew you didn’t want him to witness the aftermath, but he also knew you weren’t going to shut him out.

Not now.

Not after everything.

Without knocking, he pushed the door open. You didn’t look up at first.

"You didn’t have to come back,” you said, the words coming out a little flat. Luke didn't respond immediately. He just took a step inside, his eyes scanning the room for any hint of what you might need. When he found none, he sighed and crossed the room toward the bed, sitting down beside you without waiting for permission.

"Of course I did,” he muttered, though there was no malice in his voice, just a quiet understanding. "You think I’m going to let you sit here alone.” His eyes softened as he turned to you, and he let his gaze linger, watching the small frown tug at your lips.

"I didn’t want to make it worse," you whispered, your voice strained. "I didn’t want to cause more trouble." Luke’s lips twisted into a small, knowing smile as he reached forward, brushing a lock of hair away from your face, his thumb briefly grazing the skin along your cheek. 

"You’re not the one causing trouble. He is." His voice was steady now, more protective, almost possessive, as he leaned back, his arms folding behind him on the bed to settle in. “Look, you’ve been through enough. Jack doesn’t get to leave you in pieces like that. Not when I’m around.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “What are you going to do?”

Luke’s smirk widened as he shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. "What do you think? I’m staying." He grinned, stretching out lazily, and without hesitation, threw an arm behind you on the mattress, just a little too close, but close enough to make sure you felt the weight of his presence. “You need to calm down, right? I’m not going anywhere movie night is becoming an all night event.” For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to settle. His proximity, the quiet assurance in his voice, started to have the desired effect. Your shoulders loosened, just a little, and the frown on your lips softened as you leaned back against the pillows.

Luke didn’t move, still keeping a watchful eye on you, ready to fight anyone who dared to upset you again. “Jack’s been an idiot for a while and he’s my brother,” he added, his voice growing more serious. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you deal with his crap alone.” You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you let out a small sigh, your body inching just a little closer to him, instinctively seeking his comfort, you hands sitting besides each other on the bed between you both, Luke using his other hand to pull his computer back onto his lap. 

Luke smiled as he stretched his hand, his fingers brushing against yours in an almost absent touch, not expecting a reaction from you. 

He didn’t need one anyway. 

He wasn’t going anywhere.

+

+

The sound of “Eye of the Tiger” blaring in your dark bedroom and the heavy arm draped over your waist makes you groan softly, stirring against the warmth pressed into your back. Your eyes crack open just enough to confirm that you are, in fact, still in your own bedroom. But something feels... off. Your brows furrow as your gaze drifts downward, landing on the unfamiliar sight of a larger hand entwined with yours, resting against the comforter. Your fingers shift slightly, testing the grasp, and the movement earns you a sleepy squeeze in return.

You blink, momentarily confused, until the deep, steady breathing behind you registers.

Luke.

His arm is still heavy around you, his long fingers loosely tangled with yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “No wonder my hand is so sweaty,” you mumble, attempting to shift without disturbing him.

“Mm, what?” Luke’s voice is thick with sleep, his grip on your hand slackening as he turns onto his back with a deep exhale. His other hand fumbles blindly across the mattress, smacking at his phone until the blaring music cuts off. He groans and stretches before turning his head to look at you, a sleepy grin tugging at his lips.

“Nine AM, sugar cookie. Rise and shine.” His voice is low and rough, the last remnants of sleep clinging to his words.

“Sugar cookie?” You arch an eyebrow, shifting onto your side to face him.

“I know, it’s just not right, is it?” He hums, rubbing at his face before sitting up, his curls an absolute mess from sleep. His T-shirt is rumpled, the fabric sticking to one side of his shoulder in a way that makes him look impossibly endearing. He turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“We gotta get up, though. Can’t let date day go to waste.”

Date day. The words settle between you, and your stomach twists with something uncertain. Excitement? Nervousness? You’re not sure. What you do know is that Luke is grinning at you like he’s been waiting for this all week.

“Time for us to get our game faces on,” he teases, reaching out to flick your forehead gently. “The bet’s not gonna win itself.”

You roll your eyes, finally pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know why you’re this invested.”

Luke scoffs, rolling off the bed in one fluid motion. “You’re just mad ‘cause Jacky made a boo boo.” He shoots you a knowing look before sauntering toward the window, grabbing onto the curtains.

“Luke, don’t you dare—” He dares. He rips them open, flooding the room with blinding sunlight. You groan dramatically, flopping backward onto the mattress as he chuckles, arms crossing over his broad chest.

“You don’t think I’m gonna let jack just coast to forgiveness, do you?” His tone is playful, but there’s an edge to it. A spark of something deeper. “He thinks he can just kiss you out of nowhere and act like it’s nothing?”

You swallow hard, caught off guard by the shift in his voice. There’s something unreadable in his expression, his gaze sharp and unwavering. But before you can even think of a response, he’s grinning again, the weight of the moment vanishing as quickly as it came. “Pfft, not on my watch,” he declares, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “I’m gonna make this the most fun you’ll ever have on a date.” You snort, shaking your head.

“Actually, scratch that,” he continues, leaning in slightly. “You’re never going to go on another date ever again because you’ll be so enamoured by me.” You laugh despite yourself, shoving at his chest. He barely moves, his grin widening as he winks.

“Very funny. Now get out so I can get ready for whatever you’re going to enamour me with.”

“As you wish, m’lady,” he says with an exaggerated bow, turning toward the door. The second he pulls it open, Jack is standing there, his expression unreadable as his eyes flick between you and Luke.

Luke doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, and wear something comfy,” he adds, nodding in greeting to his older brother before ruffling his already messy curls and strolling down the hall. Jack steps inside, leaning against your doorframe, his gaze steady.

“He has a lot of energy,” Jack notes, his voice quieter than usual.

“He’s excited,” you reply, smoothing down your pyjamas as you stand.

Jack hesitates, then exhales. “Listen, I think about last night...” Something in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You chance a glance at his face, expecting a smirk, but his expression is blank.

“Can we do it later?” you ask, forcing a light tone. “I have a feeling if I’m not ready in fifteen minutes, Luke is gonna drag me out in my pyjamas.” Jack lingers for a second before clearing his throat. 

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah, whenever suits you.” He shoots you a small smile before clapping his hand against the doorframe and walking away. You watch him disappear down the hall, the soft click of his door sending a ripple of unease through you. Maybe Luke was right.

“Fifteen minutes, princess!” Luke’s voice rings out, and you huff, rolling your eyes. Right now, you had a date to focus on.

You dress quickly, tugging a soft, thin white sweater over your head before slipping into your muted green overalls. The fabric is comfortably worn, the straps adjusted to the perfect fit after countless wears. Your favorite pair of white Converse—scuffed, broken in, and softened with time—find their place on your feet as you sling a small crossbody bag over your shoulder, making sure it holds only the essentials: phone, wallet, chapstick, and a few stray hair ties.

A sharp knock echoes against your door. “I’m coming,” you hiss, hurriedly pulling your hair into a ponytail. A few loose strands stubbornly slip free, framing your face no matter how much you try to tuck them away.

Luke stands just outside your room, his arms crossed as he pointedly glances down at his watch, exaggerating his impatience. He’s dressed in black athletic shorts and a faded blue concert tee, the fabric worn thin from years of washes. His dark hair is freshly showered, air-dried and—shockingly—brushed, a rare effort on his part. He wears his own white Converse, just as battered as yours, and as soon as his eyes land on your feet, a smirk creeps across his face.

“Look at us, twinning,” he announces, stretching his arms out dramatically. “We’d make the cutest couple, wouldn’t we?” He sing-songs, casting a playful glance at Quinn.

Quinn, unfazed, simply slides a plate of freshly cut fruit toward you as you settle onto a barstool at the kitchen counter. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You spear a slice of crisp red apple with your fork, savouring the juicy crunch as Luke plops into the seat beside you, reaching for a piece of fruit with his bare hands.

Quinn watches as his younger brother rummages through a small black backpack, stuffing it with Gatorade bottles and assorted snack packs. “He’s got a lot of energy,” he comments dryly.

You hum in agreement, déjà vu washing over you as the moment mirrors your earlier encounter with Jack. “He’s excited.”

“So what’s your plan for today?” Quinn asks, leaning against the counter, arms crossed as he observes Luke with mild curiosity. Luke zips up his bag with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Why? Trying to keep your enemies close?” He slings the bag over one shoulder, though it looks almost comically small against his broad back.

Quinn barely reacts. “I just like knowing what disaster I’ll have to deal with later.”

Luke ignores the jab, turning toward you with an impish grin. “We may or may not be going to one of your favourite places.”

Your brows knit together as you tilt your head. “There’s a fair nearby?”

Luke nods, swiping an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a large, unceremonious bite.

“Since when? How did I not know about this?” You exclaim, more excited than offended.

Quinn smirks knowingly. “Didn’t your friends from Umich invite you to hang out with them there?”

Your excitement falters, a frown creeping onto your lips. “Wait... so you’re using this date as an excuse to see your friends?” Luke immediately shakes his head, bending down slightly so his breath tickles the shell of your ear.

 “No, I’m using it as an excuse to show you off to my friends.” You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his tone and the shameless grin on his face make it impossible not to smile.

He nudges your shoulder. “Now, come on, we’ve got an hour drive ahead of us.” He’s already ushering you toward the front door, offering Quinn a casual wave over his shoulder. “See you later tonight!” Before Quinn can respond, the door slams shut behind you.

The one-hour drive melts away into laughter and lazy conversation. The windows are rolled down just enough to let in the warm breeze, ruffling the ends of your hair as you absentmindedly flip through Luke’s playlist. The car smells faintly of pine air freshener and the remnants of fast food fries, and every few minutes, Luke sneaks a glance at you from the driver’s seat, his hand resting comfortably between the two of you on the centre console.

Before you know it, you’re pulling into a grassy lot beside the fairgrounds, the vibrant atmosphere already seeping into your senses. The scent of fried dough, caramel popcorn, and freshly cut grass lingers in the warm evening air, interwoven with the distant hum of carnival music. Strings of golden lights illuminate the fairgrounds, flickering like fireflies as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

Luke parks the car and is out the door in an instant, jogging around the hood before you even unbuckle your seatbelt. He swings the door open with a flourish, grinning down at you.

“What a gentleman,” you tease, stepping out and adjusting the strap of your bag.

“Only the best for my date,” he shoots back, punctuating his words with a wink as his fingers wrap around yours, lacing them together like it’s second nature. The fair is already alive with movement—kids dashing past, their sticky fingers gripping oversized stuffed animals, couples strolling hand-in-hand, the glow of neon lights reflecting off their smiling faces. The sounds of carnival games, the distant rumble of roller coasters, and the occasional shriek from the drop tower all blend into the air, a symphony of excitement and nostalgia.

Luke doesn’t hesitate as he pulls you into the crowd, his grip firm but gentle, ensuring you never stray too far. “Alright,” he says, turning to you with a smirk, “where to first?”

You nudge Luke with your shoulder, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “I don’t know... you’re the one who planned this, remember?” He grins, hands stuffed in his pockets as he scans the fairgrounds. 

“Right, but it’s all about what you want.” He gestures dramatically to the sea of colourful booths and flashing rides. “Games? Rides? Food? Name it.”

Your gaze drifts over the chaos until it lands on the Ferris wheel towering above it all, its lights twinkling even in the bright midday sun. There’s something about it—the way it stands apart from the noise, offering a brief escape into the sky.

“That,” you say, pointing.

“The Ferris wheel? Starting strong, I like it.” Luke’s grin widens as he starts leading you toward it, but he suddenly halts, tugging gently on your hand.

“Hold up,” he says, eyes locking onto a ring-toss booth lined with giant stuffed animals. His expression turns mischievous. “I’ve got to win you something first. It’s tradition.”

You arch a brow. “Tradition?”

“Obviously.” He gestures toward the rows of oversized plush toys. “No fair date is complete without a ridiculously large stuffed animal you have no idea where to put later.”

Before you can protest, he hands a few bills to the booth operator, rolling his shoulders like an athlete about to perform. You bite your lip to keep from laughing as he lines up his first shot, brows furrowed in concentration.

The first two tosses miss. Barely.

“Oh, laugh it up,” he says, cutting you a sideways glare as you try to stifle your giggles behind your hand. “I’m just warming up.” The third ring lands perfectly around the bottle, and Luke lets out a triumphant shout, throwing his arms up. The booth operator sighs in defeat and hands over an enormous stuffed bear, almost as big as you are. Luke turns to you with a proud smirk, holding it out like an offering.

“For you,” he declares dramatically.

You can’t help but laugh as you take it, hugging the soft toy close. “This is completely impractical, but thank you.”

“Impractical?” Luke scoffs. “No way. It’s the ultimate prize.” He leans in slightly, voice dipping lower. “Besides, it’s my excuse to get people going 'wow he must be a great date'.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin betrays you. “Smooth.” As you near the Ferris wheel, your hand brushes against his. It’s accidental at first—a fleeting touch in the shifting crowd—but then Luke makes the choice for you, slipping his fingers through yours again like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your heart stutters slightly, but you don’t pull away.

When you step into the carriage, the world below begins to shrink, stretching out in bright, sunlit hues as the fairgrounds sprawl beneath you. Luke settles beside you, his knee grazing yours as the seat rocks gently. You can feel the warmth of him, even with the summer breeze drifting through the bars on the carriage. 

He exhales slowly, taking in the view. “Okay, you were right,” he murmurs. “This was the perfect first stop.” You glance at him, catching the way the sunlight softens his features, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the flecks of gold in his eyes. He’s not looking at you, too distracted by the endless stretch of blue sky, and it gives you a moment to simply... admire him.

He must feel your gaze because he turns, catching you staring. A slow, teasing grin tugs at his lips. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Your heart jumps, and you quickly look away. “No,” you mumble, a little too fast. “I just—yeah, it’s a good view.” 

Luke chuckles, shaking his head. “Busted.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Just enjoy the view, Hughes.”

"Oh trust me, I am." The ride slows as you reach the very top, pausing briefly to let the passengers below unload. The world feels quiet up here, separate from the lively fairgrounds below. Your knees brushing against his as you sit on opposite sides, both looking over the growing crowds in awe, and this time, neither of you moves away. When you finally step off the Ferris wheel, the fair is in full swing, and Luke’s hand finds yours again, grounding you.

“Alright, most important part of the fair: food,” he announces.

“Corn dogs and lemonade?” you guess.

“Obviously.” He feigns offence. “But also, giant pretzels. And deep-fried everything.” Luke insists on ordering for both of you, and soon, your hands are full of hot, sugary funnel cake and an absurdly large lemonade. You find a spot near the carousel, sharing bites of the warm, sticky dessert. At one point, Luke gestures vaguely toward your chin.

“You’ve got some—”

“Where?” You swipe at your face with a napkin.

“Nope, missed it.” He reaches out, brushing the powdered sugar away with his thumb. The touch is fleeting, but it lingers, sending a warm flutter through your chest. His fingers stay just a second too long before he pulls back, clearing his throat. You open your mouth to say something, but before you can, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks it, then tucks it away with a sigh.

“Your friends?” you ask.

Luke nods. “Yeah. They’re somewhere around here.”

You tilt your head. “I thought you wanted to meet up with them?”

His fingers drum against the table. “I did,” he says, but there’s something hesitant in his voice. Then, under his breath, he mutters something too quiet to catch.

“What was that?” you tease, leaning closer.

He exhales, finally looking at you. “I said, I’d rather spend today with you.” Your breath catches. There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his expression, like he’s not quite sure what you’ll say.

“Okay,” you reply softly.

“Okay?” His lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress a grin.

“I like spending time with you too, Luke.”

His grin breaks free, warm and unguarded. “That’s good.” He pauses. 

“Yeah, you’re like my best guy friend.” You tease, watching Luke’s face drop a little, the infamous Hughes pout spreading across his lips.

“Great, this is great.” He groans, running a hand down his face in despair before dramatically slumping against the table. His head drops forward, forehead nearly hitting the surface, as a muffled groan of defeat escapes him. You let out a snort of laughter, unable to help yourself at his exaggerated misery. Shaking your head, you slide out from your seat, grabbing the oversized bear that’s become your new companion and making your way over to his side. He stays put, unmoving, still wallowing in self-pity. You bite your lip, fighting the grin threatening to take over your face as you set the bear down, perching one knee on the bench beside him.

“I’m kidding, Luke.” Your voice is soft, laced with amusement, as you lean forward and press a featherlight kiss against his cheek. The warmth of his skin lingers against your lips for a fraction of a second before you pull back, barely dodging as he jerks upright, eyes wide.

“Oh, now you’re just messing with me,” he accuses, squinting at you, though his mouth twitches at the corners. You can tell he’s fighting a smile.

“Are we gonna continue this date or not?” You challenge, tilting your head. 

Luke stares at you for a beat before exhaling through his nose, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” Still, he stands, sliding out of the booth with ease, and reaches a hand behind him without hesitation. His fingers curl, expectant, waiting. You don’t make him wait long. As soon as your palm slides against his, he squeezes, firm and warm, grounding. The rest of the day seems to blur together, the heat of the sun beating down as the hours slip by. The fair is still alive with colour and noise, but the crowds begin to thin, the air cooling as the afternoon fades into early evening. Your arms are now filled with both your giant bear and a more reasonably sized unicorn—Luke’s hard-earned prize after six frustrating attempts at the basketball game.

“I still say that hoop was rigged,” Luke mutters, eyeing the unicorn with an air of resentment.

You laugh. “You just don’t want to admit you’re bad at basketball.”

Luke gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’ve seen better.” You shrug, struggling not to laugh at the utter betrayal on his face.

“You take that back right now.”

“I take nothing back.” Luke groans dramatically but doesn’t press it further. Instead, he glances over at you, his expression shifting slightly. 

“You’re looking a little tired.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders. “A little. I just need to use the bathroom before we head out.”

He nods, immediately reaching for the stuffed animals in your arms, pulling them into his own with ease. “I’ll wait right here.”

You shoot him a grateful smile before making your way toward the restroom sign. It takes longer than expected—the line stretching farther than you’d hoped—but eventually, you finish up, carefully manoeuvring your way out without touching the questionably grimy walls.

When you step back into the fairground, Luke is exactly where you left him, but now he’s not alone. A small group has gathered around him, and it only takes a second for you to recognise them—his friends. The ones he’d pointedly avoided meeting up with all day, the ones he had chosen you over. You hesitate, slowing your steps, not wanting to intrude. Instead, you pull out your phone, finally checking the notifications you’d ignored throughout the day.

least favourite hughes : Let me know when you guys are heading home.

least favourite hughes 😈: I hope you had a lot of fun on your date.

least favourite hughes 😈: I’m sorry if I made things weird between us.

favourite hughes 😇: I think you broke my brother.

You blink at the last message, the edges of your lips twitching as you glance up. Luke is still deep in conversation, laughing at something one of his friends said, but as if sensing your gaze, he suddenly turns.

His eyes find yours immediately, and his face lights up. “Hey, what are you doing over there?” Your head pops up at his voice, catching the attention of the whole group. Your eyes widen slightly at the sudden spotlight.

“Just catching up on my messages,” you reply quickly, awkwardly holding up your phone as if to prove your point. The gesture earns a few polite nods from his friends before they turn back to their hushed conversation, though whatever they’re whispering about clearly pleases Luke, if the smug, boyish grin on his face is anything to go by.

Then, without hesitation, he lifts his hand and motions for you to come closer. When you don’t immediately move, he starts making exaggerated grabby motions, fingers curling impatiently, like a toddler. You roll your eyes but step forward, slipping your hand into his. Luke exhales softly, his grip tightening around yours as he pulls you close to his side. Then, with a slowness that makes your breath hitch, he lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles—soft, lingering, like he’s savouring the moment. Your heart stumbles, beating an erratic rhythm against your ribs as you glance up at him in surprise.

He only grins. “It was good seeing you guys,” he says, effortlessly redirecting the conversation. “We need to do a lake trip soon.”

His friends nod, offering their own goodbyes and promises to catch up soon, and then, just like that, Luke is steering you away, his strides slow and unhurried as if he has no desire to rush the moment. By the time you settle into the car, the day’s warmth still clinging to your skin, Luke glances over at you, his expression softer now, a little hesitant.

“So...” he begins, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Was this a good first date?”

You smile, leaning your head against the window. “It was perfect.” Luke’s grin is instant, wide and unguarded. He reaches over, placing a hand against your thigh, his touch featherlight. He doesn’t move it, doesn’t let go. Instead, his thumb begins tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin, a quiet, unconscious motion that makes warmth bloom in your chest.

His hand stays there the entire ride home.

+

+

Luke parks the car and turns off the engine, but neither of you moves. The air between you hums with an unspoken energy, a quiet intensity settling in the small space of the vehicle. His hand remains on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. The simple touch is grounding, yet it sends a shiver up your spine, making you acutely aware of every nerve in your body. He finally looks over at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re not going to make me walk you to the door like a proper gentleman, are you?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface.

You chuckle, un-clicking your seatbelt with a soft click. “Well, you did earn some serious points tonight. But sure, let’s see just how gentlemanly you can be.” He exhales dramatically, shaking his head as if put upon, but he’s out of the car in an instant. You barely have time to gather yourself before he jogs around to your side, opening the door with an exaggerated flourish.

“M’lady,” he quips, offering his hand. Laughing, you take it, his fingers curling around yours as he helps you from the car. The night air is crisp against your flushed skin, and without thinking, you step in closer to his warmth. His arm finds your waist with an ease that feels effortless, pulling you in as you make your way to the door. His presence is intoxicating, the scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering sweetness of cotton candy from earlier at the fair.

But when you reach your doorstep, Luke doesn’t stop. He presses forward, hand still entwined with yours, his pace unhurried but deliberate.

“Where are you going?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, watching as he steps inside, only to glance back at you with a devilish smirk.

“This is the door, but not your door.” His meaning is crystal clear, your pulse quickening as he keeps walking, guiding you upstairs until you stop outside your bedroom. The air shifts, the teasing edge fading into something heavier, something charged. His boyish grin softens, a flicker of nervousness dancing in his eyes as he rubs the back of his neck.

“So… I had a really good time today,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, more vulnerable.

“Me too,” you say, matching his tone, your breath catching as he lifts a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch is featherlight, yet it leaves a trail of heat in its wake.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he admits, fingers grazing along your jawline, his eyes locked on yours.

“It was.” Luke exhales, something shifting in his gaze as his fingers slide to cup your cheek. There’s a brief hesitation, like he’s waiting for you to pull away, to stop this before it goes too far. But you don’t. Instead, you tilt your chin up, wordlessly giving him permission.

That’s all he needs. His lips find yours, firm yet reverent, like he’s memorising the way you taste. Your fingers tighten around his shirt, gripping onto him as you rise onto your tiptoes, pulling him closer, deeper. He grunts softly against your lips, the sound sending a delicious shiver through your body.

With a deft movement, his hand finds your door handle, twisting it open as he carefully guides you inside. The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly, the air feels thicker, heavier. His hands remain gentle as they cradle your face, but there’s an urgency in the way his lips move against yours, a hunger that neither of you can ignore.

You pull back just enough to whisper, “Is this too much?” The question barely makes it past your lips before he shakes his head, thumbs stroking along your cheeks.

“Not unless you think it is.” His voice is rough with restraint, his breathing uneven. Your lips part, hesitation flickering in your eyes as a thought crosses your mind. 

“Is this not kinda crossing the line? I mean, this didn't work out well for me last time.” You let out a nervous laugh. 

"You're comparing me to Jack?" He asks softly, your head quickly shaking, your eyes widening in surprise as he looks down at you with one brow raised. Instead, he leans in, his breath warm against your lips.

“Do you want to kiss me?” he asks, his voice husky, deliberate. You swallow, nodding slowly. A smirk tugs at his lips. “Then fuck the line.” And with that, he claims your mouth again, his grip firm as he walks you backward toward the bed. He sinks down onto the edge, pulling you into his lap with ease. The moment your legs straddle him, he exhales sharply, his hands gripping your waist like he never wants to let go.

Luke only pulls away long enough to yank his shirt over his head, his toned chest rising and falling with deep breaths. His fingers grip your hips, encouraging you to press closer, his lips latching onto your neck, leaving trails of heat in their wake. Your hands slide up his arms, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch before threading into his hair, tugging slightly. He lets out a quiet groan, his grip tightening in response.

“Why did you have to wear fucking overalls?” he grumbles, voice rough with frustration, his hands fumbling at the buttons. You laugh breathlessly, reaching up to undo them yourself, letting the top fall from your shoulders.

He watches you with darkened eyes, his fingers twitching as they trace the bare skin of your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your sports bra. He hesitates, waiting for your nod before pulling the fabric up and over your head.

“I wasn’t really going for aesthetic this morning,” you murmur, glancing down at yourself.

Luke shakes his head, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “I’ve never been one for aesthetics,” he murmurs, his hands slipping around your back, trailing warmth wherever he touches. He pauses just as his fingers find the clasp of your bra—

Knock, knock.

“Are you in there?” Jack’s voice cuts through the thick haze in the room, your head snapping toward the door. Shadows shift beneath the crack, and your stomach drops.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Luke growls, his grip on your hips tightening briefly before he lets out a sigh. His forehead presses against yours, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Just ignore him, maybe he'll go away,” he murmurs. You huff, burying your face in his shoulder as he places another kiss to your jaw, then another, before reluctantly shifting to help you back onto your feet - knowing his brother wasn't going to just go away if his pacing last night was anything to go by. He hands you your sweater, pressing one final kiss to your nose before pulling his own shirt over his head.

When Luke finally yanks the door open, his curls are a mess, his lips are red and swollen, and his chest rises and falls like he’s barely caught his breath. Jack’s eyes widen slightly before narrowing, suspicion flaring in his gaze as he glances between you both. “I have a feeling I interrupted something,” Jack mutters, his voice edged with amusement, but there’s something sharper underneath.

Luke rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You did.” His voice is clipped, edged with irritation, but he doesn’t back down.

Jack’s smirk is slow, mean. “Going after my sloppy seconds, huh?” The words land like a slap, the air in the room turning suffocatingly thick. Your mouth parts in a sharp inhale, a soft gasp slipping out before you can stop it. Luke’s whole body tenses, his shoulders snapping back, muscles coiling tight with barely restrained fury. His jaw locks, nostrils flaring, and when he takes a single step forward, Jack barely has time to react before Luke’s palm slams against his chest, pushing him back a step.

“The fuck did you just say?” Luke’s voice is low, lethal.

Jack scoffs, recovering quickly. “Come on, man. You don’t think this is a little pathetic?” Your stomach twists, heat crawling up your neck—not from desire this time, but from humiliation, anger.

Luke shakes his head, letting out a humourless laugh. “You think she’s some kind of leftovers?” He takes another step forward, voice dropping to something razor-sharp and dangerous. “That just proves you never deserved her in the first place.” Jack’s lips press into a thin line, jaw ticking. 

“I’m just saying, she’s kissed two of us now, you don’t think she’s going to go for the whole colle—” Luke doesn’t let him finish. The door slams in Jack’s face with enough force to shake the walls. The echo of it rings in the silence that follows, the tension between you a live wire, snapping and crackling with raw emotion.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Your breath comes fast, heart hammering against your ribs. Luke stands still, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s still itching to throw a punch. Then, finally, he turns to you, his expression shifting, something unreadable flickering in his darkened gaze.

Luke exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, his chest still rising and falling in controlled, shallow breaths. His jaw tightens, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice lower, rougher, edged with something dangerous. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

You swallow hard, a lump forming in your throat as you nod. “Yeah. He is.” Luke studies you for a long moment, his gaze intent, searching. He’s looking for the damage Jack might have caused, for any sign that his words have seeped under your skin, leaving wounds that can’t be seen. And then, as if making the decision for both of you, he exhales slowly and shakes his head.

“Forget him. Forget all of it.”

And then he’s on you.

The kiss is different this time. It isn’t just heat or need—it’s desperation, possession, an unspoken plea to erase every single doubt Jack tried to plant in your mind. His hands find your waist, fingers pressing in like he’s terrified you might slip away. His lips move against yours with a slow, intoxicating hunger, coaxing, taking, reclaiming. When his tongue brushes against yours, a soft, needy whimper escapes you, and he groans into your mouth like he’s been starving for this, for you.

He walks you back, step by step, his grip unyielding, until your knees hit the bed. For a moment, he hesitates, like he’s giving you one last chance to stop him, to tell him this is too much, too fast. But you don’t. You don’t want to.

His grip tightens, and he lowers you down, his body following without hesitation. His weight presses into you, solid muscle and warmth, grounding you, reminding you that you’re here, that you’re his. The world outside ceases to exist; there is only this, only him.

“Tell me he’s wrong,” Luke murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw, down the column of your throat. His breath is warm against your skin, his voice rough with something raw, something unshakable. "Tell me you won't believe a single thing he said."  His teeth scrape over your pulse point, and you shudder, your fingers threading into his curls, tugging him back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, stormy, filled with hunger that has nothing to do with anger anymore.

“He’s wrong,” you whisper.

A low sound rumbles from his chest, pleased, satisfied. “Good.”

His lips crash against yours again, deeper this time, a slow, consuming burn that steals every thought from your head. His hands roam your body, tracing, exploring, memorising. He touches you like he’s trying to rewrite every terrible thing Jack ever made you feel, like he’s replacing them with something sacred, something unshakable.

“You need to tell me to slow down, ” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Because I can't do it myself." His lips skim over your collarbone, his hands sliding down your sides, his fingers making slow, reverent work of every layer of clothing on you, till you lay bare beneath him, goosebumps prickling along your skin at the cool summer air. “You deserve to be worshiped.”

The words steal the breath from your lungs. Your body burns under his touch, anticipation curling tight in your stomach as he maps a path lower, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

When his hands part your thighs, his gaze flicks up, holding yours as he murmurs, “Will you let me?” Your answer is a breathless, desperate nod. And then he’s there, his mouth on you, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate strokes that send a sharp jolt of heat through you. A gasp breaks from your lips, fingers twisting into the sheets as pleasure crashes over you in waves. Luke hums against you, the vibration sending another spark of pleasure through your core. He’s relentless, thorough, savouring every shudder, every tremor, like he has all the time in the world.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, his voice ragged, needy. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you tighter against him, like he never wants to let go. “I could die a happy man down here.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he dives back in, his tongue moving with slow, devastating precision. His name spills from your lips in breathless, desperate whispers, your body arching against him, losing yourself in the pleasure he gives so willingly.

When you finally break apart beneath him, your body trembling, his hands smooth over your thighs in soothing strokes. His lips press soft, lingering kisses against your skin, his touch reverent, grounding.

He moves back up, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and satisfied. He grins against your stomach, then higher, trailing heat all the way back to your lips.

“Told you,” he murmurs, voice rough, pressing a final, lingering kiss against your parted lips. “The bare fucking minimum.” His gaze never leaves yours as he shifts above you, a silent promise lingering in the air, heavy and unspoken. His hands gently push your hair back from your face, fingertips tracing the outline of your jaw, his expression softening as if you're the only thing that matters in the world. The moment stretches, drawing you both into a space where nothing else exists.

You meet his gaze, a flood of emotions rushing through you, some familiar and some new. There’s comfort in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you like he’s willing to erase every shred of hurt and doubt.

And in that quiet intimacy, you find a peace that Jack’s words had threatened to steal. You breathe in deeply, pressing your lips to his again, slower this time, savouring the quiet, the warmth between you. Luke’s hand slips over your side, the touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the fire that burned between you moments ago. His lips curl in a half-smile, and he presses a final kiss to your forehead, his body still pressed against yours, as if grounding you both in this moment, in this time where the world is nothing but the two of you.

Well for a little while. 

“You two better not be fucking while I’m in the house.” Quinn’s voice cuts through the silence as Luke reaches over his head pulling his shirt off before handing it over to you, a mischievous smile on his face, as you glance towards the door in panic. 

“Not fucking.” Luke confirms, “Just eating a snack.” He adds, a laugh bubbling out of his throat as he hears his older brother grunt before his heavy footsteps trail down the hallway, your hand smacking over his shoulder as he throws his hands up in defence. 

“What it’s not like I’m lying.” 

“You really are insufferable.” 

[daniiiboo]

the right height- qh43

summary- Quinn loves giving you forehead kisses, here is five examples of that

trigger warnings- nothinn just pure fluff!!

dani's thoughts- i put the poll up and you guys wanted Quinn first so here we are !! I'm in love w this fic so enjoy <3 !! ALSO PLEASE REQUEST SOMETHING REQUESTS ARE OPEN !!

word count- 696

Quinn Hughes had a ritual, one that he didn't seem to be breaking anytime soon. It was simple, in fact. Wherever possible, he'd plant a kiss on your forehead, like he'd been doing it his whole life. At first, you suspected he hadn't even realized he was doing it. But eventually, you realized, Quinn knew exactly what he was doing, and he enjoyed it.

When He Leaves for Morning Skate You did not like waking up early, and Quinn knew it. While he was lacing up his shoes, getting ready to head out to the rink, you were still fast asleep in bed, slowly waking up.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" he joked, standing by the bed, already dressed in his Canucks hoodie.

You groaned, your head in the pillow.

"Too early. I love you, but not quite enough to get out of this bed right now."

Quinn smiled, leaning down so that his face was inches from yours. "Fair enough," he whispered, then, he kissed you softly on the forehead.

You looked up at him, still struggling with your voice.

"You always do that."

"Yup," he grinned, squeezing your hip before standing fully up. "See you later, sleepyhead."

When You Complain About Being Short You were at the grocery store, trying to get a box of cereal from the top shelf, when Quinn appeared behind you and brought it down for you.

"You've got to be kidding me," you grumbled, placing your hands on your hips. "This is not fair."

Quinn chuckled.

"It's not my fault you're little."

You glared up at him.

"I am not tiny."

He simply hummed in amusement before leaning down and giving you a kiss on the forehead.

"Sure, whatever you say, short stack."

You rolled your eyes.

"Quinn!"

But he was already walking away, talking under his breath.

After a Tough Game You had waited for Quinn outside the locker room after a hard loss. He was exhausted, his hair still damp from a quick shower following the game, his face set in anger. Without saying a word, you spread your arms, and he hugged you instinctively, his face buried in your shoulder.

"You played great," you whispered, rubbing his back.

He let out a slow sigh, finally pulling back to look at you. His fingers brushed over your cheek before he dipped his head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

You smiled.

"Feel better?"

"A little," he admitted, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before sighing. "Mostly just glad you’re here."

When You’re Trying to Stay Mad at Him Quinn had eaten the last of your favorite snack, and while it wasn't the end of the world, you were dramatically pouting on the couch about it.

"I'll get you more," he said, sitting down next to you.

"You always say that," you sighed, crossing your arms.

Quinn simply smiled, leaning in closer.

"You're really upset with me, huh?"

"Yes."

He leaned in further, tilting your chin up a bit before delivering a kiss to your forehead.

You gasped roughly.

"That's cheating."

"Nah," he grinned. "Just strategy."

You complained.

"I hate you."

"You love me," he said, planting an extra kiss on your forehead for good measure.

And, well… he wasn't wrong.

When He Says "I Love You" You both were on the couch and it was evening, you resting on your head on Quinn's shoulder and you were watching a film. You felt like you were drifting off to sleep when Quinn quietly shifted so the blanket settled on you.

You breathed softly sleepily.

"You're comfy."

Quinn chuckled softly, his voice a whisper.

"You're warm."

A couple of beats went by before he leaned forward and kissed your forehead slow and long.

"I love you," he murmured against your skin.

Your lips curled up in a half-asleep smile as you wrapped your arms closer to his chest.

"Love you too, Q."

And, as always, his tendency continued. For even though all the times he made jokes about your height, Quinn Hughes would trade having you at just the right height for forehead smooches for everything in the world.

[siriusleee]

beating, twice

↳ 3.8k words

↳ simon has a new heart

↳ author's note: this has been sitting in my google docs since december of last year. so i'm posting it now because i've become stuck and can't figure anything else out with it

The mountains had never appealed to Simon; he preferred the asphalt jungle of London; the glittering beetle eye concrete of New York City. Easier to disappear into, the pulsating feel of the crowds giving him a sense of anonymity. But at discharge, the doctor's told him to take it easy - to enjoy retirement. 

"You're not exactly a young man anymore Mr. Riley," the military doctor said, a silver wedding ring glittering on the back of her clipboard. "You're being medically discharged - you need a plan to keep yourself healthy."

A new identity. A retirement account. A generous do-over to a life filled with one time only regrets. His heart had been grafted over with a piece from a soldier who died in the same blast that nearly killed Simon. He'd told the doctor when he woke up that he could feel it squeezing his heart, but the doctor told Simon that it was just psychosomatic - he knew there was a new piece to his heart and so he felt it. 

It took a year of rehab before they finally got tired of him, and another six of bureaucratic hell before the paperwork was finally processed. 

The relocation specialists asked him where he wanted to live - Simon didn't know what to say. He'd been all over the world, and yet the name of a singular town couldn't crawl towards his lips. 

"You can just point at the map," the specialists had said, fingers twirling a pen. "Some guys do that." So that's what he did - the clock ticking in his ears growing louder and louder as he stood, stupidly, staring at the map on the wall. He tried to count the seconds. How many had passed? Two minutes? Three? His eyes scanned the map, looking for places that he hadn't been to before, places that didn't leave a bad taste in his mouth. 

And then he spotted it - a little dot on the map nestled in the Black Hills. No where he'd even been before, or nowhere he had a memory of. But that graft on his heart squeezed when he saw the name, and before he could think, he was tapping the map with his fingernail. 

"Alright - I'll have you a place in a week."

The compulsion to walk starts the moment the last box is moved in; the pile of boxes pathetically small in the little house the military bought for him. Or maybe it was once a safe house - Simon didn't know and he didn't care. The walls are faded and the porch sagging, but it's a fresh coat of paint on the water stains that have plagued him. Simon can sense the neighbors peering out at him from behind their curtains; they twitch back into place when Simon steps out onto the porch, the wood moaning beneath the weight of his boots. The sky threatens to spit snow onto him; the first snowfall of the year comin' soon the movers had quipped to him. Simon hadn't replied, just grunted as he passed over the two hundred dollars he owed for moving everything in.

The air bites at his exposed face. When was the last time he was exposed like this? When was the last time he was allowed to show his face like this? Something like self-consciousness presses against him, making it hard to breathe until he tugs his hood over his head and he can breathe again.

The grass crunches beneath his feet, curled brown to protect itself from the oncoming storm. He doesn't look at where he's going, just lets his feet take him where they want to go as the sun slips beneath the treetops. The town falls to sleep around him as his boots carve patterns into the concrete. 

The music stops him short. It's entirely out of place on the starlit street - the notes tripping over one another to spill out onto the asphalt with a gentleness that rolls through the darkness. It makes him sick to his stomach with something he can't place, some feeling on the edge of his tongue that he hasn't felt since Johnny's funeral, since he heard gunshots and saw the way Price's hand shook as he shook the hand of Johnny's mother. The absence of something he refuses to name. He's sure he's never heard it before, but it pulls him back to sand beneath his boots and to the hum of Blackhawks above him.

The street is devoid of life; light spills out of the windows and onto the streets, little jewels that hang onto the rough and cracked concrete of the sidewalk. The music is faint- a radio turned down so a conversation can be heard. The entire street is frozen with him, the little flurries that were attempting to collect on the street cracks hang heavy in the air, breathing with him. 

Simon doesn't know how long he stands there, hands in the pocket of his jacket and letting the music wash over him. But it stops eventually, and the entire street lets go of the breath it's been holding; the flurries start to fall again, faster to make up for their pause with Simon. 

It suddenly occurs to him that he must look like a fucking freak, standing there on the sidewalk, David beneath Michelangelo's hands. It takes every bit of strength in his body to keep his boots moving, moving away from the last notes that linger and swirl around him.

He walks all night, finally falling into the bed with no sheets when the sun starts to peak back out.

He gets a job as a mechanic. His references - names all made up and cell phone numbers that lead forgotten CIA workers whose only job is to answer and read a script- give him the best recommendations, and the old man running the garage doesn't really need Simon to know how to do anything other than change spark plugs and change the oil. The man looks Simon up and down, and Simon catches the POW-MIA embroidered on the man's hat, and that's that. There's something that passes between the two of them that neither of them speak about, but they recognize it in each other's eyes. He starts the next Monday. 

He doesn't need the money. Between all the years of hazard pay that wasn't eaten away at by daycare fees or wedding bands, he has a small fortune to practice spending, but he needs the distraction from the walls that should be holding up his military honors, but instead hold blank emptiness. He hasn't been able to unpack anything. He just digs through each box when he needs something, slicing his hands against the knives and sharpened memories. 

He walks his path ad nauseum. Each night there's a new symphony that washes over the little town. He tried, more than once, to not be a fucking creep and stand in the middle of the street listening for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. But even across town he could still hear the music creeping its way through the buildings and beneath the cars. 

It stalked him beneath the street lamps until he was pulled back towards the street, trying to figure out which house the sound was coming from. 

The snow is thick on the ground, being pounded flat each night by his boots by the time he discovers which house it's coming from. The curtains are pulled back, light spilling further out onto the street than usual. The window is pushed open and the music doesn't pour out, but rushes over itself angrily. He finds himself drifting towards the open window - the music is a siren song to him. He knows it. He knows.

He knows this song. He doesn't know how he knows it, he just knows that it pulls on his grafted heart in a way that's painful.

She plays with the kind of look a person has after years of practice. Simon recognizes it as the same one he has when he cleans his gun - the look you have when you don't need to fully pay attention to what you're doing because your body knows it by memory. The song ends abruptly - the last note wrong. It stops Simon in his tracks - 15 yards from her window. He suddenly panics, thinking she's going to look at and see him standing there. She must have stopped playing because she finally caught the stalker who's been standing on her street each night. 

But she doesn't.

Instead she stands, and reaches across to slam the window shut. The house shutters from her anger, and she pulls the curtains closed. A moment later the sliver of light that was left is extinguished and Simon knows then, he needs to move. 

He's getting too comfortable. He spends too many nights outside her house listening to her play - too many nights getting closer to the window until he's found that he can stand right on the sidewalk and see her through her curtain when it's closed. 

He learns the pattern of each song by heart until one night when he passes by and the street is silent. There's no light in her windows - he immediately thinks the worst. The gun at his waist feels a thousand pounds; he reaches back to grab it as he walks up her steps.

The front door is cracked open, and his heart jumps to his throat.

Each room is empty - nothing seemingly misplaced. When he clears the final room, his shoulders sag, his gun finds its place back in its holster. He suddenly feels like creep being alone in her house.

Her.

He doesn't even know her name, and he's standing in her living room. A decrepit calico cat meows angrily when he walks by the couch, and then bounds out from its hiding spot beneath the couch to rub against his leg - completely unafraid of Simon. 

The place is empty - almost depressingly so. It mirrors his own house, no relics of family or friends. The only thing that looks used regularly is the piano. He runs his hands across the top, and it spooks him. 

He leaves, making sure the cat is left sleeping on the couch and the front door is shut tight. 

He finally figures out her name when he sees her standing in her driveway, kicking the shit out of the passenger side of her car. 

Hands tucked tightly in his pocket, he stops a respectable distance away before speaking. 

"Car trouble?"

She jumps, swinging around to face him. Her face is closed, guarded from him as she takes in his face and he wishes he had his mask back - wishes it wasn't strange to wear a mask out in the civilian word, wishes -

"Yeah it won't start; the piece of shit."

Simon keeps his spot on the sidewalk as he speaks, worried that if he moves towards her, she'll move away. 

"I work at the shop in town if you want me to give it a look."

She's shrewd; she looks at him like she's waiting on him to say something else, and he knows she's used to men hitting on her. But he can also tell she's desperate, and he can see the argument inside herself as she debates letting him look at her car. 

"I'd like that."

Her starter is completely fried, and he tells her that. She kicks the tire, but this time all the fight is removed from it, and it's a pathetic kick. 

"Thank you for telling me," she says as if the words are bitter on her tongue. 

"I can fix it for you this weekend if you want."

"I can't afford it. And I'm not sleeping with you to pay for it."

Simon snorts in spite of himself. 

"I'll get a recycled part - don't worry about it."

The argument inside herself is written all over her face, and even when she reaches out to shake his grease stained hand and tells him her name, the fight is still written across the wrinkles in her face. 

It's still there when she hands her phone to him, tells him to put his number in and to text her when he's on his way back over. 

"I can't afford this, you know."

Simon can barely hear her as she speaks over the engine, her words crawling between the houses and housing of the innards of her car to reach straight up to him. 

"You can pay me later."

"I just told you I can't afford this."

Simon's mind lingers on the emptiness of her house that he'd seen the week before - he knew better than he wanted to how little she had at the moment. But he can't let her know that, can't let her know that he's traced the inside of her house while she was gone.

When he's satisfied with the noise of the engine, he slams the hood shut. She's leaning against the driver door, her breath fogging around her - it crosses Simon's mind that he could corner her right here, tell her what repayment he wants. but he's not a fucking freak.

He's not. 

So instead he wipes the grease and dirt from his hands onto his jeans where it mixes with the grease and dirt from work and mirrors her lean. 

"Cook me dinner?"

The hint of a smile starts to creep on her face, but she bites it back. She picks at an invisible piece of lint on the sleeve of her sweater before she answers. 

"You want me to cook dinner for you? How do you know I can cook?"

"I'll take my chances."

She chews on her chapped lips before sighing, boots kicking at her tire. 

"Come by tonight, alright."

He doesn't own anything fucking nice. He's pushed all his clothes around - in the back corner his dress blues hang sadly, and everything else has a grease stain on it. 

"This is ridiculous," he growls to himself, annoyed with everything all of a sudden. He reaches into his back pocket to his phone. He's just going to fucking cancel. This is fucking stupid. This is-

She's sent a picture. He doesn't know what he's going to see when he unlocks his phone, but a little piece of him has some hopes. It's a chicken in the oven, surrounded by oranges like something out of a magazine his mother would have flipped through in the grocery line. 

Hope this is enough to repay you :)

"Fuck," he says to his pants that hang limply, and they say nothing back to him. 

He chooses the jeans with the least amount of stains. 

She's wearing a skirt with a slit dangerously high when she opens the door. 

You shouldn't wear that around the wrong men, he wants to tell her, but he is the wrong man, and he knows that, but she doesn't. He doesn't want to be the first person to tell her that about him.

His repaired heart knows the curves of her - somehow he knows that if he were to run his hand up the part of her thigh the slit is showing, there's going to be a scar there, he knows - 

"Are you alright?"

"'Course. The smell stopped me."

"That bad, huh?"

"Terrible."

She wears a hint of a smile as she steps to the side to let him in; he catches a whiff of her perfume, vanilla and tobacco and whiskey, and he's got the sudden urge to lick the base of her neck. He holds himself back, hands held behind his back as he follows her through the living room, past the piano, and into the kitchen. 

The scruffy cat comes out of the shadows to intertwine around his ankles like they're old friends. A pot boils on the stove and the chicken is on the side, steam pouring off the golden skin. 

It scares Simon how at ease he feels in her kitchen, how the kitchen table's chair is so comfortable to him. She's tense - he can read it in the tightness of her shoulders, in the way she taps her nails against the counter. 

Simon's heart beats too fast watching her flash around the kitchen and nearly jumps out of him when she places a plate in front of him. 

It feels familiar in a way that terrifies him. 

He's like a stray dog - she fed him once, and he keeps coming back. She only complains once. 

"I'm a teacher, you know. I don't make enough money to keep feeding a big man like you."

Simon buys her groceries after that, his own refrigerator growing empty as he spends more dinners at her house. He knows they both feel it - they both feel how fucking weird it is that they can orbit each other so easily despite knowing nothing about each other. 

He reads in the evenings. She doesn't have much, but she has more books than one person should, and she plays the piano and he pretends not to know the pieces. He pretends that he hasn't stood outside her house night after night committing each song to memory.

If she finds it suspicious that he hums along too fast, picks up the melody too fast, she doesn't mention it. 

"I was married once," she says, like it's a dirty secret. She taps her fingers against the glass of her beer, a sharp staccato that increases in speed like it's her heart. 

Simon doesn't say anything, just takes a drink of his own beer to quell the storm that's conjured in his chest. Married once? He doesn't know what he's supposed to feel, but it can't be this, can't be this anger that suddenly starts beating against the architecture of himself, the anger that unhooks something in his blood. 

"It wasn't very long," she continues, the rhythm of her ring getting faster, "We only were married for a year before we divorced."

Simon's beer hits the countertop with a little too much force.

"Why'd you divorce?" He doesn't mean for it to sound so eager, so fucking needy, but if she hears the edge to his voice she doesn't say. He needs to know what led to the destruction of her first marriage, so he doesn't make the same mistake with her. 

"We were kids, you know. We shouldn't have gotten married to begin with, but neither of us had anyone else. And there was no one there to tell us it was a bad idea."

"Where's he at now?"

"He's dead."

Her ring stops tapping.

"He died in a bomb blast almost two years ago. He was in the army, and he was deployed. There was nothing left of him for them to ship back to me. I didn't even know that he listed me as his family."

Simon's mouth is suddenly dry, and he feels like he's going to choke. She's still not looking at him, her eyes are still trained on the red neon sign behind the bar, so she misses the way he presses his hands into the bar to keep them from shaking. 

"I just thought I should tell you," she says, half turning in her chair to finally look at him.

The ground beneath him has shifted, he's off tilt and he doesn't know what to say. I might have his heart in my fucking chest and that's why I feel this way about you. 

"Can you take me home, please?"

There's a million things he wants to say, a million ways he wants to take that request. He swishes them around in his mouth with the last of his beer.

"'Course, love."

The two beers are nothing to him, but she's a different story. She stumbles on the ice in the parking lot, and steadies herself on his elbow. She doesn't let go until he opens the passenger door of his truck for her and he helps her climb in. Her foot bounces as he pulls out of the parking lot. It's a three minute drive back to her place, four for him to put the truck into park. 

He expects her to unbuckle, to climb out. But her hands don't inch towards the buckle. She seems to steel herself for what she's going to say next, and he's waiting on her to tell him that she noticed how weird he's been - she doesn't want him to come back. 

"Do you want to fuck?" She asks suddenly, and the abruptness of it takes Simon off guard. 

"What?"

"Do you want to fuck?"

Simon's hands grip the steering wheel so hard he's surprised it doesn't shatter beneath his grip. He waits just a moment too long, and she scoffs, unbuckles the seatbelt and has her hand in the door handle before he can react. 

He reaches across to grab the handle from her, keeping her from opening the door. She won't look him in the eye, instead pushing roughly on the door to try and shake it loose from his grip. 

"I didn't say no." The gentleness in his voice shocks him, but it's not enough to get her to look at him. 

"You didn't say yes either."

She breaks the door from his grip and slides out, her skirt hiking up high enough that he catches the edge of her curves.

His stolen heart beats, trying to escape his chest as she disappears inside - to get the fuck out from behind the steering wheel, to knock on her door and explain that his timing is bad, he doesn't know what to say and when he's supposed to say it. He tells himself he's going to leave when the light from her bedroom turns off - he just wants to make sure that she's safely asleep before he leaves. 

But the light doesn't go out.

His watch creeps past midnight before the front door opens again. The nightgown she has on makes his hands sweat - it peeks out below the heavy jacket she's thrown on top. She veers towards the passenger door and when she climbs in, Simon's hands start to shake at the amount of thigh that flashes him.

"Why don't you leave?"

"I wanted to make sure you were safely asleep."

"You saw me walk into my house."

"You never know."

And she doesn't ever know. She doesn't know what kind of horrors could be around each door. Simon wants to explain that to her - explain what he's seen to her, but he doesn't know how to do that. He doesn't even know how to broach the subject of the million things that he should be telling her. 

"Why didn't you want to have sex with me?" She asks in a small voice that Simon hates, and he hates himself for being the reason she sounds like that. 

"I didn't say I didn't want to."

"Then why didn't you say yes?"

"I don't want to just fuck you."

Her knee bounces nervously.

"Alright. We can do the other stuff."

He almost tells her, more than once, about the heart that beats in his chest. Once, when he had her folded over the piano, and again, when she tangled their legs together in her bed and the ancient cat was purring on his chest. 

He's too cowardly.

[zorostitties]

Aurora; 7 (m)

⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom. Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.

In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.

pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader

genre: angst, romance, slow burn, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.

rating: 18+

word count: 5k

A/N: HELLO Y'ALL!!! This one is coming a little earlier than usual because I am more anxious to update than y'all are anxious to read lmao Past chapter had so many comments!!! I'm glad you guys liked it so much. It was such a fun chapter to write! Hope y'all will like this one as much! ALSO checks page HOW MANY KUDOS??? WHAT THE HELL??? 😭😭 Thank you so much!!! It truly means so much to me 😭😭 Anyway let me shut up lol enjoy!! <3

⤕  Chapters: check masterlist in bio!  ⤕ Also on AO3

Guilt was a feeling Alucard avoided vehemently.

After you reach a certain age, you realize that there are some feelings and situations that you should avoid for your own sanity. One of them – perhaps the most important – is to avoid thinking too much about the past. One thing is to cherish the people you’ve met and loved, to keep some moments close to your heart; another thing is refuse that they will never come back and to avoid facing the present. Alucard knew quite well that this can sink you. That’s why he was constantly busying himself – traveling the world, meeting new cultures, learning new things.

Another thing he avoided – this one took him a long time to learn, a whole lot of grief to understand – was to… get too attached. And yes, this made him lonelier than ever. Yes, this wasn’t entirely healthy. He knew about all that. But his mortal heart wasn’t strong like his immortal body, and there was a moment in his life when he decided that he couldn’t take much more pain anymore. Stepping away from the Belmonts was… difficult, but was what the needed at the moment. He needed to let his heart heal, and the only thing that heals is time. Perhaps much more time than he first assumed.

And then there was guilt. Alucard didn’t like to feel guilt because it meant that he failed. Unfortunately, he wasn’t someone that could fail. His ways of life, his fights, the things he stood for usually involved countless innocent lives, so he couldn’t give himself the luxury of failing. Alucard was methodical, precise, insistent – not to say stubborn. Because yes, he could he stubborn –; he only accepted perfection of himself. Him succeeding meant no one suffered. Therefore, no guilt.

That’s why Alucard was partially hating himself at that moment. He’d felt more guilt in the span of 48 hours than in the last few years.

He almost couldn’t look at Ruby in the eye.

Luckily, she was sitting behind him as he guided the horse on the streets of Paris, so he wouldn’t have too see her for some moments – but her arms around his waist and the warmth of her body were a reminder that she was there.

His feelings were a bit… chaotic at the moment, to be honest. On one hand, he was glad – relieved – that Ruby had healed. On the other hand, he knew that the reason why she got so hurt in the first place was because of him. He told her she wouldn’t get hurt and he weren’t there to protect her, even if she claimed to have jumped in front of a night creature to save Annette. And then there was the other part of him (the methodical, precise and stubborn part of him) hissing that he shouldn’t be wasting time going to the Louvre because there was an army of vampires coming and he had to act.

But Alucard couldn’t tell her no. Not really. Not when she looked at him with that glow in her eyes – a glow of hope he hadn’t seen in her yet. Alucard couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel. Especially not after what she’d been through mere hours ago.

He owed her that.

Ruby was becoming a bigger mystery to him in more complicated ways than he first assumed. It didn’t involve only her unknown past, but also her behavior. It was difficult for him to understand how she was acting so normal after what she had just suffered. Sure, the methodical part of him was thankful to that – he had to act fast; quite frankly, he wouldn’t have time to wait until she recovered. If her healing took longer than it did, he would have a real problem at hands, and if she was frozen in shock, it would also be a problem.

But then there was his mortal heart speaking into his mind, too. It never shut up, unfortunately.

There was something so deeply wrong with Ruby.

The more time he spent with her, the more he watched her, the more he heard her heart race and her fingers shake at the most casual situations – like walking into a crowd or mustering courage to speak –, the more he realized that Ruby didn’t have any care for herself, the angrier he got.

Alucard also avoided getting too angry. Anger was a form of attachment as well; it tied the ones he despised to him. Anger could take a person like him – eternal and powerful – down a very dangerous path. Anger led to wrath, which let to hatred.

But again… it was getting hard for Alucard to keep his feelings in place. Not when he could still feel the now faint smell of Ruby’s blood.

In fact, he thought she was going to die.

Her blood was everything Alucard could feel the moment he stepped out of the Seine. He knew it was Ruby’s; he got quite familiar with it due to that scratch on her heel as they walked to Juste’s cottage. It was so strong that he almost could see the air turning red. It must’ve drawn the attention of every vampire in the area.

And then he rushed to the palace and saw her in that state.

She can heal, Alucard tried to convince himself, but could she, really? He’d seen her heal from cuts, not multiple fractures and mass bleeding. Those wounds meant death to any human and vampire, unless they could drink blood to strengthen their healing process.

Alucard barely knew her. He was still a tiny bit suspicious of her – of her cloudy past, at least. And yet, the thought of Ruby dying scared him.

Not many things scared him.

Death was one of those things. Not the fear of facing death himself, but having to watch someone close to him die. Alucard was far too familiar with the feeling and he never got used to it.

If Ruby had died at that moment, he’d carry that scar with him for a long time. She didn’t even had a chance to live. She didn’t even remember if she had lived before her imprisonment. If Ruby had died, it wouldn’t only be painful; it would be unfair.

So yes, he got scared. Yes, he held her close and tried to ease her pain – Hell, she looked in so much pain, even if she didn’t scream – because it was the only thing he could do. The Universe couldn’t be so cruel to that woman to just let her die like that. It… it couldn’t.

To his utter relief, Ruby healed. Her skin closed the wounds, the bleeding stopped, she finally passed out and slept for a bit.

Mixed with his relief was also confusion.

Her healing was far more powerful than Alucard first assumed. Alucard didn’t know many vampires that could heal from injuries so serious.

What was Ruby?

Why did she have this strange condition? How did she achieve it? For what end?

Alucard wanted to know. He needed to know. Erzsebet must’ve had a reason not only to keep her, but also to want to retrieve her.

The white-haired vampire instinctively held the reins a bit tighter as he remembered Drolta.

Ruby’s face of pure panic. Fuck, he couldn’t take her expression off his mind. The way Drolta was twirling that necklace around her finger. A ruby necklace. Everything made sense at that moment.

Her nonchalance after getting injured, the little care she had for herself, her fear and hesitance…

These things were growing on him in an ugly way.

A week ago, Erzsebet and Drolta were just two maniacal cult leaders that needed to be stopped. It wasn’t exactly personal. Alucard had dealt with vampires like them many times in his life.

Now, however, he not only needed to stop them – he wanted to kill them.

And this time, he would make sure that they were gone. He would personally make sure that Drolta was actually dead. He would make sure to slash her head off her neck and burn her body to ashes.

He would make sure to shatter that necklace to pieces.

Alucard couldn’t heal Ruby’s soul, but he hoped that their death, at least, would bring her some peace.

Alucard pulled the reins and made the horse gallop significantly slower until it stopped.

“What’s the problem?” Ruby asked close to his ear as she tried to peek ahead over his shoulder.

“The streets around the palace are blocked.” Alucard tightened his eyes a bit. Soldiers barricaded the entrance to the front square of the Louvre, trying to keep a crowd of curious people away. The man let a tired sigh. “Well, I guess I should’ve expected it.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “We’ll have to sneak in by foot.” Ruby nodded. She dismounted from the horse first, being shortly followed by him.

Alucard wandered his eyes around the crowd. They chatted suspiciously among themselves. “I heard an attack happened,” someone said, while another person murmured that “my cousin’s a guard, he told me it were the royalists that wanted to avenge the King,” or someone else said “This is all fake! It’s just to keep our attention here. Another faction is planning to take the country overnight as we speak!”

But then, some young voices caught his attention the most. Three boys discussed excitedly among themselves.

“He’s obviously lying,” the boy in the middle said, crossing his arms and frowning. “Don’t believe him.”

“I’m tellin’ ya!” The shortest of the three insisted, gesticulating excitedly. “I saw a dragon flyin’ inside the palace. Then, some minutes later, I saw another winged thing flying away!”

“It could’ve been a bird.”

“It wasn’t a bird! Never seen a bird so big in my life!”

“Your eyesight isn’t even that good anyway. He said he saw a crocodile in the Seine last week, remember?”

“Hey– you said you saw it, too!”

Alucard couldn’t help but feel a bit of his tension dissipate. The sight was... a bit familiar.

He made a sharp whistle, immediately calling the three boys’ attention.

“Do you lads mind watching my horse for a while?” Alucard said, still holding the reins with one hand. He shook the small coin pouch in his palm.

Their eyes immediately gleamed excitedly. They clumsily made their way to approach him, bumping into each other and grinning.

“Of course, sir!” The shortest one saluted Alucard as if he were a soldier.

The tallest one, noticing Ruby standing near, bowed awkwardly, pinching the tip of his worn out beret. “Mademoiselle,” he said in a high pitched voice. Then, his eyes rapidly traveled from her to Alucard, and he coughed. “I mean– madame.” The two other boys imitated his action like tiny echoes, all equally clumsy.

They earned an endeared smile from her. She held her skirt and bobbed a small curtsy graciously in return.

The three blushed.

Alucard inhaled a small chuckle.

“We won’t take long, so stay in the area.” The white-haired vampire said, catching the boys’ attention again. The shortest one seemed to be some sort of leader of the group, as he was the one to approach and hold the reins. Alucard swiftly placed a coin on each of their open palms. “Rest of the payment when I get back.”

“Thank you, sir!” They said in unison, eyes glued in their shiny coins.

The one that looked the oldest tightened his eyes. “Hm, may I ask, sir, what exactly is your business here? The palace is blocked, as you can see.”

Alucard tightened his eyes at him, too. “I certainly see that it’s blocked, and I certainly wouldn’t advise you boys to get any closer to it.” Then, he dropped his voice, his tone picking their attention once again. “I wonder, however, if you were to get closer to it, which street would you pick?”

They eyed each other. The tallest boy coughed again.

“Well, if I were to get closer to it, I would pick an alley behind the Perrault street… most people don’t gather around there, so…”

“...Less guards,” the oldest completed.

Alucard nodded. He placed one more coin on each of their hands. They giggled.

He pointed ahead with his head to Ruby. However, as he was turning around to leave, he stopped and looked at them.

“By the way, what you saw is correct,” Alucard said in a quiet, serious voice. They all froze. “But that wasn’t a dragon; it was a demon. The city is in danger. When we get back, you boys should get your families and hide.”

He didn’t wait to see the boys’ reaction. Ruby, however, lingered her gaze a little longer on them before following him.

A quiet sadness clouded her eyes, made her shoulders drop a bit. She interlocked her hands on her lower stomach as she walked. It seemed to be a standard quirk of hers, besides the one of gripping her skirt when she was nervous. This specific movement as she walked, however, was very… polite.

Alucard didn’t exactly like it.

Not because he didn’t appreciate good manners. Ruby was, in fact, very gracious in anything she did – from her impeccable posture at all times to the way she sat or the way she ate, the way she held cutlery, the way she never raised her voice too much, or even how she insisted in calling him sir when they first met. She had the good manners of a high society lady.

But Alucard knew that all of this was a product of what she had endured. Making herself smaller, quieter, imperceptible. Ruby didn’t do any of that to impress anyone or to fit into some sort of societal standard. She did it because she was afraid of bringing any attention upon her.

The more he observed her, the more he caught himself silently wishing Ruby would… slouch. Raise her voice, show anger or tiredness or boredom. Make it clear when she didn’t like something or voice her opinions without becoming a puddle of anxiety.

That’s one of the reasons why Alucard couldn’t bring himself to say no when she asked to go to the Louvre. Most of the time, she wasn’t brave enough to speak her mind and make requests. She felt comfortable enough at that moment to ask him. And… Alucard actually hated it, but he had also noticed that, sometimes, Ruby flinched away from him and seemed scared when he showed annoyance or moved too abruptly. Unfortunately, he still had similar physical traits of the ones who hurt her so much. The fact that she was growing comfortable around him made him feel… content.

Ruby looked down. “Poor kids. Their clothes are so worn out…”

“This is the situation for most children in this country. That is mainly why the revolution started.”

“...I guess Richter was right. How can a king have a palace this big while his people die of hunger?” She took some moments to speak again. “And if Erzsebet succeeds… she will make things worse.”

Alucard nodded. “Yes. But she won’t, because we’ll stop her.” He pointed with his finger to a nearby street. “Let’s go.”

They quickened their pace, keeping silent for most of the way. Most streets were crowded by a mass of curious people; the news traveled fast, and it seemed that everyone forgot about the execution earlier and decided to gather at this part of the city. Paris was drowned in chaos. Most soldiers were too worried trying to quiet down the population. How could they even prepare for the incoming battle?

Finally, they arrived at the alley the boy had mentioned – and the little bastard was right. It was a dirty small alley where most people avoided, only being guarded by two soldiers that weren’t paying much attention to their job.

At last, Alucard stopped walking in a spot out of their sight. The back view of the palace was just ahead. He turned around and looked down at Ruby, sending her a hesitant look.

“My apologies, but I will need to do that again.”

She widened her eyes slightly. “Oh. Okay.”

“...Do you think you can handle it this time?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll be fine.” She was clearly lying. Well, there was nothing he could do about that.

Alucard wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her up slightly to a point her feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. He narrowed his eyes, visualizing the path he would have to make.

A familiar red glow enveloped his body–

He sprinted through the alley, passing in between both guards so fast that they didn’t even understand what was happening; to them it was just a sudden, violent gush of wind that made their hats fly away and their eyes widen in confusion.

And just like that, they were within the palace’s gardens.

Alucard put Ruby on the floor again. She was visibly dizzy, so he still held her arm for support. She blinked several times, as if trying to fade the vertigo away.

“It… wasn’t that bad this time,” she lied again. It didn’t look like she wanted to vomit this time, though. Alucard smiled slightly and let go of her arm.

“Do you remember in which room you found the artifact?” He asked quietly, worrying that anyone would hear them. He didn’t want to have to confront any human.

“The same where I was trying to hide in,” Ruby looked around the tall building. “The night creature came crashing through the window. We can use it to get in.”

Alucard nodded, trying to remember in what section of the palace that was…

Then he realized that he didn’t need to remember anything, because the scent of her blood was still very much in the air. They didn’t even have time to clean it. Alucard turned his head in the direction where the scent was stronger.

“There. Let’s go.”

They walked fast, Alucard always placing his body in front of her, walking near the wall under the windows to not get caught. They crossed paths with some guards, but luckily were not seen. He wondered why the hell did that place need to be so horizontally big.

Finally, the sight of a destroyed window appeared ahead. As the building had a double height ceiling, it’d be necessary to climb to get through the window. Alucard gesticulated for Ruby to wait. His sword unsheathed itself and floated up; through the reflection on the shiny iron, he saw that although the doors were opened, the gallery was empty.

Alucard once again wrapped his arm around her waist and floated, graciously passing through the window. As soon as their feet landed on the floor, he nodded his head softly; the double doors closed and locked.

He let go of her and she stepped aside.

The gallery was absolutely destroyed; debris and glass everywhere, broken pieces of the wooden crates, rags of once was a curtain around the floor, statues and paintings destroyed… and blood. A lot of blood.

Ruby widened her eyes at the sight of her own dried blood over the floor. It seems she hadn’t realized how much she bled. She gulped and averted her gaze somewhere else.

“It seems they didn’t start to clean things up yet,” she stated the obvious in a nervous tone.

“They’re probably measuring the damage first. It’ll take them a few days,” Alucard crossed his arms, his eyes wandering over the room. He, in fact, felt bad about all that. So many artifacts were destroyed during the fight… thousands of years of art and history went to waste. It was especially outrageous how Drolta didn’t care about the damage at the Egyptian gallery, given that she came from those same ancient times. She had no respect for her own culture anymore.

“Is it here?” he asked, paying attention to her again.

Ruby hummed quietly.

She walked towards the doors, looking for something on the floor. She tip toed around a pool of blood, trying to avoid stepping on it at all costs. Alucard followed her, albeit keeping a good distance so she could scoop the area without his interference.

Finally, she gasped and rushed to grab something at the corner of the room, near the wall. It was hidden behind a destroyed crate.

Ruby turned around, holding a golden scepter with both hands. Her eyes glowed with afraid amazement.

“This is it,” she confirmed.

They approached each other, meeting at the center of the gallery. Alucard analyzed the artifact she held. It was almost as tall as her with a symbol of the sun at its tip. Throughout the entire staff, there were tiny writings engraved. Although it was golden, it wasn’t much adorned; other than the symbol of the sun and the intricate sun rays in the form of curvy spikes, it was very plain. It appeared to be something used in religious ceremonies.

“What happened exactly when you held it for the first time?” He asked.

Ruby looked down at the scepter. “It was covered in rust. I didn’t even know what I was looking at. Then, when I held it, it got… hot. And it shone.”

“It shone?” Alucard quirked one eyebrow up.

“Yes. So bright that I had to close my eyes. And then… all the rust was gone.”

“And after that?”

Ruby pressed her lips together. “...Nothing. The night creature came in and I dropped it.”

Alucard nodded. “Do you feel anything strange right now?”

She shook her head slightly. “No.” She lifted the object closer to his eyes. “But, see? The writings? It’s that same language. Do you recognize what this is?”

Alucard narrowed his eyes. “Can I?”

Ruby handed him the scepter, which he held with both hands. It was quite heavy – actual pure gold. It was a miracle that the royal French family didn’t melt it, or whoever was in possession of the artifact it previously. He brought it close to his face, analyzing the scriptures.

The characters appeared to be organized vertically instead of horizontally, very similar to Mandarin or Japanese structures of writing. These characters, however, meant nothing to him. They weren’t rounded like Sanskrit, weren’t allusive of animals or nature like Egyptian hieroglyphs or ancient Mandarin, and they didn’t resemble the common Latin alphabet. At most, it reminded him a bit of Sumerian writing, given how simplistic the characters seemed to be – but if it really was Sumerian, Alucard would’ve known.

“You know how to read it, but don’t understand the meaning of the words?” Alucard asked without taking his eyes off the scepter.

“Yes.”

“So, each character means a sound.” Ruby nodded. Phonetic, as he suspected, since the characters repeated themselves over and over again.

“Do you have any idea of what it is?” she repeated, sounding hopeful.

Alucard pressed his lips together.

He really missed Sypha in moments like this.

She would’ve immediately known what it was – or at least, had an idea of how to start investigating the origins of this strange language. Alucard became quite good at learning new languages over the years, but not as good as her. Never.

It felt like there was an invisible cold hand pressing around his heart – like it did anytime he thought of her.

“Unfortunately no.” Alucard shook his head. Ruby’s shoulders dropped. “Let’s not be discouraged. This artifact definitely has magic in it; I can feel it.” Yes, it vibrated under his palm in a high frequency – a metaphysical frequency, like all magic things did. It didn’t reek of demonic magic or negative alchemy either. It felt quite neutral; Alucard couldn’t tell what type of magic it stored.

The white-haired vampire frowned.

“And it certainly doesn’t like me.”

Ruby tilted her head to the side, visibly confused. “What?”

There was a strange sensation in his gut. A certain aggressiveness. Alucard didn’t feel like the scepter could actually hurt him, but the bad feeling was there anyway. He handed the artifact back to Ruby; the moment it left his hands, the sensation was gone.

“Some magical items don’t accept being touched by anyone. Some can only be touched by their masters.”

“Like your sword?” She asked, eyeing the weapon that was still protectively floating near Alucard’s body.

“Precisely.” Alucard shrugged. “Or it just doesn’t like me because I am part vampire.” At her utter confusion, he decided to elaborate. “In magic terms, my existence is an aberration. A half-human, half-vampire being goes against the natural order.”

She pressed her lips and looked down. “...But it’s not your fault.”

Alucard chuckled softly. It sounded like she felt bad for him, which he found quite endearing. “The scepter doesn’t know it.”

They were interrupted when someone tried to open the doors. Both turned around immediately, Ruby visibly startled at the sudden sound.

“Who’s in there?” a male voice was heard from the other side. “Open the doors!”

“Let’s go,” Alucard hurried towards the window again. Yet, she froze in place.

“Do we take it with us?”

“Of course.”

“Isn’t it stealing?”

He couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed at her. Alucard stepped closer again. “Everything here was stolen from some other country, Ruby. They won’t miss it.”

And then, he was holding her close to his body again, floating out of the palace through the window. The sword obediently sheathed itself again. However, when he stepped foot on the grass, he didn’t let go of her.

“I’ll have to…”

“Yes. I understand,” she nodded before he could finish, tightening the scepter close to her chest.

Alucard felt a tiny bit bad for a moment before sprinting out of the palace’s gardens in a red blur. She seemed to handle the post-dizziness a bit better this time, though.

They hurried around the streets. Ruby held the artifact with nervousness.

“This thing isn’t exactly subtle,” she said between gritted teeth. Indeed. An object made of gold wasn’t something you could hold around and act nonchalant about.

“I can hide it under my cape if you want,” he offered, to which she shook her head.

“No. If it makes you feel bad, I’d rather not.” It seemed she really didn’t think before saying that, because she froze for a moment and immediately avoided his gaze.

Alucard knew that if he chuckled it’d make her feel bad, so he swallowed it.

They didn’t take long to reach their destination with their fast pace. The street appeared a bit less crowded now. And there they were – the three boys sitting on the sidewalk, the horse obediently beside them. They got up in a jump.

“Here it is, sir!” The tallest presented.

“We took care of it. See?” The oldest boasted.

“Some men even wanted to take it away, but we fought valiantly!” It was the youngest’ turn to lie with a grin.

Alucard opened a small smile and took the reins again. “You did a good job, indeed. As promised, the rest of the payment.”

Their grins got even bigger when the white-haired vampire deposited two more coins each over their open palms.

The shortest of the group then cleaned his throat and stepped further towards Ruby. He had both hands behind his back and an already apparent blush over his cheeks.

“Hm, sir! Respectfully!”

“Respectfully!” The tallest one reinforced. He fiddled with his beret nervously.

“We got madame a gift!”

“Out of respect!” The oldest one reinforced again.

The three eyed Alucard with much apparent nervousness, waiting for his… permission. Ruby looked down at the boys with quiet confusion.

Oh, this was getting funny.

Alucard shrugged and nodded. The three boys smiled again and turned to Ruby. Once again, the shortest cleaned his throat.

“Madame! We were attentively taking care of the horse when we saw something that could suit you!”

“I saw it,” the oldest one elbowed him.

“But it was my idea,” the short one hissed back before turning to her again. “Anyway, hm, here it is!”

Finally, he unveiled what he was hiding behind his back in an extravagant gesture: a lily flower.

Alucard looked behind them. On the other side of the street, under a windowsill, there was a vase full of lilies. He had to cross his arms and lower his head, trying to muffle a laugh.

“It matches your ribbon, madame,” the oldest remarked.

“I was the one to pick it. None of them could reach it but me,” the tallest said with pride.

Ruby watched the three boys with a bit of shock for some seconds.

Then, she smiled.

Not one of her small, timid smiles. For the first time, that smile reached her eyes, too. For the first time, it seemed that she wasn’t embarrassed for smiling; for the first time, her giggle wasn’t dry. Wasn’t clouded by sadness.

Alucard knew that it was the first time he was seeing the real Ruby – the person she was underneath the trauma, the fear, the anxiety; the person she didn’t even know she was yet. And at that moment, the glow of the golden scepter got pale in comparison to her.

Ruby lowered herself to get to their eye level. She took the flower and placed it inside the small pocket of her vest, right above her heart.

“What are your names?” she asked.

“Victor,” the tallest said.

“Pierre,” the oldest one.

“Oliver,” the shortest.

Ruby repeated their names, then patted their heads, rubbing their hair softly.

“This is very sweet, boys. Thank you so much. I promise I’ll take care of your gift.”

It looked like the three boys forgot how to close their mouths. They stared at her in awe, their faces completely red, their three little hearts beating at a rapid pace.

Alucard couldn’t blame them. Not when his own heart missed a beat.

Three hundred years didn’t make him much better than a little boy, after all.

“Ruby.” He called quietly. “We should go.” She nodded and straightened her posture. Alucard turned to the boys, and they all seemed utterly embarrassed when his gaze fell over them. “I wasn’t joking about what I said earlier. Tell your parents about it. After the sun goes down, do not leave your homes.”

The three tensed up at his words, but nodded accordingly. The short one – Oliver – seemed to be the smartest, too; he was the only one that paid attention to Alucard’s mouth and had a fast glimpse of his fangs, which made him get pale. Well… if that helped send the message across, he was fine with it. They finally started walking away.

Ruby waved them goodbye and they waved back, clumsily bumping into each other and elbowing one another. At last, they ran into the crowd again.

A ghost of that smile still lingered on her lips as she turned to him, touching the flower with care. Alucard mimicked her small smile.

“You just made their day.”

She looked shy again, and it made Alucard regret saying that a bit; he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed of herself, not after what he had witnessed. “No, you made their day by paying them.”

Alucard shook his head softly and closed his eyes for a moment.

“It doesn’t even compare.”

He looked down at her again.

This time, instead of the skirt, she gripped the scepter nervously.

Still, Alucard sustained her gaze for a few more seconds. He… enjoyed this. He liked how her attention was frozen on him, even for these brief moments. He liked the sensation of having the world around him blur as if he entered a parallel universe until she’d finally look away.

Alucard knew himself all too well. He didn’t bring himself the trouble of being in denial about anything. It was also one of the things he learned over the years, for the sake of his own sanity.

He understood why the entire mission was becoming personal to him very fast. He understood that, behind his growing anger towards Drolta and Erzsebet, there was something else growing, too – though he wasn’t sure if he’d act on it. No; it was way too early to assume anything. There were still many mysteries to solve, too much at stake, too much trust to be gained on both ends… and way too many traumas to get through, too.

For now, Alucard was satisfied with these small moments of sweetness.

Finally, he took the reins again, and then they were in a crowded street of a city in chaos, and not in a quiet parallel universe.

“Let’s go… madame,” he said jokingly, imitating the honorific the boys repeated over and over again. Ruby chuckled, at least.

Alucard was under the impression that, if Ruby knew what the implications of being called a madame meant, she wouldn’t be so calm about it.

He’d like to keep it as his little secret for now.

[witerh]

To have. To hold. To breed. || husband re: vendetta!leon

NSFW!

warnings: fluff, soft/dom, reader!housewife, kisses, on the table, pussy eating, hole inspection, fingering, mating prees, deep fuck, ovulation, impreg, aftercare

notes: i admired asmr and my imagination was not enough to come up with another name, lmao (my one of the drabbles on dirty stories with leon for women's day, other drabbles can be seen on my ao3)

rating: mature

summary: leon step through the front door, he accosted by his woman. the smell of your cooking, the sound of your moving about in the kitchen. he have no choice but to follow his senses. when he sees you, all sweet and lush and prettied up for him, every ounce of tiredness in his body fades and the only thing on his mind becomes...

It's already sparkling outside, darkness fills the horizon and the noise and smell of cooking fills your home. You were standing at the stove, preparing dinner in the form of chicken and a side dish.

The muffled roar of a motorcycle distracts you, because most likely…

It is your husband coming home from work.

Leon’s life as a government agent was full of danger and chaos — his missions took him to the darkest corners of the world, and it often felt like he was married to his job, not to you.

The traumas were already in his brain dented with nightmares and memories as if for the first time. Every mission weighs on Leon more than the last. He hasn’t been the same since Raccoon City, and every year seems to put more strain on him than the last.He’s getting older now. His line of work has never given him the opportunity to settle down and start a family — not that any girl would want a guy who drunk himself half to death.

But you are like someone else and despite the obstacles of his work you were able to become something more than friends.Now you and Leon have been together for many years, not counting the year of your marriage. There were hard times and pleasant things, but you always got through it together.

He tries to spend more time with you, to be closer and more open, to communicate more with friends and acquaintances. This attempt to get rid of the burden of the past helps.

The smile has begun to appear on his face much more often when he is in your pleasant and cozy company. He is already on the mend and may be able to get rid of his nightmares.

Thanks to the psychologist.

Leon was coming home from work after hours of nonstop reports and paperwork, the younger recruits dumping all of their mess onto the old man. He fiddled with his keys before opening the front door to his house, huffing to himself as he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.He quickly stripped off his jacket, hanging it up before going further into the not quiet house. All faded away as he saw his precious little wife cooking on the kitchen; this gorgeous view from the back along with a fitted apron and a cute bow at the back, this hand stirring something (which he is always sure of it) delicious in a frying pan.

Wrinkles appeared on his handsome face when he smiled and you immediately noticed his steps.

Familiar arms wrapped around your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back while he inhaled your scent against your neck. “Well aren’t you a beauty standing at the stove… beautiful as a picture for me”, he whispers into the crook of your neck.

“Hey, Leon”, he doesn’t see your smile but you are very happy to see him. You turned your head towards him to catch a glimpse of him melting in your presence. “You should take a shower and then you can hug as much as you want.”

“I know I’m all dirty, but let me hold you for a moment.” He breathes deeply and fully. “I just need my girl in my arms.”

But despite your words, he doesn’t leave you, just sighs deeply and hums. Finally, he can relax from all this paperwork.

“I missed you, princess”, he surrenders in your arms, his shoulder muscles relaxing. “The work was hard, I had to take on all the work myself… These recruits can’t be relied upon.”

“All this time I could only think about how I would return home to my sweet wife.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, swear on my heart”, he confesses to you. “I knew you’d be here, beautiful, sweet smelling, with something on the table to fill my belly. Remind me why I work so hard…”

He falls silent again, closes his eyes and breathes calmly while you work over the stove. But something catches his attention, causing him to open his eyes and move his head off your shoulder, but not pull away from your back. He tilted his head to the side, and damn, a smile appeared on his lips at the sight before his eyes. His eyes were already sparkling with joy and it seemed like the fatigue had instantly fallen from his shoulders.

“Hold on now, what is this?” He laughs deeply, grinning toothily. “You’re already trying to push your fat ass against my cock, like if you’re hungry for it… Are you desperate yet, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you bites bottom lip and your back arches slightly. You’re sure he’s noticed it too. “Yes, I am. I need you so much, Le—…”

“Yeah?” he asks again, interrupting you mid-sentence and you were left with your mouth open in bewilderment. “Here’s how… I need to see myself make sure my sweet wife needs «help» as much as she says.”

He pulled away from you, turned and looked around the table set: lace tablecloth with plates and forks and this is for you both this evening. You always set the table for your dinner or breakfast. Everything has to be perfect, right?

“Every night you set this table so pretty, even when it’s just you and me sitting at it.” he moans in pleasure looking at all this beauty. “As much as I want to ruin that, I need something to lay you down on.”

He admired and still admires this, that you bring everything to perfection, but now it interferes a little with his plans. He pushed the plates away with his hand, making a dull thud as the dishes smashed against each other, causing you to look back at the sound.

At one point he grabs your hand and gently pushes you onto the edge of the table that he cleared especially for you. “Mhmm… There you go.” he guides you, helping you to sit more comfortably. “Lie down right here, precious.”

“Keep your legs over this table, push your butt against edge…” He nods, watching as you try to do as he asks. “There you go, good girl…”

“Now spread those pretty thighs open.”You spread your legs, looking puzzled at Leon and his face as he examines what’s under the apron. And you’re there without panties: as strange as it may seem, you were already wet. That's nature.

“Look at this delicious little pussy,” he notices teasingly, leaning closer to your core. “You’re already hungry for it, aren’t you?

”His breath touched your sensitive skin and it was pleasant — you could admit it but with great defeat. If only you knew that you had already lost...

“Oh!” you sigh and blush at his words. You can’t just give in to your husband and tell him that you missed him all day. “What are you talking about?…”

“You know what am i talking about right now. It’s all juices on your thighs… they flow down right on your ass on…” he notices, looking up at your face and then back between your legs. “Let me give my hands under knees to open you up.”

You didn’t object, you just spread your legs even more for him to make it easier. Your fingers tightened on the edge of the table, your knuckles even turned white.

His strong hands grabbed you under the knee, the other placed on his shoulder as he brought his face closer to your pussy. His hot breath fanned over your lower lips.

“God damn, sweetheart… she’s so pretty that I just wanna…”

Lips pressed against your pussy, wrapping them around your clit, kissing and licking, giving and encouraging attention to this pearl. He heard your surprised cry with pleasure and pushed him to go further, but your legs reflexively wanted to squeeze together, to which he looked up at you.It was hard to resist locking his legs together and he chuckled because of it.

“Ohh… Nah-huh, baby, they stay open for as long as I want it be,” He pouts weakly, pretending to be offended. “Don’t pretend you don’t want it.”

“Don’t pretend you just accidentally forgot to put on panties this morning.”

“Damn, you found me out,” you laughed. “Okay, I won't. Just don't stop, okay?”

He nods with satisfaction at your answer. “Mhmm, good. So keep those gorgeous thighs open for me…”

The tongue flicks at your clit, sucking and lightly touching it with his lips, but quickly replacing the pain with his lips. He changed and played with the clit, using his tongue first and then his lips, making you go crazy.

He explores your vagina, giving it his time and attention, for which you are so grateful to him. He is already skilled at this and it is not difficult for him to go down a little lower… and, oh, your humming encourage him as his tongue penetrates you, so full of your juices.

Leon enjoys your excited sighs, even a little proud that he can satisfy his little wife like this.The tip of the nose does not forget to replace his lips and presses enough while he works a little lower and wets his bristles which gently tickles you.

“Fuck, you are just flowing,” he is breathing heavily. “…I swear I can do this all day… all night.”

“Oh my God, Leon”, you grip his hair tightly, guiding him with a strong grip. “I feel so go-o-od… Please don’t stop..”

“You like it, huh?” he smiles weakly and does not resist your fingers, allowing herself to be your puppet. “Of course you like it when I run my tongue over your needy clit…”

Based on his words, he lifts his head and again his tongue attacks your clit, circling it with the tip and lubricating it with warm saliva. From your clit he moves down again, painfully slowly, making your body shudder with need.

“Fuck, I love the way your pussy looks after I run my tongue all over it,” He moves his face away a couple of centimeters to see what he has done to you. “…What if I just run my thumb over this littlе clit just like…”

And your “ahh!” reaction makes him laugh deeply and keep his thumb pinched a little longer for fun. “Tha-at’s, baby…”

His hands were getting tired of holding your hips, and as much as he wanted to explore you with his tongue, he had to use his fingers to do it. You don't mind, do you?

“Put your hands behind your knees, keep your legs open for your husband, sweetheart,” he still leaves your pussy unattended in order to remove his hands from under your knees. “so that he could carefully these holes looking over…”

“Yes…” you nod and as quickly as possible replace his strong grip with your weaker one.

Pulling his face away a little, his fingers came into play. His index finger began to circle around your vagina, collecting all your moisture and his saliva. “This little pussy looks so tight…”

“It doesn’t matter how many times I fuck her, right?” he raises an eyebrow at you and then at your pussy before carefully starting to enter inside. “She always hugs me, good and tight.”

“Damn.. yea-ah,” You grit your teeth, feeling all the moisture surrounding his long finger. “She was made for you.”

“Ohhh, look how it flows…” He draws your and his attention to this, already noticing how the juices have moved to his knuckles. “Is this pussy really desperate for my cock, sweetheart?”

“That’s little hole beg me to hurry up and come inside?” At his next tease, you nod desperately, asking for the little he can do for you: “Please don’t stop looking me over.. and hurry up, I want your dick.”

“Okay, baby, okay. I’m not giving you dick yet, i’m don’t stop looking you over.” he comforts you, running his hand over your cheek. “I have to make sure my sweet wife is okay, right?”

“Yes, you are right, Leon,” You nod, looking at him and agreeing, because he can’t leave his wife desperate and needy on their kitchen table.

“Safe and ready to breed up, nice and full…” he ponders, looking again at your dripping pussy. “I can give you something… how about the finger?”

“The finger?” you ask him again with interest.

“Maybe one of your thumbs will help cool this hot pussy down a little?” he looks up at your face and asks you because he wants you to enjoy. “Howdo you think?”

“Yes, I want your finger,”

“Let’s see…”

His finger penetrates into the hot place inside you, where it is so hot and wet. Your walls squeeze his knuckles so hard that he can only breathe deeply.

“Damn it, precious, did you follow all the rules for me?”

“Make sure nothing gets in that pussy until daddy gets in there…” he praises, his finger begins to pump inside you, starting at a slow pace and touching your vulnerable spots so that you bend over on this edge of the table. “No wonder you’re so eager for it.”

“Uh-huh, I was only waiting for you…” you hum with ragged breaths as he tortures you with this tempo and those blue eyes right on yours. “I need you.”

“You are here alone, in this house, all day, and you have nothing to feed on except thoughts and memories”, he assumes and now gives you what you wanted all day while he was not in your cozy corner. He is already trying to correct your situation with his finger. “I guess it’s clear now why you crave my dick every time I step foot in the door everyday…”

The pace suddenly quickened, your juices flowing down your thighs and further down to your ass cheeks. His face leans closer and he kisses the tip of your nose, blowing his hot breath on your hot face: “Damn, you’re too wet today, baby.”

“Just look at your ass… it’s all wet too.” he thoughts and pulls away from your face still continuously stretching you before stopping and returning her gaze to you. “Speaking of…”

He pulls his finger out with a wet pop and he immediately hears your whine through clenched teeth. The emptiness inside you didn’t suit you at all. “Hush, hush, hush, don’t cry, sweetie. Daddy will be inside you again soon.”

“You have one more hole I need to check on,” he consoles you with assured words. “Even if I don’t use it today, it’s my husband’s responsibility to make sure, that his wife is in top shape… and that includes her tight little ass.”

You choked. Your walls gripped him tightly and he sighed heavily. He hasn’t fucked you in the ass for a long time, so now you’re squeezing him like a vice.

“Fuck… looks like this cute little hole is hungry too,” He puffs and moves his finger back and forth. “I might have to make an effort to use it more often… to make sure she gets as much love as your little pussy.”

The finger began to move more actively inside your hole, to stretch you and tease you enough to hear “aghh” of yours in response.

“Your juices are everywhere. Atta girl.” he remarks with a cheerful tone, looking at how your pussy is oozing more and more. “On me, on you, on the tablecloth.”

A light trickle of your arousal flows right down your ass and he enjoys watching it. So wonderful. But he had to let your holes rest for a moment because his patience was running out.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he announces to you, hearing your whining, because he left you empty. “I need in.”

His fingers unfasten his belt with a loud thud, followed by his fly. His trousers are slightly below his knees. He bares his cock, grabbing the base and using his fist to stroke himself a couple of times, even though precum has already appeared on the tip.

“Are you ready, honey?” he asks to which you nod and say the cherished “yes”. He accepts your answer and, gripping the base, enters you with a heavy sigh.

He allow himself to run the tip of his cock over your wet folds, down and up, and then along before gently entering. He sighs feeling you squeeze him tightly.

“Fuck… that’s it, honey, I’ve got your legs.” With a strong grip, he replaces your hands and does not allow you to twitch. “Mhmm… thank you for holding on to them for such a long time.”

“Time to do all the work for daddy”, he sighs. “Just let me pull your knees up by your ears and stick this dick deep…”

He does as he said, pinning your knees between the table and his strong hands to increase the pace inside you.

“Fuck, that’s it baby, you can take it”, he praises you and strokes your hair with his free hand tenderly despite his careless thrusts. “Do you like it when I’m so deep inside you?”

“Yes, yes, I like it…” moan. and another moan flew from your lips as you looked at him through your eyelashes. “Don’t stop…”

“I didn’t mean that, darling”, he grins at you, baring his teeth in a toothy grin. “Tell daddy he owns you, baby,” sigh “Tell daddy that you belong to him,” sigh “Tell daddy that your little holes are meant for him and him alone.”

“You own me, I belong to you, all my holes are meant for you and only for you”, you gasp and swallow hard as you try to think. “This is just for you.”

“I never get tired of hearing this”, he moves his hand lower and grabs your wrists, trapping them in “shackles” from his strong grip. “But your body is fucking happy to let me know that.”

His hips snap against yours as he claims you on the kitchen table. The room filled with the obscene sounds you both made in the haze of lust.

His head dropped down and he began kissing your neck, watching as your head fell back and your eyes closed as he thrust especially deep.

“Shh”, he sighs between kisses on your skin. “Don’t forget to breathe.”He licks your full skin, wrapping his lips around it and leaving a light hickey on your skin before pulling away again and watching his mark before looking back down at your connection. Your cheeks are red.

“Mhmh… clings to my cock every time I pull it out, covering everywhere with juices”, he notices with a grin, watching how your pussy absolutely doesn’t want to let him go from her grip. Just like you. “It’s fucking impossible to just get out of you. Atta girl.”

A small growl escaped his lips as you hugged him tighter due to his teasing. You panted beneath him, chest rising and falling. He knocks hoarse moans out of your throat.

“Please, don’t stop, Leon..!” you hiccup, your slick hips jerking in response, creating a pleasant friction between you both. “You won’t pull it out when you cum, right?”

“Please, don��t pull it out!”

“Hush, darling. Don’t worry, don’t cry. Daddy won’t pulling out.” he consoles between kisses. “You forgot that I have access to the calendar on your phone too…”

He leans closer, lowering his voice: “I know you’re ovulating.”

“Ahh?!” you sigh and get annoyed because he hid it and now he uses it as a tease. He pulls away with a laugh, hearing your gasps and grinning toothily.

“I’m going to impregnate that pussy, baby”, he promises, almost putting his hand on his heart. “I gonna fill you up so that in a few months you will be bare and pregnant in this kitchen… with proof of my love for you growing in this pretty little belly…”

His promise hangs in the air and you, knowing his tenacity to follow through, already know what he will actually do. But you don't mind. You've long dreamed of children, of that family from glossy magazines or movies..."

“Yes... get me pregnant Leon, please.... I need in this so-o-o ba-a-ad-d...”

you're pulling the letters and it's a fat hint that you're so desperate in your own words. You really need that pregnant belly. With the thought of pregnancy, your walls contracted around his cock as if by reflex and he sighed with sensitivity.

“I feel you tightening around me, darling,” he notices. “Is my dick rubbing against your precious place?”

“Mh-mhmm,” you nod to him in mute agreement. “Is that so, precious?” he raised an eyebrow though he knew it was true. He just wanted to hear your words, not your mooing. “Use your words.”

To accurately get his point across he clicks his hips against yours, reaching almost to the cervix. He didn't hurt you, but it made you shudder.

“Y-yes... you're rubbing against my place...!”

“Let me play with this soaked clit,” he offers you teasingly, releasing your hands from his grip to pay attention to your pearl. “Let’s see how long it takes you to …—”

“That's what you need to cum, isn't it?" It was the last straw for your patience: your back arched, your thighs clenched desperately as you trembled and squirted onto him. You finally got your discharge for that excruciatingly long evening of combined teasing and research. You really walked a thin tightrope, at the risk of getting lost in your own hands of pleasure with your husband (as it happened).

“Leon!” you moan his name with stars in your eyes and a dryness in your mouth. You need air and he slowed down so that his sweet wife wouldn't suffocate under him.

“Fuck..” he clenches his teeth. “You’re still fucking clinging me.”

He could feel your spasms inside, the way your walls desperately hugged his cock as you came on top of him.

"I can't help it, honey", you exhale and cool down under the symphony of his thrusts, you're getting aroused again.

“Milk all the cum out of me”, he orders softly. “Make me make you have a baby!” He needed you as much as if he were the last man in the desert and you were an oasis.

The thrusts became uncontrollable, a growl escaping his lips.

Leon enjoyed these just as much as you did; he needed to be buried inside you to death, he wanted to feel your squeezing walls around him forever. Those dirty thoughts drove him to orgasm.

One more push and he exploded inside you, making another push.... a push, and one more push. The force was exhausted, but the power of wanting to make your family with baby (or even two) more was stronger. He would be glad to see everyone.

“Nah-huh, don’t move”, he mumbles to you, noticing your movements. “I need to fill you with cum deep…”

In a couple minutes that seemed like moments to both of you, he was able to catch his breath enough and freeze inside you to make sure every drop got inside of you. He brought his face closer to you and finally let your knees off his hands only to hug your face with the palms of his hands

“I’m going out, precious”, he whispers in your ear, allowing you to relax a little. “But don’t move, I’ll carry you to the bed, okay?”

“Okay, I won’t move.”

With a wet pop, he pulled his soft cock out of your depths and semen began to spurt out of you right onto the kitchen tablecloth. You rest in his arms as he lifts you up with ease and holds your knees and back, holding you close to him. Your arms wrap around his neck. When he carried you to bed, you lay there while he started looking for some napkins to take care of you. “Will there be a second round?”

“No, the second round will be later”, he laughs. “I’m going to run you a bath and then make you take a nap.”

“You know, I love it when my wife looks well-rested and well take careful.”

“Will you join me?” you asked him, tilting your head to the side.

“My hunger for food can wait, you know?" he laughs deeply running a napkin over your genitals "Of course I'll join." You just laughed tiredly and kissed his cheekbones, hugging him and bringing his face closer so that your breath burned each other faces.

"What do you wanna choose: bubbles or a bath bomb?" He is thinking and needs your help in choosing. "I want..." you think before you answer him: "both."

"Both? My spoiled girl..."

thanks for reading!

[chrrybbmb]

can we heave jealous!dumb baby kook, pleasepleasepleaseee??

STARRING ... J. JUNGKOOK X BIMBO!READER

A/N ... thinking about them... i acually love them so bad T^T. first request done!!

NOTES/WARNINGS ... smut (18+/MDNI), possessive!kook, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, jealous!kook. if i forgot anything let me know.

WORD COUNT ... 3.7k

...

days off with jungkook were your favorite. days when he didn’t have to rush off to work, didn’t have to wake up early, didn’t have to do anything but spend time with you.

so you cling to his arm, fingers wrapped around his bicep, soft giggles spilling past your lips as the two of you wander through the busy streets. your head rests against his shoulder as you talk—about your nails (you just got them done, all pink and sparkly), about a video you saw last night, about how you think pigeons are kinda cute, actually.

"like, they’re just little guys," you ramble, lips pursed in thought. "people are so mean to them, but they just mind their business."

jungkook hums, amused. "thought you hated pigeons, baby."

"nooo," you whine, squeezing his arm. "i said i don’t like when they fly at me. ‘s different."

he just nods like it makes perfect sense, because to him, it kinda does. and you keep talking, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you spot something in a store window, dragging him over without letting go of his arm.

“ooh, koo, look! isn’t it cute?" you point excitedly at a tiny plush keychain, eyes big and sparkly as you turn to face him.

he doesn’t even look at the keychain, just looks at you, nodding along to whatever you say, because he likes the way you light up over the smallest things.

"yeah, baby," he grins, squeezing your hand. "real cute."

so you pull jungkook inside, fingers still curled around his arm, eyes flicking from one thing to the next like you can’t decide what to fawn over first. everything is just so cute, and you’re already holding up different keychains, pressing them against your palm like you’re testing how they’d look hanging off your bag.

“should i get the bunny or the bear?” you ask, lower lip jutted out as you glance up at jungkook.

he pretends to think, tilting his head, but he already knows what he’s gonna say. “bunny,” he grins. “kinda reminds me of you.”

your pout melts into a giggle, cheeks warm as you swat at his arm playfully. “shut up, koo,” you mumble, but you’re already holding onto the bunny keychain like you’ve made up your mind.

you barely notice when a store clerk approaches, but jungkook does. a guy, early twenties maybe, wearing a friendly enough smile, but his eyes linger too long, flicking over you in a way that makes something curl in jungkook’s stomach.

“hey there, need any help finding something?” the clerk asks, voice smooth, gaze settled on you like jungkook isn’t even there.

you shake your head, still bubbly, still bright. “nope! just looking, thank you!”

your politeness is sweet, effortless, and jungkook knows you don’t notice the way the guy’s eyes drop just a little lower before flicking back up to your face.

the clerk nods, but there’s something in the way he smiles, something too warm, too friendly, as he adds, “well, if you do need anything, just let me know. i’ll be around.”

jungkook’s jaw tenses. because that wasn’t just customer service. that was something else.

but you just nod happily, already turning back to the keychains, completely oblivious.

and jungkook just watches, watches the way the guy hesitates before finally walking away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder.

yeah. he saw that.

and he really doesn’t like it.

jungkook doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you as you hum under your breath, still turning the keychain over in your hands like it’s the most important decision of your life.

“what d’you think?” you ask, holding up a second one—a little chick this time. “this one’s cute too.”

but jungkook isn’t looking at the keychains. he’s looking past you, toward the register, where the clerk is pretending to be busy but keeps flicking glances in your direction. and it makes something tighten in his chest, a slow-burning irritation settling in his stomach.

because he knows you don’t notice. knows you don’t realize when people look at you like that, when guys flirt with you in that way that’s too careful, too subtle, banking on your sweetness to keep them from getting shut down.

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head a little. “bunny,” he says, finally looking back at you. “definitely the bunny.”

you grin, triumphant. “thought so too.”

you don’t notice the way jungkook’s fingers tighten just slightly around yours when you head to the register. don’t notice the way the clerk perks up when you step forward, his smile a little too eager, his eyes flicking over your face like he’s waiting for something.

“cute choice,” the clerk says as he scans the keychain, and his voice has that same tone, that smooth, easy lilt that’s meant to sound casual but isn’t.

and jungkook notices. oh, does he notice.

but you just nod, oblivious as ever, beaming. “right? my boyfriend picked it!”

the way you say it is so effortless, so sweet, and jungkook smirks when he watches the way the clerk’s expression shifts—just a flicker, but he catches it.

and yeah. that’s right. boyfriend.

jungkook doesn’t say anything, just lets his arm rest around your waist as you take your bag, already tugging him toward the door without a second thought.

and maybe it’s petty, but he throws a glance over his shoulder, meets the clerk’s gaze for just a second before smirking wider, pulling you in closer.

yeah. that’s what he thought.

you’re barely two steps out of the store before jungkook is tugging you back, fingers wrapping around your wrist, spinning you toward him.

“koo—” you start, but your words barely get out before his lips are on yours.

it’s sudden, hot and needy, nothing like the usual soft, teasing kisses he gives you in public. no, this is different. this is desperate. this is his hands gripping your waist, his body pressing close, his lips moving against yours like he’s trying to make a point.

you make a little sound, surprised, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you tilt your head up, letting him kiss you like he needs it, like he’s been waiting too long.

it’s only when you whimper against his lips that he slows down, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look at you.

“what’s that for?” you blink up at him, lips glossy and parted, cheeks warm from the way he kissed you like he didn’t care who was watching.

he huffs, glancing back at the store for just a second before his eyes are back on you, dark, unreadable. “just felt like it.”

you blink, tilting your head. “feels like you were tryna prove something.”

jungkook clicks his tongue, squeezing your waist. “maybe.”

you giggle, looping your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the short hairs at his nape. “you’re silly,” you hum, swaying a little. “but i like when you kiss me like that.”

his fingers dig into your waist, jaw clenching slightly. “yeah?”

“mhm.” you bat your lashes, all sweet and playful. “wanna do it again?”

and jungkook groans, running a hand down his face, because you have no idea, no idea what you do to him.

but then you’re pressing up on your toes, brushing your lips against his jaw, and yeah. yeah, maybe you do know.

jungkook exhales, heavy, hands sliding down to grip your hips like he needs to steady himself. you’re looking at him with that innocent, wide-eyed expression, lips still pouty and glossy from his kisses, and he knows if he lets you keep playing like this, he’s gonna lose it.

“let’s go home,” he says, voice low, already tugging you closer.

but you whine, leaning into his chest, fingers still tangled in the back of his hoodie. “but i don’t wanna,” you pout. “s’posed to be a day out, koo. i wanna stay out longer.”

his grip tightens at the way you’re clinging to him, warm and soft, eyes fluttering up at him like you don’t even realize how much you affect him.

“baby,” he warns, shaking his head slightly.

but you’re stubborn, pushing further, pressing up on your toes so your nose brushes his. “just a little longer?”

and jungkook groans, shutting you up the only way he knows how—by kissing you again, firm and decisive, swallowing whatever little protest was about to slip from your lips.

you squeak, hands tightening around his hoodie as his lips move against yours, taking his time, making you forget whatever you were whining about in the first place.

when he finally pulls away, you’re dazed, blinking up at him all slow and hazy, lips parting like you’re struggling to catch your breath.

“still wanna stay out?” jungkook murmurs, thumb rubbing little circles against your hip.

you swallow, eyes flickering between his and his lips. “mm… maybe we should go home.”

his smirk is slow, knowing. “thought so.”

and just like that, he’s pulling you along, arm snug around your waist, grinning to himself because—yeah. he knew that’d work.

when you get home, the door barely clicks shut behind you before jungkook is on you.

his hands are on your waist, his lips at your neck, pressing you up against the door like he can’t stand another second without touching you properly.

“koo—” your voice is soft, breathy, but it’s cut off when he tilts your chin up, kissing you deep, like he’s been holding back all day and finally, finally, he can let go.

his hands are firm, sliding down to grip your hips, tugging you closer, pressing his body against yours until there’s no space left. he’s warm, solid, overwhelming in the way only he can be.

“you have no idea, do you?” he murmurs against your lips, voice low, thick with something dark and unshaken. “the way you talk, the way you cling to me—drove me fuckin’ crazy all day.”

you blink up at him, eyes wide, breath shaky. “i—i didn’t mean to—”

“i know, baby,” he coos, lips ghosting along your jaw, hands gripping tighter, like he needs you closer even though you’re already pressed flat against the door. “that’s the thing. you don’t even realize what you do to me.”

your lips part, a soft whimper slipping out, and jungkook groans, his fingers tightening, his knee slotting between your thighs just enough to make you gasp.

“so sweet, so pretty,” he breathes, kissing along your jaw, down your neck, his touch insistent, like he’s desperate to have more. “you’ll let me take care of you, won’t you?”

you nod, swallowing hard, hands fisting in his hoodie. “yes, koo.”

he chuckles, dark and knowing, lips brushing against your ear. “good girl.”

jungkook hums, pleased, his nose brushing against your jaw as his hands roam—sliding down, gripping, squeezing like he’s mapping you out, relearning every curve even though he already knows them by heart.

“so good for me,” he murmurs, his lips trailing along your skin, leaving little kisses, little bites that make you whimper softly.

your head tips back against the door, your body pliant, melting under his touch. jungkook loves it—loves how easy it is to have you like this, soft and sweet for him, waiting to be told what to do.

his hands slide lower, fingers teasing at the hem of your skirt, brushing against your thighs, and you squirm, gripping at his hoodie, looking up at him with wide, needy eyes.

“koo,” you breathe, barely above a whisper.

he lifts his head, eyes dark, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “yeah, baby?”

you swallow, your lips parting, but you don’t know what to say—you just know you need him, need whatever he’s willing to give you.

jungkook chuckles, one hand sliding up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking over your heated skin.

“s’cute how you get all quiet when you want something,” he teases, tilting his head. “got so much to say all day, but now you don’t know how to ask?”

your cheeks burn, embarrassment bubbling up in your chest, but you can’t even think straight when his hands are on you like this, when he’s looking at you like that.

you press your thighs together, shifting against him, but he clicks his tongue, shaking his head.

“nuh-uh,” he murmurs, gripping your chin gently, making you look up at him. “use your words, pretty girl. tell me what you want.”

your breath catches, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, and you know he’s not letting you off easy tonight.

your breath is shaky, fingers tightening around the fabric of his hoodie as you try to steady yourself. your mind feels fuzzy, warmth pooling in your stomach from the way jungkook is looking at you—expectant, teasing, like he’s got all the time in the world to watch you squirm.

“i—” you start, but your voice is too soft, too hesitant.

jungkook’s thumb strokes your cheek, his grip still firm but gentle, his other hand resting heavy on your hip. “c’mon, baby,” he coaxes, voice smooth, deep. “you were so chatty today. don’t get shy on me now.”

your face burns, your lips parting, but the words get stuck in your throat. it’s embarrassing—saying it out loud, telling him exactly what you need. but jungkook doesn’t move, doesn’t let up, just watches you, waiting.

when you still hesitate, his grip tightens slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “need me to help you?” he murmurs.

you nod, swallowing hard.

jungkook smirks, his nose trailing along your jaw before he kisses just beneath your ear. “you want me to touch you?”

you nod again, but that’s not good enough.

his fingers press into your hip. “say it.”

your face feels impossibly hot, and you squeeze your eyes shut, the words barely above a whisper. “want you to touch me.”

jungkook groans, low and approving, his fingers flexing against you. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

his lips find yours again, slow but deep, stealing your breath, making you weak in the knees. he presses closer, pinning you against the door, his hands roaming, teasing, making you whimper softly into his mouth.

“such a good girl,” he breathes, kissing you again, hungrier this time, his touch firmer, more insistent. “always so good for me.”

jungkook doesn’t waste any time. the second those words leave his lips, his grip tightens, fingers digging into your hips as he presses himself flush against you.

you gasp at the feeling of him, hard and insistent against your thigh, your body reacting instantly—back arching, hands fisting in his hoodie like you need something to hold onto.

“fuck,” jungkook groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “you feel that, baby?”

you nod, swallowing hard, heat curling low in your stomach.

“been like this since the store,” he mutters, voice rough, his hands roaming, gripping, pulling. “since you started whining about staying out longer, since that guy looked at you like he had a fuckin’ chance.”

your breath stutters, fingers curling tighter. “koo—”

he growls low in his throat, cutting you off as he rolls his hips against you, slow but deliberate, the friction making you whimper.

"yeah?" he pants, watching the way your lashes flutter, how your lips part on a shaky breath. "this what you wanted?"

you nod desperately, head tipping back against the door, your body melting into his.

“fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw, his fingers tightening at your waist as he grinds against you again, slow but firm, the drag of denim against your clit making your legs shake.

your hands slide up, clutching at his shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric of his hoodie. “please,” you breathe, voice airy, needy, barely there.

he hisses at the sound, hips snapping forward, rougher this time, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you.

"needy little thing," he teases, breath heavy, voice dripping with something dark and teasing. "could’ve just asked for this sooner."

you whimper, pressing your forehead against his, your body moving on instinct, hips rolling up to meet his.

jungkook groans, jaw tightening. “fuck, baby—”

his movements get sloppier, desperate, each roll of his hips more insistent than the last, chasing the feeling of you trembling under him.

“gonna make a mess,” he pants, forehead pressing against yours, his breaths ragged, his fingers digging into your hips, dragging you against him again and again. “s’that what you want?”

your head is spinning, your body burning, the friction building, unbearable and perfect all at once.

“yes,” you whimper, barely able to breathe.

jungkook groans, biting his lip as he ruts against you, faster, rougher, the feeling of you making him unravel.

and when you whimper his name, all soft and needy, your thighs squeezing tight around him—he loses it. his fingers slide lower, fumbling with the hemline of your skirt, tugging just enough for it to bunch up around your hips.

“gonna let me have you like this?” he breathes, voice wrecked, barely more than a whisper. you nod instantly, eyes glazed and lips swollen. “words, baby,” he rasps, his knuckles brushing against bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“yes,” you whisper, hands gripping at his hoodie, tugging him impossibly closer. “yes, jungkook, please—”

he groans, low and guttural, like he’s barely holding himself together.

his hands move fast, unbuttoning his jeans and tugging them low, just enough for his aching cock to spring out, hard and heavy—because neither of you have the patience for anything more.

“fuck, baby,” he groans, jaw clenched as he presses forward, pushing your panties aside and finally sliding himself into your needy, dripping cunt. you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders, clinging to him, nails biting through fabric.

jungkook curses, a shudder rolling through his body as he presses his forehead against yours, breath ragged.

“so warm,” he murmurs, voice breaking, hands flexing against your hips as he slowly rolls his hips forward, testing, savoring, dragging out every little bit of friction. "so tight, every fucking time."

you whimper, thighs squeezing around him, pussy welcoming him like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

“shit—” he hisses, arms caging you against the door, pressing his weight into you as he thrusts forward again, just a little rougher, just a little deeper, tip kissing that sweet, spongey spot inside you.

the sound you make—soft and desperate—nearly drives him insane.

“so good,” he pants, gripping your hips tighter, setting a rhythm, slow but firm, each roll of his hips perfectly dragging against sensitive gummy walls.

you can barely breathe, barely think, barely do anything but hold onto him, body pliant, following his lead, letting him take what he needs, what you need.

“jungkook—” you gasp, legs trembling.

he groans, pressing his forehead to yours, nose brushing against yours, lips hovering over your own.

“i got you,” he whispers, voice thick with something raw, something deep, something only for you. “i got you, baby. just hold onto me.”

and jungkook isn’t holding back anymore. his pace turns frantic, all restraint snapping as he grips your hips and drives into you, fast and deep. “fuck, baby,” he groans, voice rough, forehead pressed against yours. “you feel so good—”

your breath catches, a high-pitched whimper slipping from your lips as his movements become rougher, more desperate, each thrust sending sparks shooting through your veins.

your hands fist in his hoodie, clinging to him, your body rocking against the door with every push forward.

“koo—” you gasp, your voice barely there, lost in the dizzying pleasure.

“i know, baby,” he pants, his grip tightening, holding you in place as he drives into you again, again, again. “i know—fuck, you’re so good, so perfect for me.”

you whimper, legs trembling, overwhelmed by the way he’s moving, fast and hungry, chasing his high. his hands slide up, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you in for a kiss, messy and desperate, all tongue and heavy breaths, swallowing every sound you make.

“tell me you’re mine,” he growls against your lips, his hips snapping forward with sharp precision, making you cry out. “tell me—”

“yours,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders. “only yours, koo—”

he groans, low and deep, his pace turning erratic, his fingers gripping you so tight you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

“shit—” he curses, his movements stuttering, his body tensing. “baby, i... i'mgonnafuckingcum—”

you whimper, clenching around him, your entire body burning, dizzy, entirely lost in him. an almost pornographic scream tears from your throat with the force of your orgasm, your back arching off of the door.

jungkook shudders, his grip crushing as he buries his face in your neck, his entire body going taut before he finally lets go. his breath is hot against your skin as he groans through it, spilling his load deep, filling you up over and over.

the room is quiet except for your heavy breaths, your bodies still tangled, his arms still wrapped around you like he has no intention of moving.

you blink up at him, dazed. lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

he exhales, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his grip finally loosening, hands smoothing over your sides in slow, soothing strokes.

“shit,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at you, a slow, lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “you okay, baby?”

you nod, still breathless, still dizzy.

he grins, pressing a kiss to your nose. “you did so good for me.”

your cheeks burn, your fingers curling further into fabric. “you— you were kinda intense.”

he chuckles, kissing you again, softer this time, slow and lingering. “yeah?” he hums against your lips. “s’what you do to me, baby.”

and when he finally steps back, pulling up his jeans and helping you straighten your clothes, his hands linger, his eyes still dark and hazy as he takes you in.

“think i need another day off soon,” he muses, his thumb stroking over your hip.

you giggle, still leaning against the door for support. “yeah?”

he grins, kissing you one last time before scooping you up, carrying you toward the bedroom. “yeah,” he murmurs. “but next time, we’re not making it past the front door.”

...

taglist : @angellekookie @glossdebut @haru-jiminn @rpwprpwprpwprw

[humanjarvis]

my happy is your happy

synopsis: luke thinks sylus should make more friends. but does he really need them?

tags: fluff, kinda comfort?, unintentional family dynamics (idk what came over me i didn’t expect that to happen), potential unrealistic use of sylus’s evol bc what does “energy manipulation” even mean, reader is protective of sylus, sylus overhears, asterisks to denote pov shifts bc i didn't want to use dividers pairing: sylus x reader word count: 774

a/n: it’s been like 2 days of people calling sylus a friendless loser on twitter and that’s fine but IIIII don’t think ur a loser, sylus. wrote this on a whim in the last 2 hours, questionably proofread

“Have you ever noticed that Boss doesn’t have any friends?” Luke’s youthful voice rings out, putting a swift end to your peaceful night of reading on the couch. 

Folding your half-finished book over your lap, you look up at his masked face, raising an eyebrow. “He has you.” 

Luke scoffs. “I don’t count, obviously.”

“He has Kieran.”

“We’re practically the same person. Try again,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.

“…He has Mephisto,” you offer, an innocent grin on your face. 

He doesn’t even dignify that one with a response. 

“He's still in his 20s, for God’s sake! Don’t you think he should go out more? Party a little, meet some new people?” Luke asks, gesturing wildly with his hands. 

“Not if he doesn’t think he needs to,” you say simply. 

*** 

Sylus had just stepped out of the shower when he overheard your tired voice from the living room. Not if I don’t think I need to…what? he ponders, mulling over the possibilities. Increase their monthly allowance? Install lasers into Mephisto’s eyes? Entrust Onychinus to the twins in my will?

“But no friends?” Luke asks dramatically, snapping Sylus out of his thoughts. “None? Not even one?”

Oh, Sylus thinks. That. 

Realizing you were defending his…comfortable lifestyle, Sylus feels something warm and tight and slightly wistful squeeze in his chest. Smiling to himself, he shrouds his body in the dark wisps of his Evol and moves closer, watching the rest of your conversation with interest. 

*** 

Exasperated, you run a hand through your hair. “Luke, I think you’re overthinking this. Not everyone wants to go out and party and meet people. What about Sylus makes you think he wants to go out and party and meet people? You put him in a room full of cheap club music and cheaper beer, and he’s going to evaporate into thin air. Or cause a mass casualty incident,” you say, only to be met with silence. 

Sighing, you start again. “Look, I understand that you care about him and want to make sure he’s happy—I do too—but Sylus’s happy isn’t Luke’s happy. It isn’t Kieran’s happy, or Mephisto’s happy, or even my happy. It’s his. He’s the only one who can decide what makes him happy, and he’s the only one who can decide if he is or not.”

When Luke’s mask droops—a telltale sign of a pout appearing—you switch tactics. “And maybe it’s not that he doesn’t have friends. Maybe you guys are just enough for him—did you ever think about that?” 

At this, the beak of his mask perks back up, and you know you’ve got him. 

“You think we’re…enough for him?” he asks, a hint of wonder in his voice.

You nod. 

And then you try to ignore the way his hands twitch in excitement, fighting with all you have to keep your giggle from surfacing. 

“That’s…” he clears his throat. “You know what? You’re right, Y/N, my bad. You’re really smart, you know,” Luke responds gruffly, an incriminating wobble in his voice. 

Smiling, you stand up to pat his hooded head. “I know.” 

“Well,” he starts, a new vigor in his steps as he heads toward the door. “I’m gonna go find Kieran. We just got this huge shipment of explosives that w—”

“Nope!” you interrupt. “You’re not getting me in trouble again. The less I know, the better.”

Shrugging, Luke disappears into the hallway, and you shake your head fondly. 

“What a heartwarming conversation,” a deep voice rings out. 

Jumping from shock, you whip your head around. “Sylus?!” you whisper-yell. “How long have you been there?!”

Emerging from the shadows of the bedroom behind you, Sylus strolls toward you, a soft smirk on his face. 

“Just long enough to hear your passionate defense of me,” he quips, wrapping an arm around your waist. “How much is your lawyer fee?”

Embarrassed, you swat his chest, bowing your head slightly. “I know he meant well, but I just…don’t like it when people try to take your life out of your hands,” you admit quietly. “It makes me sad.” 

“Well we can’t have that, can we, kitten?” he rumbles, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “Let me cheer you up—I very much enjoyed hearing you speak up for me.”

Lifting your head up, you look into his warm garnet eyes. “You did?” 

“Mm,” he hums, pulling you closer. “I do hate cheap beer, and you all are enough for me. You know me very well,” he praises, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“But for all your expertise, you were wrong about one thing,” he whispers against you. “My happy is your happy.”

[shinhyunjin]

── .✦ little white lies.

⟢ pairing: hwang hyunjin x female!reader

⟢ genre: fluff, non-idol au, established relationship

⟢ word count: 1.9k

⟢ summary: the one where a street interviewer asks the story of how you met.

⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! i don’t really know what this is, but i clearly got the idea from @/meetcutesnyc on tiktok. i feel like i could maybe turn this into a short series and write one for the rest of the members if you like this one enough. anyway, this is my first fic on this blog, so if you enjoy it please do show it some love<3

“Excuse me, are you two a couple?”

You stop in your tracks at the question, staring at the stranger that was now blocking your way, as he stood in front of you and your boyfriend—a small mic in his hand and cameraman behind him recording the scene before him.

Your first instinct is to look up to Hyunjin, who is already tightening the hold of his hand on yours and pulling you closer to him.

“We are” he doesn’t hesitate to answer.

You find the confused yet protective crease between his eyebrows particularly cute right then, so you smile.

“Would you mind telling us the story of how you met?”

“Oh, you’re that guy?!” You jump in excitement.

Hyunjin’s frown only deepens for a moment, feeling like he is missing a chapter—or a whole book—when the guy in front eagerly nods his head and laughs at your sudden enthusiasm.

One look at you, however, and a glimpse of the smile lighting up your face, is enough for him to go with whatever it is happening right then.

“Baby, they make videos on TikTok asking couples how they met” you explain to him nonetheless, caressing the back of his hand with your thumb to ease the small tension he felt after seeing you interact so comfortably with another guy—a stranger one at that.

“Oh,” Hyunjin lets out, suddenly feeling embarrassed over how defensive he was until then. “We met at an art gallery” he tries to redeem himself by kindly answering the question.

“It was actually kinda funny” you add with a small giggle that has all three guys smiling at you.

“If that’s your way of saying we were one second away from committing a crime, then—”

“Oh, hush” you playfully shut him up, enjoying all too much the dramatic roll of eyes he gives you in response. “It wouldn’t have been a crime. I think”.

Your last addition earns a quiet chuckle from the cameraman, and you wonder if that’s making it into the final video.

“Long story short,” you begin. “I was admiring one of the sculptures, minding my own business, when out of nowhere someone bumped into me. I was caught off guard, of course, so I inevitably lost my balance and bumped into the base that was holding the sculpture” you can’t help but give your boyfriend an accusatory look. “I saw my life flash before my eyes when it started swaying in front of me”.

“I was fast enough to hold it in its place before it fell, though” Hyunjin chimes in before the blame is fully thrown at him. “And thankfully there were only, like, two other people in the room with us and they were too busy checking out the paintings on the walls, so after exchanging panicked looks with this cutie right here, we rushed out of there before we got scolded”.

“We laughed it off as soon as we were in the next room and we couldn’t care less about the stares we got” you explain amidst a small laugh. “It was kind of odd, in a good way, because it felt like we knew each other already”.

“Yeah, it was weird in the best of ways” Hyunjin agrees with an adoring smile. “I obviously wanted to get to know her after that, and I just happened to have an extra ticket to a paid exposition within the main one that day, so I offered it to her in order to apologise for bumping into her and she luckily said yes”.

“And then after that I invited him for coffee to thank him for the ticket”.

Hyunjin chuckles. “And then I asked her out for dinner that same night”.

“So it’s fair to say it was love at first sight?” The guy asks with a grin.

“Definitely” the two of you answer in unison, locking eyes at the realisation and smiling in a way that was hard to tell whether you were aware there were other people in the world.

“We pretty much got together that same day” you admit with a shy smile.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Four years,” Hyunjin replies.

“Four years and two months” you specify, just for the sake of teasing him.

He smiles and bites his tongue not to add ‘and eleven days’, because that would only lead to you doing the math and figuring out the amount of hours as well, and then him having to figure out the amount of minutes if he wanted to win.

It is a battle you had gone through more than once already, and he refuses to go down that road again—not when there is a camera pointing at you and your whole interaction would be posted on the internet.

“Wow, that’s a long time” the man in front interrupts Hyunjin’s train of thought, bringing the mic closer to you. “What’s your favourite thing about him?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can choose just one” you timidly let him know, looking up to Hyunjin and feeling your cheeks burn as his chocolate eyes are already focused on you, awaiting for an answer. “I really love how sweet and attentive he is. He is always there for me and helps me get through my hardships, even before I even have to ask for his help”.

“And what is your favourite thing about her?” He now asks your boyfriend, who finds himself smiling brightly over your wholesome words and struggling to take his eyes away from you.

“Everything” Hyunjin replies truthfully once he manages to divert his eyes from you—just like you, finding it hard to choose just one thing he loves the most about you. “She’s the most caring and selfless person I’ve ever met. She’s always checking up on me and my family, making sure we’re all okay. And I also need to mention her smile, because whenever she smiles my day is immediately made”.

You give his hand a gentle squeeze and lean your head on his shoulder for a brief moment, unable to hide the emotional pout forming on your lips, as his answer managed to warm your heart.

“So what is the next step in your relationship?”

“Moving in together” Hyunjin answers in a heartbeat, and you are grateful that it doesn’t come off as a surprise, for you had talked about it before—otherwise your heart wouldn’t have been able to take the news of his upcoming plans with you. “We needed to figure a few things out before doing so, but…” he looks down at you, smiling sweetly when your eyes lock and you nod your head, encouraging him to go on. “It’s about time we finally start properly making our life together”.

“And your names are?”

“Y/N” you’re the first to answer.

“I’m Hyunjin” he says.

“Well, thank you so much for your time, Hyunjin and Y/N” the interviewer wraps it up with a smile. “I’m glad you guys are going strong and didn’t end up in jail that day”.

The two of you laugh, and you lean into your boyfriend when he lets go of your hand and gently places his arm over your shoulders instead.

Exchanging goodbyes after being informed that the video would be up the next day, you resume your walk to the all too familiar café around the corner—the one you were heading to before the impromptu street interview took place.

“So those are the kind of videos you’re watching all day…”

“Some of them,” you nod. “I’ve sent you a few here and there. Good to know you don’t actually watch them”.

“I do” he fights back, almost offended you believe he would ever disregard something you showed him. “I thought they were all staged, though. Didn’t know people actually got interviewed on the streets out of nowhere”.

“Is that why you were so defensive when they first approached us?” You laugh.

He huffs, making his bottom lip slightly stick out and having you internally fighting not to kiss him right then. “I thought he was asking if we were a couple in hopes of us not being one, so he could ask you out”.

“Asking me out out of nowhere when I’m walking hand in hand with a guy that is clearly my boyfriend, all while there is a whole cameraman recording us?” You tease with a tilt of your head.

“Hey, who knows?” he defends himself. “Can’t control what kind of weirdos are out there chasing after online views”.

“You’re so cute” you laugh breathily, pressing a soft kiss on his jawline. “We look too much like a couple, if you ask me. They would look stupid to even try”.

“Yeah… I think the hand holding and matching outfits give it away too well” he nods with a teasing smile, motioning to the colour palette you chose together that day.

“Thank God they caught us on a good outfit day” your relieved remark earns a laugh from him. “I can’t wait for the video to be up now, I love the way we met”.

“I know you do,” he softly rubs your hand with his thumb. “Which is why I was surprised you didn’t tell them the whole story”.

“What do you mean?” You frown.

Hyunjin amusedly shakes his head, remaining silent as you reach the café and he holds the door open for you to go in first.

When you’re invaded by the strong yet pleasing scent of coffee and reach the—thankfully—short line to order, he adds, “You left out the part where later on I admitted I intentionally bumped into you just so I could talk to you”.

You laugh at the memory.

It wasn’t like he wanted you to lose your balance and make you almost drop a sculpture that you would be paying until the end of your days, had it actually fallen down and smashed on the ground.

He was just going for a little shove on your shoulder with his own, just enough to make you turn around and allow him to apologise right after. But you were too pretty, and he was too nervous—that alone making him miscalculate the distance between your bodies and slam into your shoulder harder than he had intended to.

He came clean one month into your relationship—the guilt of almost getting you in trouble just because he wasn’t able to earn up the courage to go up and talk to you like any other normal person would, was becoming too much for him to keep a secret for any longer.

You were already in too deep by then to even care, though. If anything, you were flattered that he wanted to get to know you so bad that he ended up coming up with the most stupid—and risky—of ideas in order to do so.

“I thought you weren’t holding back when it came to embarrassing me” he confesses.

You chuckle, shaking your head in both amusement and embarrassment, before pulling him forward in line with you as the people in front do so as well.

“Well, if I did mention that, you would’ve told them about how I already had a ticket to the private exposition and lied about not having one just so I had a reason to stick with you, so…”

Hyunjin’s lips part into a beaming smile, pulling you to him and pressing a kiss to your temple.

Little white lies could sometimes be beneficial; especially when they led you to the best relationship you ever had—the one you were sure would last for the rest of your lives.

“You’re right” he agrees with a smirk. “The internet doesn’t need to know how desperate we both were to get to know each other”.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part five)

genre: slow burn fic, fluff with hints of angst, light drama, no explicit smut

kms masterlist | <- part four | part six (soon) ->

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, suggestive language, overthinking, light tension, kelce being kelce

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week long project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him. could this be the beginning of a friendship or maybe even more? one thing was certain: rafe cameron's intense, impulsive, and complex in ways that weren't always for the better, and y/n's mind? that shit was even more tangled. but she hadn't spent seven years crushing on him from a distance just to let this chance slip through her fingers ... right?

summary of recent events: starting the day with the struggle to focus after texting rafe the night before, he unexpectedly asks you to sit with him in the back row of economics class. having forgotten his pizza date with his friends, he invites you to join them to work on your project at kelce’s instead of staying in school. despite your hesitation, you agree. feeling out of place as you sit in his car on the way to kelce’s, rafe makes a seemingly casual attempt to ease your nerves along the way.

word count: 4.5k+

a/n: thank you guys sm for the kind words and support on the last one, this always means sm to me <3 i also had sm fun with this one and felt like it’s time for the first little drama highigi. also next part will include a little rafe pov 😈 anyway, hope you enjoy <3

"Yo, what took you so long? Did you two have a quickie in the car or something?" That was the first thing Kelce Statter said as he opened the front door, glancing between you and Rafe with an amused grin, his pupils just a little too wide.

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

And here we go.

Like clockwork, heat shot straight to your cheeks, and as usual, whenever you were overwhelmed and didn’t know how to react, that tense, awkward smile appeared on your face.

Not even a minute here, and one dumb comment had already thrown you off balance. This was off to a fantastic start.

Rafe let out an annoyed snort. "Kelce, shut the fuck up."

"Whoa, dude, no need to get your claws out." Kelce raised his hands in mock innocence, tilting his head with a smug smirk. His gaze landed on you—your awkward smile and deep red face more specifically—before flicking back to Rafe. "Aww, you got her all shy and flustered. You must’ve been good."

Okay, that’s it. THIS was officially the most awkward moment of your life, and the worst part? You were too stunned to speak.

Rafe ran a hand down his face, clearly over Kelce’s shit, before shooting him a sharp glare. "Jesus Christ, dude, do me a favor and, just once in your fucking life, pull your head out of your ugly ass."

Wow. What subtlety. You honestly couldn’t tell if Rafe liked or despised him. Probably something in between both.

Before Kelce—still stupidly grinning—could fire back, Rafe stepped into the doorway and shoved him (softly?) aside. "Now move, before I deck you."

"Love you too, bro," Kelce said, throwing a wink in your direction, before disappearing down the hallway.

Well, what an interesting dynamic.

Rafe turned back to you with an exasperated sigh. "I swear I’m gonna kill that idiot one day."

Now would be a good time to SAY SOMETHING.

A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you smiled awkwardly, blurting out dryly, "He seems… nice."

NICE? Of all the words you could’ve chosen, 'nice' had to be at the very bottom of the list to describe Kelce Statter.

Rafe let out a short, amused breath. "Sure, he’s a sweetheart." He motioned toward the inside of the house with a nod. "C’mon, or we’ll end up with nothing but crust. His appetite’s as big as his mouth."

So you followed him inside like a stupid little duckling.

In the living room, a massive flat tree-stump-and-glass coffee table was already “set”—if you could even call it that. A big, colorful pizza sat on a wooden board in the center, surrounded by a chaotic mess of four plates, a few glasses, cigarette packs, a lighter, car keys, a can of deodorant, an almost empty roll of paper towels, as well as a bag of weed and a used grinder.

In your mind, you titled this condition Kelce Statter core.

A forest-green semicircle couch wrapped around half the table, facing a gigantic flat-screen TV. Family Guy was playing on the screen, the volume low but audible.

Kelce was perched at one end of the couch, hunched forward as he shoved a slice of pepperoni pizza into his mouth. Topper sat somewhere in the middle, his eyes lighting up as soon as he saw the two of you—or more specifically, Rafe.

With a casual “Yo, bro,” Topper got up and dapped Rafe up. He shot you a neutral smile, his voice carrying a friendly vibe. “We’re all apologizing in advance for Kelce’s shitty jokes.”

Now that was what you’d call nice.

From the background came a muffled, “Hey!”

A genuine smile tugged at your lips but before you could respond, Rafe made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Okay, okay, let’s just eat. The idiot’s already inhaled half the pizza.”

Topper sat back down next to Kelce while you settled on Rafe’s right—at a comfortably safe distance—at the opposite end of the couch. Still, your heart and mind refused to slow down.

But as your stomach filled, a bit of the tension in your body started to ease. Surprisingly, the pizza tasted amazing—like, really really good.

Was Kelce secretly some kind of passionate hobby chef? Probably. Would make sense, considering he was on his healthy gym grind like Rafe had told you.

As the minutes passed, the guys were deep in their own conversation—which you were thankful for because eating, talking, and not embarrassing yourself was an art you had yet to master.

Kelce was raving about some new protein/creatine/whatever powder he swore by, Topper was hyping up an upcoming surf competition he was planning to enter, and Rafe had some big news about a deal his dad had recently landed.

The only thing remotely interesting to you as a surfer was the tournament Topper had mentioned. The rest you tuned out, peacefully eating your pizza, taking an occasional sip of your Coke, and half-watching some weird Brian-and-Stewie subplot on TV.

This actually almost felt like hanging out with friends.

At some point, Topper mentioned your name, and you snapped out of your little bubble, turning away from the screen in surprise.

Shit, what did he say?

You swallowed the bite of pizza in your mouth and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, what?”

Kelce jumped in before Topper could repeat himself, seemingly taking your disinterest in the conversation as a win. “Oh shit, you’re into Family Guy?”

Your thumb nervously traced a spot on the edge of your plate. “Yeah, I mean, it's a good show to watch on the side.”

“And South Park, Rick and Morty?”

You felt all three of them staring at you. “They’re good, I guess. I mean, South Park isn’t really my thing but—”

Kelce gasped like you’d just insulted his entire family. “Not your thing?! That’s—”

“Jesus, bro, let her at least finish,” Topper interrupted with a roll of his eyes because well Kelce had just interrupted him.

Rafe nodded in agreement, waving his hand toward the kitchen. “Seriously, go grab more paper towels or some shit.”

Kelce shook his head, clearly unimpressed, but stood up anyway, plate in hand. “Wow, you guys are actual mean girls.”

You smiled because the other two did, but somehow, you still felt a little bad for Kelce. Sure, he was annoying, loud, and way too blunt, but getting shut down by your friends every two minutes had to sting, right?

Wow. Am I seriously feeling sorry for Kelce Statter?

Topper shook his head as Kelce disappeared into the kitchen. “Sometimes I wonder how he manages to pull any girl at all.”

Rafe shrugged, wiping his hands on the last paper towel. “Maybe they’re just hoping his dick’s as big as his mouth.”

That got a laugh out of Topper—one that, in your opinion, was a little too enthusiastic. “Yeah, probably.”

Okayyy. If you were Rafe Cameron Stan No. 1, then Topper was definitely No. 2.

Rafe seemed to notice your lack of reaction, turning to you with a crooked smile, like he couldn’t quite comprehend why you didn’t find this hilarious. “What? Would you go for a guy like that?”

WHAT KIND OF QUESTION WAS THAT? Better yet, how were you supposed to answer?!

On one hand, you’d never in a million years go for Kelce Statter. On the other, it felt wrong to sit in his house and join in on roasting him.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you gave an awkward smile. “No, I mean… I barely know him.”

God, what a stupid answer.

“That wasn’t a real no,” Topper remarked with a smirk, and you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

Rafe’s brows twitched just slightly but before he could throw another dumb question your way, you tried to salvage it. “I mean, I just… I wouldn’t want to judge someone based on their looks or, uh, any shallow first impressions.”

Great. Should’ve just kept your mouth shut.

Rafe and Topper stared at you like you’d just announced that you believed in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.

OH GOD, they probably thought you liked Kelce now. Worse, RAFE probably did.

AHHH, HELP.

“Okay, you better not tell him that,” Topper said, amused. “His giant ego will rub it in your face forever. Or worse, he’ll actually think he has a shot with you.”

...

You weren’t sure what was worse—how aware you were of your burning cheeks, Rafe’s unreadable look that could mean anything from irritation to amusement to indifference, or the fact that Topper had basically just said you were too good for Kelce. Which was probably supposed to be a compliment, but the way he’d said it with that weird teasing undertone … yeah, no thanks.

Rafe leaned forward with a defiant-yet-amused snort, cutting off your view of Topper, and gathered the last three plates. “Shit, that’s enough talk about Kelce,” he said, shoving the stack of plates into Topper’s hands.

For a moment, Topper just stared at him, then he stood up, casting a brief glance at you before looking back at Rafe. “Sure, yeah, guess we’ll head out to the porch then. Have fun with your… art project work session or whatever.”

And with that, he disappeared in the same direction as Kelce.

Now it was just you and Rafe again. But for some reason, alongside your nervousness, there was this inexplicable tension lingering in the air from the conversation earlier.

This whole thing was SO FUCKING WEIRD anyway.

Yesterday morning, Kelce, Topper, and Rafe had been… well, strangers to you. And now? Now you were sitting in Kelce Statter’s living room, having had lunch with the three of them, and now you were spending your FREE TIME—like, not during class, not during lunch, but your actual free time—working on a school project with Rafe.

This whole cozy setup, this couch, the TV running in the background, the whole environment—it all felt so… intimate. Even though it absolutely wasn’t.

And then all those comments, those questions… This was so far out of your comfort zone, and you had no idea how to deal with such a sudden shift.

And, honestly? You were still stuck on why Rafe had even invited you here in the first place. Yeah, sure, to work on a school project. But at his friend’s house? When you could’ve just done it during lunch. It didn’t make any sense.

And the dangerous part? Somewhere deep down, there was this tiny part of you that thought maybe, just maybe, Rafe wasn’t just after a good grade.

The fact that Rafe didn’t shift over, even though the couch was now completely clear (sure, there was still a decent gap between you two, but still...), didn’t go unnoticed. Quite the opposite, he spread out his legs slightly more, adjusting his position.

You had to seriously focus to avoid accidentally looking at... certain areas.

GIRL PLS.

“Don't tell me you're still nervous after having experienced these idiots firsthand” he said, his tone playful but noticeably more detached than usual.

Could I get one moment—just ONE—in which my face isn’t on fire? PLEASE.

You forced a clumsy smile. “I wasn’t nervous... just curious.”

Oh, yeah. He’s totally going to believe that.

Rafe raised an unimpressed brow, his smirk making it clear he didn’t buy it. “Yeah, anxious curious.” He sank deeper into the couch, putting one leg on the edge of the table, and looked up at you with his pretty blue eyes. “So, you have a thing for Kelce, huh? Is that why you acted so weird when I asked you to come along?” His voice was teasing, almost challenging, but there was something distant in it too, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?? Like, LITERALLY WHAT?? What kind of question was that?

You honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or being serious. His expression gave absolutely nothing away. Also didn’t he just say to Topper to put the Kelce topic aside?

You shook your head, brows furrowing in irritation (and let’s be real, you probably looked like a sulky tomato while doing so). “What? No! I mean… what? Where is that even coming from?”

Rafe shrugged, his tone maddeningly casual. “He wouldn’t say no, just saying. Kelce would take any gi—”

“But I would!” you shot back, sharper than you intended. “Saying ‘no’, I mean.” You froze for a second, your brows furrowing further as if you’d just misheard yourself. “Wait, what were you gonna say?”

There it was again. That shift in his mood. Barely noticeable but it was there—the way his brows raised just slightly, his eyes focusing on you like he was daring you in some strange way.

“What?” he asked, clearly testing to see if you’d let it slide or push further.

And, of fucking course, you’d push further. Crush or not, no way would you let that audacity slide.

You tilted your head, and honestly, maybe it was the stress of the day catching up to you, but the way he looked so smug, so goddamn full of himself, pissed you off. "You were trying to say that Kelce would go for any girl anyway." You furrowed your brows. "What… how am I supposed to interpret that?"

You couldn’t help but remember the comment he’d made earlier at school—Kelce always brings some random chick to our hangouts.

So, was that how he saw you? Some random, disposable girl for his friend? Was that the point of this? To hook you up with Kelce?

You had no idea why but before this, thinking of hookups in general had been mildly amusing to you. But now that it was somehow in the air, it just pissed you off.

Something flickered in Rafe’s eyes, but he shook his head, his mouth tugging down in mock innocence. “Don’t know.” And then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added, “You didn’t say ‘no’ earlier. You know, all that talk about 'not judging people by surface-level impressions' or whatever.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “What the fuck, I never—... I'm not interested in--” You stopped yourself mid-sentence when you noticed how observant he was eyeing you.

Either he was messing with you—trying to get a reaction out of you by asking these upfront questions—or he was actually being serious.

“This feels like gaslighting", you said dryly, though you couldn’t stop the somehow amused smile from creeping onto your face.

A crooked grin spread across Rafe’s features and the crease between his brows disappeared. “I'm just repeating what you’ve said.”

Seriously, what did he want you to say? “Yes, I like Kelce”??? Did he actually believe your words earlier had hinted at some interest in Kelce? Just the thought of it made your skin crawl.

Your expression shifted back to a frown. Hesitantly you asked, “Is this like... a bro-playing-matchmaker-for-bro thing?”

Did he want you to start something with Kelce? You couldn’t make sense of all the questions—this whole thing with Topper earlier, too. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Kelce secretly had a thing for you and they were both playing his wingmen in a very strange way.

OH. MY. GOD.

That would explain why Rafe had invited you here in the first place. But then again, why were you—just the two of you—about to work on the project?

Even your confusion was confused at this point.

“Shit, no,” Rafe shot back with an amused smirk, crossing his arms. “Like I’d play wingman for Kelce.” He shrugged, his grin lingering. “But you do seem like someone who needs help in this area.”

…

WHAT.

Did he think you were some kind of helpless maiden who needed assistance at courting the other sex? Well, it wasn’t that far from the truth, be for real, but that wasn’t the point. Why would he even say something like this? Was he suggesting to be your wingman or some shit?

God, this was such a painfully awkward situation and he seemed to have fun cornering you like this.

Screw it. You were done with whatever this was.

You nodded slowly, your cheeks still flushed deep pink. “I don’t, thanks. And I feel like we shouldn’t waste any more time and get back to the project.”

Something strange flashed across his face—a mix of disappointment and irritation as if he had enjoyed this back and forth—but he just shrugged. “Back at being a nerd.”

Wow. Okay. Seriously, what the actual fuck was going on inside Rafe Cameron’s head?

Trying to suppress a frown, you leaned toward the side of the couch and pulled your iPad from your bag, tucking your legs up into a comfortable position as you opened yesterday’s notes.

The air felt heavy with a strange tension. Not like yesterday, when you’d had your first real conversation with him. Not like earlier either, when he was pissed off at you mentioning his dad in a conversation. No, this was something else entirely—some kind of irritated restlessness on both sides.

Your heart pounded uneasily in your chest, and you hated that you couldn’t just address whatever this was. If it even was anything.

So, you did what you always did when things started feeling like too much—you disconnected from the situation entirely and focused on the task at hand. Skimming over your notes, you cleared your throat and read out your last update. “Okay, so…” -----------------------------------------------

You washed your hands, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

What am I even doing here?

This was so stupid. You should’ve insisted on rescheduling this whole thing—it would’ve been so much easier.

Grabbing the towel from the rack, you dried your hands and took a deep breath. Screw whatever all of this was—why he’d invited you here, why he’d asked all those weird-ass questions. You just needed to focus on the project.

Art was the only subject you were actually kind of good at and there was no way you were going to mess it up just because your brain was spiraling over this surreal, out-of-nowhere situation.

But as you walked back down the hallway toward the living room, you were hit with another curveball.

Is this guy SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!

There he was, sitting on the couch, your iPad resting on his lap, your Apple Pencil in his hand as his eyes stared at the screen.

Never mind that he looked CUTE AS HELL doing it—he couldn’t just scroll through your sketches like that. THAT WAS AN UNSPOKEN RULE. What if he found your studies of—NOPE.

“What are you doing?”

Rafe looked up, completely unbothered. Before he could even answer, you were already sitting down next to him, hand reaching for your iPad.

And then you saw it.

He wasn’t flipping through your gallery—he was just writing something in the Notes app.

Your face instantly flushed hot. “Oh,” you mumbled, pulling your hand back quickly—only to accidentally brush against the fabric of his jeans.

AKA HIS THIGH.

It was over. Your life was over. Done. Finished. The end. You were officially dead in every language known to man.

The heat in your face burned hotter as your pulse skyrocketed, embarrassment filling every cell in your body.

And his face? Big blue eyes staring at you half-surprised while his lips slowly turned into a crooked smile.

UGHHHH, OH MY GOD.

A sheepish-awkward smile crept across your lips. “Oh, I—oh my God, I’m so sorry, I… I thought you were scrolling through my gallery.”

Brilliant. Truly a top-tier diversion. AS ALWAYS.

Please, please, please, for the love of everything holy, don’t mention the fact that I just touched your leg. PLEASE.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, more amused than irritated. “Why, what would I find? Nudes?”

I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE.

“What? No! I don’t—gallery, I meant my art gallery!” you shot back quickly, your voice a pitch higher than usual as the heat rushed back into your face.

And then, as your gaze flicked to the striking details of his annoyingly pretty eyes, it hit you just how close you were to him.

Too fucking close.

Your overly dramatic attempt to snatch the iPad from him had somehow left your whole body turned toward his, with barely four inches separating you.

Every instinct screamed at you to throw yourself onto the other end of the couch, grab your bag, and leave this house as fast as humanly possible. Move forward another state and start a new life.

But you couldn’t move. It was like you were frozen, completely anchored in place. Because choosing to put space between you now? That would just highlight how ridiculously awkward this whole situation had become.

You felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, unable to move.

And Rafe’s eyes? They were the headlights. He stared at you, his expression teetering somewhere between playful curiosity and deliberation, like he was trying to decide whether to swerve or just run you over.

“Jesus Christ, calm down,” he finally said, a cocky laugh slipping past his lips as he clicked the Apple Pencil back into the iPad case. “I didn’t look at your top-secret drawing gallery. Happy?”

And even if he had looked, would he even admit it? Probably not.

Still, a tiny part of you relaxed. Perfect—now only 99% of you were stuck in full fight-or-flight mode.

“Thanks,” you managed to mumble, taking the iPad from him with painstaking care to avoid even accidentally brushing against him again. That would definitely be the end of you.

Finally seizing the opportunity, you scooted a little further away—not as far as before but just enough to calm your heart rate without making it seem like you were actively trying to escape.

The last thing you wanted was to look like a total creep.

Even though the situation had been painfully awkward, somehow, it had managed to break that weird, unspoken tension that had been hanging between you two entirely.

You had just looked up, ready to comment on the one (1) completely useless bullet point he’d added when he beat you to it. "We should go to my place tomorrow evening. Maybe you’ll relax a little for once”, he said with a teasing yet somehow serious undertone.

...

...

WAIT. WHAT? THIS WAS COMING OUT OF NOWHERE LIKE WHAT?!

You must’ve misheard him. No way. This was too crazy, too fucking surreal to be real. Surely he was messing with you. Yeah, that had to be it.

Your brows furrowed slightly. "Your place?" Good. That was good. This way, you could at least make sure he wasn’t being serious.

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Yeah, unless you’d rather go back to working at school like a real nerd."

HE WAS SERIOUS.

Okay, hold on. But WHY AT EVENING? Evenings were basically the second most intimate time of day, right after actual nighttime. And his whole family would be home—no, absolutely not. That was insane. Way too much, too soon.

There was no way you’d 'relax' there.

You let out a nervous laugh, avoiding his gaze. "I don’t know… your parents—" You hesitated, remembering Rose wasn’t actually his mom. "I mean, your family probably wants their space."

Oh god. You could already feel the shift in his mood—subtle, but definitely there.

But Rafe just shook his head, completely unfazed. "My dad and Rose are at some charity event. Wheezie’s on a school trip this week, and Sarah can do whatever she wants, I don't care."

OH.

That—that changed everything. Shit, no, that changed THE ENTIRE FUCKING SITUATION YOU WERE IN.

An empty house, almost nighttime, and he wanted you to come over just after two days of getting to know each other? Holy shit, every alarm bell in your head was ringing.

Sure, you were inexperienced when it came to dating (NOT that this situation was anything close to being labeled as dating). And yes, you had no clue how to flirt. Plus, the entire concept of the male species lowkey terrified you and you were terrible at picking up hints.

But even you knew what this meant.

You’d heard enough of Cara’s stories, read enough shitty fanfiction, watched enough trashy movies and TV shows, and—unintentionally—overheard enough (deeply uncomfortable) conversations between drunk, horny teenagers at parties to recognize exactly what was happening here:

Rafe Cameron was setting the ground for a hookup.

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

kms masterlist | <- part four | part six (soon) ->

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Taglist (open):

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee @sttaejoon-blog @vogueprincess @princesspeaxhh @wtfisastiles @wefelldowntherabbithole13 @rafes4 @kathryn-maraudersversion @wuluhwuhmaster @torturedtypewritersdept @sfotiegiuls @vvmaybank @ltristessedureratoujours @mia-iltc

[voidangxls]

GRRRRRR I NEED A STILES FIC WHERE'S UR LIKE THE COACH'S KID OR SMTH AND HE FINDS OUT. IT'S NOT FUNNY I NEED STILES IN MY VEINS AAAA. Who said that guys...

ˋ°•*⁀➷ “You’re coach’s daughter!?” ♬⋆.˚

╰┈➤ requested!

pairings(s)- stiles stilinski x reader

Summary- You and Stiles have been talking recently but he finds out who your dad is.

category- fluff

warnings- american school system, coach, greenberg, slight shy!stiles, not proofread

word count: 2670

masterlist; teen wolf masterlist

a/n: I hope this fits what you wanted!!

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

You had switched to Beacon Hills High School during your sophomore year of high school. Your father is a coach and teacher for Beacon Hills so you went to a different school, you and your dad (mostly you) thinking it was for the best.

But you hated it, the reachers were annoying, the school was crazy strict and you just didn’t fit within the school so you asked your dad if you could transfer to Beacon Hills where be taught at. He was more than overjoyed to now have you attending his school, he signed the transfer papers fairly quickly.

You had only transferred at the beginning of the school year, showing up for the first day like any of the normal students.

Now it was the 3rd month of school and no one knew you were Coach Finstocks daughter except for the two of you, and the principal. Your parents split up when you were little, your dad getting full custody of you though you do see your mom here and there. When you were born you got your mothers last name, something to do with her culture or the way she was raised so that was another reason no one knew you were Bobby’s daughter, you guys didn’t have the same last name.

When you arrived at the school your attention was immediately taken by a certain boy. His name was Stiles Stilinski. As soon as you saw him you thought he was the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen, everything about him was literally perfect in your eyes. So what did you do? You talked to him…but not until like a month and a half of school had already passed

On the first day of school when you walked into class is when you noticed him, you also noticed him staring. So you walked towards the empty seat behind him and sat down. That day when you had sat in that seat, he and his friend turned around slightly and you just gave them a smile.

Almost 2 months had passed since the first say of school and that was when the two of you first spoke. The both of you remembered that day distinctly.

You walked to your usual seat in first person and sat down, right behind Stiles like usual. When the teacher began class you took a breath. You had finally grown the balls to talk to him, since he wasn’t going to be the one to do it. Leaning forward slightly in your seat, your hand reaches forward and gently taps his shoulder twice, your hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment, not enough for someone else to notice, but enough for just the both if you to notice.

The boy quickly turned around, he knew it had to have been you since you sat behind him but when he turned around and actually got view of you actually trying to talk to him he lost his breath. His mouth dropped open slightly, his jaw slightly moving as if he was trying to talk but the poor boy just couldn’t get the words out.

In response to his awkwardness you let a smile overcome your face, trying your best to not laugh at his expression. “do you have a pencil I could borrow?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb the teachers lesson. Now, after a while of wanting to talk to him all you did was ask if you could barrow a pencil (which you had in your bag anyways), but it was better than nothing!

Stiles’s mouth snaps shut and he swallows, nodding quickly he turns around and grabs a perfectly sharpened pencil out of his bag. He turns back around rapidly and holds the pencil up between the two of you like it was a prize. The smile on your face grows wider all while he just stares at you with wide eyes, as if he’s in a trance. You reach forward and grab the pencil from his hand, purposely making your hand graze against his. The boys expression hadn’t changed, still looking at you as if you were a princess or something.

Stiles could have sworn his heart skipped a beat and no actually probably stopped when he turned around to see you looking at him with a gentle expression.

He had wanted to talk to you since the very first day of school when he saw you. Before that day he had never seen you, so clearly you were new to Beacon Hills, or at least new to the high school. He just never had the guts to actually speak to you, he was never good with girls. Especially very pretty ones like you. When he first turned towards you he couldn’t tear his eyes off of you, you were up close and asking him a question and you looked like a princess. In that moment he would do anything you asked, when you asked for a pencil and finally snapped him out of his haze he was grateful. One of those reasons being because he thought he looked like an idiot staring at you like that, and second because he really liked your voice.

From that point forward the two of you spoke regularly. After a couple of days you guys ended up exchanging numbers and you talked 24/7. He still didn’t know that your dad was one of his teachers and his coach but you were going to tell him soon.

Last week Stiles was shockingly able to ask you on a date. You were shocked that he was able to stand in front of you and get the words out but you obviously said yes, happily. And when he got that answer he lit up like a kid at a candy store and did a celebratory movement. You had compromised a day in which you knew your dad wouldn’t be home, you didn’t want your dad to know just yet and you didn’t think Stiles would want to be heavily interrogated on your first date.

The date had went great, the two of you were just as amazing together as you were outside of romantic feelings. Although you guys just recently met, both of you could see a great relationship together and it was definitely something you both wanted to explore.

Just five days after your date with Stiles it was now a Wednesday and you were at school, the two of you were supposed to be having another date tonight. Right now it was your free period, usually you would go to the library to either read or catch up on work but the library was currently closed for the day seeing as the librarian had to leave early. It was too cold to go outside seeing as it was transitioning from fall into winter. So you decided you would go to your dads classroom seeing as his office is connected to the room and you knew he would let you chill in his office while he taught his class, what you didn’t know was that Stiles was in that current class.

You walk through the halls of the school, bag over one of your shoulders. Your phone in your hand with headphones connected to your phone and one of the buds in your ear.

When you make it to your dads classroom you bring your hand up and knock on the door. He opens the door and looks down at you with a confused expression “what are you doing here?” he asks, not rudely or in his usual tone of voice but in pure confusion and slight worry which shocks the other students, never having heard him using an abnormal tone of voice on a student.

Bobby steps aside and lets you walk in even further slightly. Upon seeing your frame Stiles perks up, a smile immediately casted onto his face and his curiosity spiked. “Free period and library’s closed. Can I chill in your office?” you ask your dad, slightly stepping further into the classroom, avoiding looking at any of the other students. “yeah go ahead” he looks down at you a nods. He moves back towards the front of his desk while you walk past.

As you were walking you felt eyes on you. You were about to turn around when your dad speaks up. “Greenberg! Stop looking at my daughter!” he says harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut slightly and turn towards your dad with raised eyebrows. Still feeling eyes on you, you turn your head slightly and see Stiles looking ahead at you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. At further notice everyone in the classroom was looking between you and your dad in shock, well except for Greenberg, he had his head down after your dad’s comment.

“shes your daughter?” Stiles says loudly in shock, his finger pointing at you. His mouth was open in a jaw dropping way and his eyes were wide. You take a deep breath and walk into your dads office, ignoring the eyes of your fellow students and more importantly Stiles

It was now the end of the school day and you were getting longer stares from students, clearly word had gotten around. You truly didn’t care but now everyone would be questioning why neither of you said anything.

And let’s just say you were slightly avoiding Stiles, well not really…you only avoided him after that class. You were now at your locker, packing up your school bag so you could head home when a presence is suddenly next to you. “Coach is your dad!?” the voice exclaims, breaking slightly at the end. You let out a breath and grab your bag, then closing your locker.

Stiles’s face was revealed once you closed your locker. His face was filled with pure shock, he looked at you as if you had two heads. Your lips press together into a thin line and your grip on your backpack adjusts. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, I was going to I swear!” You try your best to reassure him.

His face confronts from shock and into confusion, looking at you with pulled eyebrows but his mouth still slightly open. “Wha- I just cant believe your Coaches daughter!” he exclaims loudly, everyone in the hall turns towards the two of you and in response to his loudness you raise a singular brow at him. He grimaces slightly “sorry” he whispers. “I just cant believe you, like you standing in front of me came from him, it makes no sense!” he exclaims, definitely more on the quieter side this time around.

You fight a smile on your face, Stiles always brought one to your face. When he sees you smiling a smile is immediately pushed onto his face as well. “Well I am” you respond quietly, looking up at him.

“And you know thats very scary but who cares?” Stiles shrugs, one of his hands coming up to grip onto his backpack strap. Your face lights up in response, you were scared he would want to see you anymore just because of who your dad is. You let out a small laugh at him saying your dad was scary but then you look up at him happily “so, our dates still on?” you ask, swaying your body lightly.

He pulls a face and looks at you as if you asked the dumbest question ever. “Are you serious? You’re the best girl ever of course I want to go on that date, you’re like amazing, your pretty, funny, kind, great clothes- Well uh um unless you dont want to go on the date which is totally-“ He rambles, moving his hands theatrically.

During his rambling you couldn’t help but smile. Sure the compliments weren’t out of this world creative or poetic but when you could tell they actually mean something from who they’re coming from means a lot. Before he could continue to ramble and stress about if you wanted to go on the date or not you bring your hand up and cover his mouth. “I want to go on the date, Stiles.” you assure him, nodding your head slightly with a smile

Stiles lets out a little nervous laugh and nods as you remove your hand from his face. He tucks one of his hands into his jean pocket and looks down at you bashfully “good, cause I was- am really excited about it” he tells you, bouncing on his feet lightly.

“me too” you respond, looking up at him with a matching smile.

It was now later in the day and you were ready for your date with Stiles. You were dressed in a cute turtleneck sweater and a pair of jeans, Stiles said he was surprising you so you had no clue where the two of you were going.

Now, since the cat was out of the bag you didn’t see too much of a problem in the fact that your dad would indeed be home all night. So he would be here when Stiles picked you up and dropped you off, which was definitely nerve wracking knowing who your dad was and knowing how Stiles is, Oh! and the fact that your dad had no clue you were going on a date.

You were putting in your last earring when the doorbell rang, you quickly grab your jacket and throw it on, as well as grabbing your purse as you walk out of your bedroom. As you were walking down the steps you hear your fathers naturally loud voice ring out so you stop, not being seen by either of them. “What are you doing here Stilinski? and with flowers?”

“uh um your-“ before Stiles could even finish his sentence where he was going to tell Bobby the flowers were for you he jumps in.

“for me?” He asks dryly, knowing they weren’t for him yet at the same time not knowing they were for his daughter that was currently eavesdropping.

“Yeah! actually! As a thank you for being the best coach” Stiles stammers, pushing them forward and into your dad’s hands. From on top of the steps behind the wall you let out a giggle and finally decide to put Stiles out of him misery.

Your dad looked down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand then back up at an awkwardly smiling Stiles in pure confusion. Not a single thought in your dad’s brain or a feature in his face didn’t hold confusion.

You walk forward, now stepping in between the two boys. “Dad. Stiles and I are going on a date” you tell him confidently. To be sure to win your father over him you show him one of your award winning smiles that always had an effect on your dad.

“Stilinski? You’re going on a date with Stilinski? Actually no, my daughter’s going on a date?” Bobby exclaims, pointing his finger at each of you accordingly.

“yup” you say happily, popping the p

“oh god” Stiles whispers, silently praying for his safety

“since when do you go on dates?” Your dad asks uncomfortably yet in his usual stern voice. He didn’t like seeing his little girl grow up.

“since now, dad” you respond, quickly pulling him into a hug and pecking his cheek. “Make sure to put those in water!” you say hurriedly while grabbing Stiles’s hand and speed walking to his car

“Have her home by ten!” Your father exclaims, his hand holding the flowers raising and shaking sternly with his words.

“Yes Coach! Oh uh Sir!” Stiles exclaims back to him, clumsily almost tripping over his feet but your hold was there to balance him. He opens the door for you and lend you a hand to get inside before running around to the drivers side of his precious Rosco.

“At least it wasnt GreenBerg” Bobby mutters, running a hand over his face and through his hair as he closes the front door.

[supernotnatural2005]

'Happy Accidents'

Pairing: Dean x Plus!sized Reader

Summary: You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: Dry humping! (18+Only), fluff, mutual pinning, Plus!sized Reader, body insecurities, curvy girl appreciation, swearing.

AN: Okay so this is my first time writing for a more specific reader body type, but being a curvy-girl myself it was interesting to implement it into a story. And with Dean being the appreciator? Yes please! 😍 I know this might not cater to all of you, but I'm inclusive to all y'all ❤️ Also taking some inspo from @bejeweledinterludes post for this one and @zepskies Midnight Espresso series, which is honestly one of my favourite series and stories featuring a Plus!sized reader!! I do hope you guys like this one! 💕

Main Masterlist

You hadn’t seen the Winchesters in over a year.

Not since that hunt in Nebraska—the one that went sideways fast. The one that left you with a busted-up ankle and Dean with a fresh scar along his jawline. The one where, after all was said and done, you parted ways with an easy “See you around,” never expecting “around” to take this long to come back.

But when a case cropped up—one that twisted your gut with unease—you hadn’t hesitated. You picked up the phone and called the only people you trusted to have your back. If anyone could help, it was them.

And now, sitting in a dimly lit bar, waiting for them to arrive, your nerves were shot. Maybe it was the case. Or maybe it was the fact that you’d changed since they last saw you—since he last saw you.

That old, ridiculous crush on Dean Winchester hadn’t gone anywhere. That much had become painfully clear the moment he picked up the phone, his voice as deep, gravelly, and cocky as ever. But now, with time apart and the weight of your own insecurities pressing down, the idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist.

You had always been curvier, carrying stubborn weight around your thighs, ass, and middle. But in the last year, you’d softened even more. Life had been quieter, with less running and fewer adrenaline-fuelled hunts. You were still strong, still capable, but you felt different. And you knew the type of women Dean gravitated toward—tall, slim, easy.

You were none of those things, and you never would be. And that was okay. But it was a niggling fact that had always lingered in the back of your mind, that had stung each time the three of you got together and you watched him charm someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.

A warm, unexpected hand on your shoulder brings you out of your darker thoughts, with a slight gasp, startling you a little.

“Easy there, sweetheart.”

You turned, heart stuttering as Dean stood there, grinning down at you like no time had passed at all. And damn it all, he looked the same—scruffy and stupidly handsome in that effortless way of his, jeans snug on his hips, flannel worn open over a snug black tee. Sam stood just behind him, offering you a softer, more knowing smile.

“Hey, boys,” you manage, hoping the warmth creeping up your neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. You slip off the barstool, nerves buzzing, but force yourself to keep it together.

Dean’s eyes flick over you—quick, but thorough. For a split second, something unreadable flashes across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it.

“Missed us that bad, huh?” His smirk is pure Dean, cocky and teasing, slipping back into the easy rhythm of your old banter.

You roll your eyes, but are grateful for it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester.”

But your voice is softer than you mean it to be, and when you turn to Sam, pulling him into a warm hug first, you feel Dean’s gaze linger.

Then you step up to him, hesitation curling in your chest—but before you can overthink it, his arms are around you, solid and warm, pulling you close like no time has passed at all.

That familiar scent—woody, spiced, edged with leather—wraps around you, grounding you, unraveling you. For a second longer than necessary, you let yourself sink into it, just this once.

The three of you settled into a booth once the bartender set down your drinks. Sam took the seat across from you, while Dean slid in next to you, his presence a little too warm, a little too distracting.

“So,” Sam started, taking a sip of his beer. “What are we looking at?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “A few people have gone missing over the last month—no bodies, no traces, just… gone. I’ve ruled out everything I know of. There’s no signs of a struggle, no sulphur, no EMF spikes. It’s like they just vanished into thin air.”

Dean frowned, brows knitting together. “And no patterns? No connection between them?”

“None that I could find.” You shook your head. “That’s why I called you guys. I was hoping fresh eyes might help.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, both equally puzzled but already slipping into hunter mode.

“Well, we’re here now,” Sam said, ever the problem solver. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, feeling some of the weight lift. “We’ll go over everything in more detail tomorrow. Tonight…” You glanced between them, the tension of the case momentarily fading. “It’s just good to see you both.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam agreed warmly, raising his bottle. “To old friends.”

You clinked beers with him, and Dean followed suit, but as your bottles met, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something there—something lingering, unreadable, sending a flicker of warmth through you. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, masked behind an easy sip of his beer. You swallowed, shaking it off as nothing more than a trick of your mind.

The more the beers flowed, the easier it got. You caught up, swapped stories, and fell into familiar rhythms.

Dean was as quick with his smart-ass remarks as ever, and the two of you naturally fell into your usual back-and-forth. Sam, as always, was the long-suffering audience to your antics.

At one point, you and Dean tag-teamed a particularly brutal roast of Sam—this time about the time he’d gotten sick on a case and tried to insist he was totally fine, only to end up passing out face-first into a hotel’s continental breakfast buffet.

“Oh, come on,” Sam groaned, shaking his head as you and Dean laughed. “That was years ago.”

“And yet,” you grinned, “I can still hear the sound of your face hitting that tray of scrambled eggs.”

Dean snorted, nudging his knee against yours under the table. “Dude, you took out the whole table. That poor old lady thought you died.”

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed his beer away. “Yeah, and that’s my cue. I’ve had enough of you two for one night.”

You laughed, but before you could say anything, Sam stood, shaking his head. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” He pulled you into a quick, brotherly hug, and you squeezed back.

“Night, Sammy,” you murmured, watching as he strode toward the door, leaving you alone with Dean.

You half-expected him to call it a night too, but instead, Dean didn’t move. If anything, the second Sam walked out, he seemed to settle in more, arm stretching along the back of the booth, fingers barely grazing your shoulder. The casual touch sent a ripple of awareness through you, but you forced yourself to act normal, reaching for your drink instead of acknowledging the way your heart had picked up speed.

“I think I’ll stick around a little longer,” he said casually, surprising you.

Your heart kicked up a notch, but you welcomed the company. “Yeah?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. We got a lot of catching up to do.”

And so you did. The conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter slipping in between shared memories and stories of the road. Some cases were so bizarre they barely seemed real, and a few had you nearly crying with laughter. Time seemed to pass in a blink of an eye, the bar thinning out around you, and you barely noticed.

At some point, Dean just sat back and looked at you. Really looked at you. His expression softened, head tilting slightly as he took you in, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he shook his head and muttered, “Damn, it’s really good to see you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs.

Your lips parted, a response on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out.

Dean huffed a small laugh, eyes still studying you like he was committing you to memory. “You look good, too.”

The words weren’t rushed, weren’t casual or offhanded. They were steady, like a thought he’d been holding onto for a while.

Heat crept up your neck, and you let out a small, nervous chuckle, dropping your gaze to your drink as you toyed with the condensation on the glass. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean shifted, leaning in just a little, enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. “I mean it,” he said, quieter this time, voice dipping low.

All you could think was; what the hell is happening here?

Dean had never been like this with you before. Sure, he flirted—it was second nature to him—but not like this. At least that’s what you’d always believed. Had you just never noticed? Had you missed the way he looked at you before? Or had something changed?

Swallowing, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes sweeping over you—slow, deliberate. No hesitation. No teasing. Just appreciation.

His gaze flickered to your lips.

The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but part of you wanted to reach for it anyway.

Then—

“Last call!”

The bartender’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

You exhaled sharply, the moment shattering as you snapped back to reality. A part of you wanted to stay frozen in it, let whatever this was between you and Dean unravel, but instead, you reached for the safest thing to say. "We should head back."

Dean nodded, standing with you, hands shoving into his jacket pockets. But even as you stepped out into the crisp night air, the tension didn’t fade. If anything, it followed you like a shadow.

The walk back to the motel was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the crunch of gravel under your boots. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat still thrumming under your skin. You kept sneaking glances at Dean, only to find him already looking at you, eyes dark, thoughtful, unreadable.

He was close—not touching, but his presence was all-consuming. The scent of leather and whiskey clung to him, mixing with the crisp night air, making your stomach twist with anticipation.

When you finally reached your door, you hesitated.

"Well… this is me," you said, voice coming out lighter than you intended, a small, nervous chuckle slipping past your lips.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile as he looked down at you. "Yeah."

But neither of you moved.

The air shifted again, crackling with something dangerous, something inevitable.

Dean’s gaze flickered lower—tracing the curve of your mouth, watching as you unconsciously pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched and something in his expression darkened.

"Fuck it."

The words barely left his lips before he was on you, crashing into you with a hunger that sent you stumbling back against the door. The force of it stole your breath, his mouth devouring yours, needy, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally gave in.

A muffled sound of surprise left you, swallowed instantly by his lips, but it only took a second before you melted into him, your fingers fisting the open lapels of his jacket, anchoring yourself against him.

It was hot and messy, all teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that left you lightheaded and aching. His hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming—sliding over your hips, your back, fingers digging into your flesh like he never wanted to let go.

You fumbled for the door behind you, barely registering how you managed to get it open before tugging him inside.

Dean groaned against your mouth as the door clicked shut, his hands already working your jacket off your shoulders. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this," he murmured against your lips, voice rough, breathless.

Your stomach flipped, your heart fluttering at the implication—the confirmation that this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment lust. This was Dean. Wanting you. For who knew how long.

A moan slipped past your lips in response because forming actual words wasn’t an option—not with his hands gripping you tighter, not with the way he was kissing you like he was starving.

You barely noticed when you reached the little loveseat, your room provided, until the back of his knees hit it. Taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, you shoved him down onto it and climbed into his lap.

Dean groaned, head tipping back slightly as his hands found your hips, gripping tight. Touching you like he’d always wanted to. His fingers dug into the soft curve of your thighs, your ass, holding you like he couldn’t get enough.

You stiffened for half a second. The way his hands moulded to your body, the way he held you there so easily—so greedily—made your head spin.

You’d spent years second-guessing what guys thought when they touched you, wondering if they found you too much, too soft in places you’d been taught to shrink. The idea of straddling Dean, of all people, should’ve sent a jolt of insecurity through you. Should’ve had you hesitating.

But then Dean’s hands tightened—fingers pressing into your thighs, squeezing like he couldn’t stand not to have you closer. A deep, rough sound rumbled from his chest, his lips breaking from yours just long enough to groan, "Jesus—fuck."

The way he said it sent fire straight to your core.

He wanted you like this. Craved it. He wasn’t just tolerating the way your body pressed against him—he was obsessed with it.

As if to prove the point, his grip turned bruising, his hands dragging you even closer, pulling you down into him, despite the small part of you that feared you might be too much.

Dean grunted, his head dropping forward slightly, his forehead pressing to yours. "Goddamn, sweetheart."

A rush of confidence flooded through you, drowning out every lingering doubt.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips, testing, teasing—just enough to feel the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wanted this. Wanted you.

The friction was incredible, sending a bolt of pleasure up your spine, making you bite back a moan.

Dean’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into your flesh, his entire body going rigid.

That only made you do it again. Slower this time, deeper.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, his hands twitching on your thighs like he was trying to keep himself together.

"Fuck—" His voice was raw, strangled, almost pained.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle coiled tight as you ground against him, feeling the delicious pressure between you, the way his cock strained beneath his jeans, thick and hot against you.

Suddenly, his hands snapped up to your waist, gripping hard, stilling you.

You barely had a second to register it before—

Dean shuddered. His whole body tensed beneath you, a choked grunt ripping from his throat as his fingers dug into your flesh, his head tipping back against the couch.

He went still, and it took you a second to realise.

Dean Winchester had just cum in his jeans.

A rush of heat flooded his face, his expression shifting from shock to pure horror. He blinked up at you, wide-eyed, mortified.

"Oh, fuck." His voice was barely above a whisper, his hands still gripping your hips, as if he was trying to process what the hell had just happened.

Your lips parted in surprise. Then—a slow, wicked grin spread across your face.

"Did you just—?"

Dean groaned, head dropping back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don’t. Just—don’t."

But you couldn’t help it. Because holy shit.

You’d just made Dean Winchester cum in his jeans.

If that wasn’t the biggest ego boost of your life, you didn’t know what was.

Leaning down, you pressed a lingering kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, revelling in the way his breath stuttered. "That," you murmured, lips brushing against his ear, "is the best compliment I’ve ever gotten."

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he melted under your touch, his hands hesitantly sliding up your sides, gripping your waist like he needed to anchor himself. When he finally looked up at you, the humiliation still lingered, but something warmer, something softer, began to take its place.

His green eyes flickered over your face like he was memorising you. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Then, suddenly, he let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

"God, I’m sorry," he huffed, running a hand down his face, still half-stunned. "You’re just—" His eyes swept over you, dark and reverent as his hands followed, tracing over the curve of your hips, the swell of your full breasts, the thickness of your thighs. His fingers flexed, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was real. "Fucking gorgeous."

Heat rushed to your face, your stomach flipping as you instinctively tried to shy away. But Dean was already there, his thumb pressing lightly under your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

"Hey," he murmured, his lips twitching into something wicked and sweet all at once. "Give me five minutes," his hands slid around the curve of your hips, then lower, grasping large handfuls of your ass, his fingers digging in like he couldn't help himself. He groaned, low and deep, pressing you closer, like he needed you to feel just how much he meant it. "And I’ll really show you how much I want you."

Your own lips curled, mirroring his. "Five minutes, huh?" You couldn’t help but hum as he kissed along the column of your throat, his lips soft and warm, his teeth grazing, sending a shiver down your spine.

His grip on you tightened, kneading the flesh beneath his hands, and another groan rumbled through his chest, when you shifted in his lap again and you felt the unmistakable twitch of him against you.

"Okay, make that two," he muttered, his voice rough with renewed hunger.

You laughed, and he grinned against your skin at the sound, before pulling you in and claiming your lips in a hot, deep kiss once more.

“Besides,” he mumbled between kisses, “I wanna sample the goods first, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, but then you squealed as he abruptly lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to the bed like you weighed nothing. With a playful smirk, he dropped you onto the mattress unceremoniously, making you bounce with a giggle.

Dean climbed in after you, hovering over you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his expression turning unexpectedly tender. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he admitted, voice quieter now, raw and honest.

Your heart fluttered.

"Then show me," you whispered.

And as his lips met yours again, slow and deep, Dean swore he’d take his damn time proving just how much he did.

AN: So this just popped into my mind, I hadn't planned on posting, but had to get it out 😅. I know this doesn't cater to everyone it's a little more reader specific, but, it's just another reason to love Dean! 😍

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[moon-ttokki-x]

oh my god I’m stupid I requested 8, 9, and 39 for the SKZ prompt list but I forgot to ask for which member. Bangchan pretty please 🥺👉👈

hihi this took so long sorry >< . . . this is a lot more angsty than anticipated but i hope it works. i wrote it a little differently that i normally would, but here you go, love~~

stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader)

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: chan has never noticed how you feel for him, and one fateful evening, you let it all spill.

genre: angsty as hell, idol!au, reader lowkey enters their villain era, mentions of eating and drinking, overexcited maknaes, chan is kinda oblivious in this fic ngl, supportive felix, itzy mentions (yeji, ryujin, chaeryoung if that counts ig), this is super sad tbh

a/n: this took a while tbh . . . div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

⛓️ prompts: 8. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." / 9. "You can rest now." / 39. "I can't keep pretending I'm fine."

skz masterlist | skz prompt list

"Y/n, do you wanna come to that ramen restaurant with us later?" Jisung tugs at your arm, skipping alongside you. "We've been wanting to go for ages, and we all finally have schedules off tonight."

"Yeah, come with us," Jeongin adds. "It'll be fun."

The maknaes are tagging all around you as you walk down the hallway, trying your best to keep a hold on all the papers you're carrying. It's difficult when they're fluttering around you like overexcited birds.

You'd taken the job at JYPE around four months ago; it was decided after a very long period of doubting and worrying that it wouldn't work out after what happened at your last workplace. But your best friend, Chan, had been super supportive throughout the whole thing, even offering to help you move into your little apartment down the road from the company. He'd brought some of his friends to help with the heavy lifting, and from there, you'd pretty much been adopted into the group he'd formed and was the leader of.

Not like you had a choice in the first place.

But you didn't mind; you'd been worried partly because of the fact that you wouldn't have any friends when you'd moved to this part of Korea; Chan had managed to inadvertently solve that issue without trying. Now, the four excitable boys skipped and bickered around you as you set down the papers on your office desk. Wiping the minimal sweat from your forehead, you sighed and pried Seungmin away from the trinkets neatly lining your bookshelf.

"Who else is going?" You ask as Jisung whines about you coming to the restaurant for the umpteenth time.

Seungmin shrugs, interrupting his friend. "All of the members, you, and a couple of the girls from our dance crew."

You feel your heart sink just as your brain tells you to agree; it's been ages since you went out with the guys, and you honestly couldn't wait for a break. Work was always stressful around comeback season, but you'd all settled into the rhythm of it soon enough. Spending an evening out with eight of your best friends eating some soul food sounded like a good idea. A better idea than spending the evening on the couch in your apartment, eating ice cream in complete silence. Alone.

You bite your lip, anticipating. "Which of the dance crew girls?"

Jeongin shrugs from the sofa, swinging his legs over a disgusted Seungmin's lap as he lounges back. "The usuals; Yeji, Ryujin, Young-hee, and Chae. Why?"

"No reason," you say, turning back to the bookshelf to unnecessarily reorganise something, fiddling with the solid fabric spine of one of your books. "I'll let you know if I'm coming. Now, clear out."

Your last comment doesn't bother the maknaes at all; they know you don't like your office being messed up, so they call goodbyes, and Jisung sneakily pokes your side as he filters out the door. Felix, however, remains.

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and keep a neutral expression as you turn the dark-haired boy. He looks so different from his usual blonde-haired countenance; however, no less beautiful, and not for the first time do you hold yourself back from carding your fingers affectionately through his hair.

You exhale. "Do you need something, Lix?"

He sits down on your chair, swinging it backwards and leaning his forearms across the back. An air of resignation flows around him. "You're not coming tonight, are you?"

You bite your lip. "I'll see."

His voice is quiet. "You've said that since Chae started hanging around us. Is it because of her?"

You scoff, dropping a pen. "No. Why would you think that?"

Felix leans forward on the chair, nosy. "It is because of her, isn't it? Do you not like her? Is it because of Chan-hyung?"

You whip around to face him, exasperated. The explanation bubbles out of you like molten lava from a temperamental volcano. "Okay, fine! I just- I can't stand seeing her around him. They're so close, and they always seem so wrapped up in each other-"

You cut yourself off then, not wanting to say anything you might regret. Chae is nice enough; she's never done anything explicitly hurtful towards you, though you secretly have suspicions that she doesn't like you at all. But you stay quiet, trying to dissipate the rising frustration blooming in your chest.

Felix is quiet.

You know he knows; he's known for ages about your little crush on his leader. You were afraid to tell him, once upon a time; but all you got in response from the affectionate chicken boy was a hushed giggle and a gentle encouragement to tell Chan how you feel. He hasn't told anyone else about your feelings, and you know he would continue to keep his mouth shut. But you wish, even just a little, that someone else would notice and find a way to get Chae away from your best friend.

"No wonder she likes him too," you say quietly to yourself, sinking into your office chair.

And it isn't a wonder, really. Chan is sweet, and gentle, and kind, and so, so, supportive and admirable. There's not a single flaw about him, except perhaps his slight dislike towards himself and his irritation when it comes to those soft, dark curls that frame his perfect face so perfectly-

You shake yourself out of it. Felix is still looking at you quietly, his head tilted in thought.

"You do know," he says carefully, "that you're closer with Chan that Chae is?"

"But still," you groan. "He always seems so much happier around her, and he always only talks to her when you all go out-"

"How would you know?" Felix cries, throwing his hands up. "You're not even there half the time, and Chan only talks to her because you're not there for him to talk to. He has to settle for her because he's fed up of us, and he's not close with Yeji, Ryujin, or Young-hee."

You sigh and hop up onto the desk, swinging your legs over the side. "I just can't stand it, Lix. Seeing them together..."

His expression softens. "I know, Y/n, and I know how frustrated you get when they're all over each other, but you have to at least try. Come with us. If not for him, then for us. We miss you."

"I'm right here."

Felix sighs softly. "That's not what I meant."

You rub two fingers along the bridge of your nose, trying to think straight. You can't get the images out of your mind; Chan and Chae giggling to each other, her touching his arm, him reciprocating the affection... no one said it would hurt this bad when you watch your best friend fall for someone else.

No one said it would hurt this much when you realise that you're in love with said best friend either.

"I can't keep pretending I'm fine," you say, so softly you're not sure Felix hears it. But he does.

"Then don't pretend," he urges gently. "Get him to fall for you. You're halfway there already, I'm pretty sure. But it's not gonna happen if you're always at a distance from him."

He has a point, you think. But, being as stubborn as you are, there's still that nagging doubt in the back of your mind that Chan will never feel the same way that you do, whether you're with him or not-

"Y/n," Felix says, a little more firmly.

You know exactly what he's thinking; sighing, and then bending down to pick up the pen you dropped earlier, you slot it back into the holder on the desk.

"Fine," you say quietly, trying and failing to hide the tiny smile twitching at the corners of your mouth. "I'll come."

Felix lets out a whoop.

.

You pull your jacket a little closer around yourself as you head round the corner, the evening wind whipping your hair into a state of extreme disarray. Sighing and then spluttering as you pull strands of it out of your mouth and eyes, you duck around people and head to the restaurant, its warm, golden light drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

You're not late, so to speak; you spot the group sitting at a large corner booth with comfy seats, mingling and chattering, and you notice Felix immediately. His face lights up when he sees you, half with relief and half with something else you can't quite decipher. He makes to get up before you're almost tackled to the floor by Jisung and Jeongin, who are pretty much hollering at the top of their lungs.

Minho shushes them insistently as he tugs them off you, bowing before shoving both maknaes back into their seats.

"Y/n," Jeongin says happily. "We didn't think you'd come."

You chuckle awkwardly and settle into the spot next to Felix, trying not to look around for Chan like you always do. "Yeah, I needed a break. Besides, you two would have come for my throat if I turned the invitation down one more time."

"Damn right," Jisung interjects, all three of you dissolving into giggles.

You look around then; not everyone is here. Hyunjin and Yeji are still missing, both Hwangs late as per usual, and you know Changbin will come by a little later, having decided to work out before treating himself for the evening. You make a mental note to stick to your work ethic as well as he does, but it's interrupted by the familiar tone of someone speaking your name.

"You look nice, Y/n," Chan says from next to Felix, who is sitting in between both of you.

Chae is sitting next to Chan, you notice with some sadness and displeasure; her long, pinky-blonde hair is straight and neat, long acrylic nails coming up to brush strands of it off her perfect porcelain cheeks, flushed with the cold. At least, you hope it's the cold and not the effect of Chan's probably flirting before you arrived.

Despite the indignance rising in your stomach, you can't help but notice how Chan looks tonight; his hair is slightly damp from the chilly weather outside, the adorably messy strands of it curling against his temples and nape. His eyes are crescents as he gazes into yours, and you fight the urge to reach over and wipe the faint remainder of strawberry milk off the curve of his plush bottom lip.

You know exactly where he'd bought the little drink carton of it from; there's a vending machine just down the street, one that the boys always buy drinks from before eating out. It was their tradition, and one that you gladly partook in, that is before you became too shy to be around the boys.

Because of Chan and his stupid perfectness.

You suddenly come back down to earth and realise that Chan is still gazing at you; Chae is laughing obnoxiously loud in the background behind him, no doubt to recapture his attention, but all you can focus on is the fact that you're locking eyes with the most beautiful person on earth. And also the fact that you haven't replied to his little indirect compliment, so you just nod and turn back to the table to fiddle with the menu in front of you.

Felix exhales discreetly and you fight a grin, watching as he unpeels himself from the corner of the table. He'd been bending over it so you could lean back to talk to Chan, and he pokes you affectionately in the side as you thank him quietly, clearing your throat in an attempt to get rid of the flush painting your cheeks.

"Could've warned me about how pretty he looks," you mutter to Felix under your breath. He just chuckles and touches your knee as everyone begins to order.

The food arrives just as Hyunjin, Yeji, and Changbin make their dramatically late entrance; they clatter noisily into their seats, and you bump fists with Yeji just as everyone begins to dig in.

There's brief silence as everyone begins to fill their stomachs with soul food, and then the chatter eventually rises again as the members turn to each other to bicker and laugh. You almost snort a noodle out of your mouth as you watch Hyunjin take a hairclip out of his bag to clip his hair back, before realising it's not there. Seungmin, sitting next to him, runs his hand through the boy's kiwi-like hair before turning back to his ramen.

You almost start to enjoy yourself, but there's still that lingering tension that you feel rests in the air between you and Chan; if anyone else has noticed it, they're not saying anything. Felix, noticing your quietness, tries to fill the space between you with small talk and jokes, but it doesn't seem to help. Once or twice, he even brings Chan into the conversation in a bid to try and get you two to converse, but Chae interjects more and more frequently until you quietly tell Felix to stop.

You feel bad because of it; you know he's just trying to help, but it isn't working. And it's beginning to make you feel worse, the fact that it seems not even the dark-haired sunshine boy can get his leader to try and talk to you. And you realise, all of a sudden, that maybe it's not Chan that's the problem.

There are two possible reasons that Chan doesn't seem to want to talk to you; you thought maybe he would talk more with you tonight, considering it's been so long since you've been out with them, but you're crestfallen as you realise that not more than a few words have been exchanged between the two of you tonight.

And it strangely breaks your heart.

The other reason is that Chae might have been badmouthing you behind your back to Chan, or it could be because of the fact that Chan genuinely likes her. You're not sure, but that belief is confirmed as you look across to see Chan holding out his chopsticks to her, bringing a piece of tempura to her perfect, pink lips.

Watching in horror and completely forgetting about the cooling ramen in front of you, you watch as Chae accepts the tempura with a little giggle, batting her lashes at Chan as he reaches up to wipe a crumb off her lip. The sight is so equally disgusting and upsetting that you immediately stand up, moving out of the booth as tears blur your eyes.

"Where are you going?" Jisung calls after you, Felix looking up from his food.

"Bathroom," you call over your shoulder, your voice surprisingly strong considering the fact that tears and beginning to stream down your cheeks.

Not wanting to make a fuss or arouse suspicion from the group, you do actually head to the bathrooms, locking the cubicle door behind you and sinking down against the door. You couldn't care less if it's dirty right now, the only thought in your head the mental image of your best friend and Chae giggling and flirting all over each other, blissfully unaware of your misery.

It's not fair.

"Maybe it's me," you whisper to yourself, sniffling as you rip off a piece of toilet paper, scrubbing at your face. You feel so pathetic and unworthy; what kind of person hides out in the bathroom crying over a guy who probably doesn't even care about them?

Standing up and checking you have your phone and wallet, you sigh as you feel the weight of them in your pockets. Good. You can just leave without having to go back to the table. The last thing you want right now is to talk to anyone, or have to put up a fake cheerful front.

Heading to the back of the restaurant, the once-inviting golden lights now feeling like a spotlight, you emerge out into the street, the cold wind soothing the hot, sticky tear irritation on your cheeks. You head to the parking garage down the street and try to walk as quickly as you can past the opening of the ramen restaurant, lest any of the group notice you walking away.

And they don't, not least until you cross the street and head down the dimly light footpath.

Someone grabs your wrist suddenly and you cry out, whipping your head back so fast to see who it is you think you might have whiplash.

Chan is standing there, his hand solid and warm around your wrist, the wind ruffling his dark hair back from his bare face. You can see the glint of his silver earrings under the streetlights.

"Wait," he pants. "Where are you going?"

You can't fight the hot, wet tear rolling down your cheek and inwardly curse it for escaping. "Home."

"Why?" He asks, concern and worry painting his expression. "Are you not feeling well?"

You fight the urge to slap him; it wouldn't be fair, however much you want to do it. He just doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of it. And you want nothing more to run into his arms and spill all your thoughts and feelings like you have so many times before, but you can't.

Not this time.

You can't tell Chan that you've loved him since who knows how long; that seeing him makes your heart feel lighter, the way a high schooler might feel seeing their crush in the sunny hallways. You can't tell him how many times you styled your hair to look a little like his, hoping the curls that make him look so handsome might make you a little more attractive too. You can't tell him how many times you ran late for schedules just because you took a detour to his studio to talk with him, even if it was just for a minute.

Even if all of it was a waste in the end. Because he likes someone else, and that someone else isn't you.

So you just shake your head as the tears come streaming down, and rip your wrist out of his grip before turning and walking away. The earth feels like it's shattering around you.

Or maybe that's just your heart.

But Chan doesn't give up; you hear his footsteps continue behind you, hurried and irregular, like he's trying to decide whether to let you go or make you stay.

"Y/n," he pants. "Wait, just- will you stop walking so fast? Please, wait, slow down- What's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong!" You cry out, turning to face him as you throw your hands up. A sob rips through your lungs, face contorting with the force of your tears. "Okay? Everything's wrong."

Chan is silent, one hand out in an unsteady attempt to calm you. "What are you talking about? You're worrying me."

You scoff and kick a stone across the footpath, harshly rubbing a hand across your cheekbone.

"Y/n, please," he pleads, his voice quieter. "Felix noticed you were gone for too long earlier, and I saw you walking out of the restaurant. Please, tell me what's wrong. You look so upset."

"Then stop looking."

He recoils, looking slightly hurt, before it's overtaken by a look of determination. You know that look; it either results in an all-nighter to finish a song track, an attempt to wrangle seven naughty kids, or a hard-to-have conversation. You know it's the last one.

"Please," he says, even quieter. "Tell me what's wrong. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's you," you say, broken with utter resignation.

He takes a step forward. "What?"

"It's you," you repeat, looking away as another hysterical sob brings the wind inside your body. It's sharp and biting, and it brings back some of your courage. But only some.

You raise your eyes to look at him. Maybe this is the last conversation you'll have with Chan, before he decides he doesn't want to be around someone who's in a one-way love story with him. Even if that person is his best friend.

"You don't realise, do you?" You whisper brokenly. "You never realised I was in love with you, Chan. But that's just who you are. You may be kind and compassionate and intuitive, but you never realised why I do what I do, or why I act the way I act around you."

His face is contorted in utter disbelief; whether it's from shock or disgust, you don't want to know.

"I realised around the time you helped me move in," you continue. Might as well get all of it out now. "I looked at you differently after a while. I didn't see my best friend anymore. I saw someone else, someone stronger and more clever and more dedicated and more perfect and flawless. And it was strange, because I realised that you changed so much. Maybe I changed too, but it was different seeing you walking around at the company and going about your schedules, because I felt different about it all. I felt different about you. And I couldn't let it go, not least when we actually talked. I used to be late for most of my meetings and events because I would take detours to see you. Some days I would think about canceling my schedules just so I could be around you more.

"And I love the boys, I do, Chan. So much. But I have to admit, I wouldn't be around them half as much if you weren't there. I felt so drawn to you, not like the way I did when we were friends. I figured that if I didn't want to lose you, I would have to discipline myself. So I did.

"I threw myself into my work; I gave myself so much to do, partially to distract myself, partially to use work as an excuse whenever I was invited out, like tonight. Just because I knew you would be there, and I didn't want to end up spilling it all to you, because I knew it would ruin everything between us. Forever.

"And when Chae started hanging around us, I didn't mind at first; I sort of liked her. But I started hating her because of how close she would get to you, how much you two would secretly talk between yourselves, and it made me upset. So I ended up spending much more time by myself so that I would be able to forget she existed. So that I could forget that she ever entered the picture, and that it was just me and my secret that I kept from you. For so long, Chan. You have no idea how much I had to hold myself back from you.

"Did you assume that I never wanted to go out with you guys? That I never wanted to buy drinks from that vending machine the members always go to before eating out, or that I didn't want to spend time with you? Because I did, Chan. But I forced myself not to, because I couldn't bear to see you, and most of the time I didn't know if Chae was going to be there. I told myself I wasn't going to sit there and watch you be with her, not while I felt so invisible and unseen around you.

"Let me tell you something, Chan," you choke through sobs at him, pointing a finger at his chest as though it were a gun. "Every time Jisung or Jeongin or one of the boys invited me out, I did actually show up. Even if you never saw me. I would watch from a distance to see if Chae was with you; if she was, I would turn around and leave, and go home. If not, I would smile from around the corner as the maknaes begged you for money to buy drinks from that vending machine. And then I would turn around and go home anyway.

"I know every single one of their preferences; even if you didn't know I was there to observe them bickering and choosing, faces lit by streetlight. I would go around to the vending machines at the company and randomly buy their favourites for them, even if you didn't know how I knew. I would buy them for you too, and debate leaving a little note for you telling you how I felt alongside it, and I never did.

"Because, despite all of that, it was all a waste," you snap at him. You're not sure why you're angry; you suppose it's the result of feeling unheard for so long. "It was a waste, Chan. Because you never even noticed how I felt. So don't come chasing after me in the night like this like you care, because it was Felix who told you to come after me, Felix who noticed I had been gone for too long, not you of your own accord. And don't look worried or concerned either, because I've told you what's wrong, Chan, just as you asked. You can rest now."

You can barely see him through the blur of your tears.

"Y/n," he whispers, broken as you feel. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't care," you cry out at him, turning and storming in the other direction. And this time, he doesn't follow, still standing under the streetlight with his hand out, though you're not there to take it.

You sob bitterly as you almost flee around the corner, breaking out into a full-on run, like sprinting can fix the problem, fix your heart and your tears. It doesn't, however, and you feel worse as you bolt pass the crossing light, not caring about its colour. Later you will realise that running with blurry vision and a hysterical, heartbroken mindset was not the wisest idea.

You don't see the car speeding towards you until it's too late.

a/n: *laughs in writer*

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ʟᴇᴛ ɪᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ

…𝘨𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘺!𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

phone sex, angst, loneliness, mental health struggles, sub!chris?, longing, vulnerability, intimacy, anonymous relationship

word count - 1.9k

The lecture hall hummed with the usual mid-morning buzz. She sat in her usual spot up the back, the dim lighting above her making the world feel like it was happening just a little too far out of reach. Her pen danced across the notebook as the professor spoke, but her thoughts kept wandering. She let her gaze wander too, getting distracted by a group a couple rows in front of her, talking amongst themselves, laughing. One guy in particular stood out, the messy brown hair, the posture and his laugh. It was almost familiar. The boy turned slightly, and she caught a glimpse of his face. Too many emotions hit her all at once as she recognised him.

Chris Sturniolo. 

She hadn’t expected to see him at university. He had only been a year ahead of her, part of a different crowd back in their small town. They weren’t exactly close back then, but she noticed him. Too much, probably. He was handsome, loved by all, a star athlete, and someone she had quietly admired from afar back. She remembered how often she would find herself stealing glances at him in the hallways, her heart fluttering whenever he passed by.

She almost told him once. That one moment, standing at the edge of the bleachers after the final game of his senior season, watching him laugh with his friends. She’d almost spoken up. Almost told him everything. How she felt. But then, she chickened out. The moment passed, and she convinced herself that it was better left unsaid.

And here he was, sitting just a few rows ahead in this university lecture hall, surrounded by friends, completely unaware of the secret she’d carried all those years. She couldn’t stop staring, even if she was doing everything she could to pretend she wasn’t.

She quickly looked down at her notebook, heart pounding in her chest. No way he remembers me, she thought. He probably doesn’t even know I exist.

Later that night, Chris sat in his dimly lit dorm room.

The weight of the day had settled over him like a heavy fog. The typical distractions weren’t helping. Parties? He wasn’t interested. Chasing some girl? Didn’t feel right. He hadn’t felt truly good in a while, not with anything, with anyone. The last few months at university had been lonely, despite being surrounded by people.

He didn’t really know how to be close to anyone anymore, so overwhelmed by the difference between suburban and city life. He found himself longing for stuff but lacking the conviction to make it happen. There were nights where his own hands weren’t enough. Porn lost its appeal months ago.

That’s when he stumbled across it. A hotline. Anonymous, safe, and just what he needed. He wasn’t looking for a relationship or something serious. He just wanted to feel close to someone, even if only for a few minutes. To have a connection without having to expose himself in the ways he wasn’t ready to.

He hesitated, but figured he didn’t have much to lose. With a few quick taps, he dialed the number.

“Hello, this is Daisy,” came the soft voice on the other end, smooth and soothing. Something about it made his pulse pick up.

Chris hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Uh… I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just… needed someone to talk to.”

“That’s okay,” Daisy’s voice was calm, welcoming. “I’m here to listen. Whatever you need.”

Chris swallowed, the easy familiarity of her tone loosening something inside him. “I don’t know… I just feel so... empty, you know? Like there’s something missing.”

There was a brief silence. Chris wasn’t sure if she was just being polite or if she actually understood. But then her voice came back, gentle yet firm.

“Loneliness is tough to carry. But you don’t have to do it alone, not tonight.”

Chris exhaled sharply. She was saying exactly what he needed to hear, and the calm in her voice made him feel like he could let his guard down a little. He felt the weight of his words as they left his mouth.

“Yeah... I don’t know. I just feel like I can’t really... be with anyone. Like I can’t get close. But I need it. I need to feel something.”

“You deserve to feel close to someone. It’s okay to want that, baby.”

The words, followed by the pet name, hit him harder than he expected. Something inside him cracked open, and before he knew it, he was saying things he hadn’t intended. 

“I just... I want to feel like I’m... wanted. Like someone’s here with me. Not just... in the usual way, but like I’m actually... seen. You know?”

Her voice was soft but firm. It was like she could sense the vulnerability behind his words, even though they were both hidden behind the veil of anonymity. 

“I see you. And I can make you feel seen, if you’ll let me.”

Something about that promise stirred something deep inside Chris. It wasn’t just the loneliness anymore; it was the pull of wanting her, wanting to connect in a way that felt both comforting and thrilling at the same time. It stirred something deep in him, and before he knew it, his body was reacting, an instinctual response he couldn’t control.

“Please.” he found himself whining, a bulge already forming. 

“Are you hard, baby?” Daisy’s voice was quieter now, almost teasing.

Chris let out a strained breath. “Mhm.”

“Good.” She let the word hang there, a subtle promise in her voice. “I want you to trace your pretty cock with your fingers. Just the outline of it, on top of your boxers. Lightly, softly. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah.” Chris murmured, following her instructions. His pulse quickened, and he hesitated for a moment before doing as she asked, the action feeling foreign yet somehow natural in the moment.

“Now, take it out.” Chris groans at Daisy’s words, the soft, teasing lilt to her voice. 

“Just like that,” Daisy’s voice continued, cool and soft. “Lightly, just enough to feel it. I want to hear from you.”

She noticed the way his breaths were picking up, and there was something different in her voice now. The usual professionalism slipped a little, the edge of something more... real, slipping through.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” she said, her words softer. “Say it. Let me take care of you.”

She tried to keep herself focused, tried to not to let the rush of unexpected arousal cloud her thoughts. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to feel this, not for a stranger, not over the phone, and especially not when it was just another job.

She could hear Chris’s breaths, sharp and uneven. He was close, she could tell by the way his words faltered.

“Are you still with me, baby?” Daisy asked softly, the pet name slipping out almost automatically.

Chris’s voice crackled back. “Yeah… just... god, it feels so good.”

Her pulse quickened. It was supposed to be just a call, just a transaction. But his words, the way his voice wavered with need, felt different. Too real. She couldn’t deny the heat creeping up her neck as her mind raced. She had never let herself get this affected before. But there was something about him that stirred her. Something about the rawness in his voice made her wonder what it would be like to have this kind of closeness, not for money, not for a role.

“Good boy,” she whispered again. “Now, keep going. Touch yourself for me. Just like that. I want to hear from you. Let me know how it feels.”

Chris let out a ragged breath, the sound of him following her direction ringing in Daisy’s ears. She pressed her lips together, willing herself to stay professional, to keep the distance that was usually so easy for her when other lonely men called.

But tonight, tonight was different. Her chest tightened with the strange, unfamiliar emotion twisting in her stomach. Maybe it was her loneliness, maybe it was the isolation of the job, or maybe it was just him. His voice, so lost in his own desire, so vulnerable in ways he didn’t realise. 

She bit her lip, suppressing a sigh that threatened to slip out. This was supposed to be about the money.

She had to remind herself of that.

“Tell me what you want,” she said, her voice dipping into something more commanding. It was easier to stay detached when she was in control, when the power was hers. But her pulse raced against her will. “Say it. Let me hear what you need.”

Chris’s breath hitched. “I. God, I just want to feel you. I want to...”

His words trailed off into a groan, and Daisy's breath faltered. She pushed herself to maintain control, to keep the rhythm of the moment. Her fingers tightened around the phone, but she felt the heat in her own body building, her hand edging closer to where she felt the need the most. Unexpected, unwelcome, but undeniable.

Her pulse quickened, but she tried to keep it in check. “You’re close, aren’t you? Let go for me, baby. Let it happen. You’ve earned it, sweet boy.”

Chris let out a groan, his hand moving faster as she encouraged him. He was almost there, and in that moment, it felt like everything in the world was narrowing down to just this. Her voice, his need, the warmth of the call.

When he finally reached his release, it wasn’t just the physical relief. There was something else, something deeper that he didn’t know he was craving. He could hear her breath, soft and steady, as she guided him through it.

Chris’s response came in a guttural groan, and the sound of his release sent a jolt of heat through Daisy’s chest. She instructed him to slow down, to catch his breath, her own chest tightening as she focused on keeping everything in check. She reminded herself that this was just her job, just another call.

But, as she released a breath of her own, something stirred inside her that shouldn’t have. Something warm and soft. She quickly shut it down. She wasn’t supposed to want this. She wasn’t supposed to want him. She had been called by dozens of men, heard dozens of voices, and she’d never felt this way.

“Good boy,” she murmured, not even realizing how tender her voice had become. “You did so well.”

There was a quiet pause as Chris caught his breath on the other end of the line. He didn’t know that Daisy, in some strange way, felt just as affected as he did. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, not knowing if he was thanking her for the physical release or for something else. But Daisy didn’t reply right away. There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

When she spoke again, her voice was back to its professional calm. “Of course, baby. Take care of yourself tonight.”

But as he hung up, a strange ache settled in her chest. The kind that hadn’t been there before. She couldn’t help it. Maybe it was his voice. Maybe it was the vulnerability he had let slip. Or maybe it was just her own insecurities creeping in. 

As their conversation ended, Chris felt lighter, more peaceful than he had in months. He drifted off to sleep thinking of her, Daisy, the girl that had made him feel so good.

creds to rose @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers !!! <3

a/n: gahhhh i made this too long but whatever! hope u enjoy!

taglist: @applecidersturniolo @throatgoat4u @sturnslutz @desreads @courta13 @kier-with-a-k @bluestriips @sturns-mermaid @ishasturnz @sweetshuga @snoopychris comment to be added/removed from this au's taglist !!

till next time!

[peachylynnie]

house edge

word count: 3.5k (making up for my absence) synopsis: in which sylus finally talks to you, alone. contains: pt 3 of blackjack, pt 2 of ace, sylus x fem!reader (non mc), moderately obsessive sylus, LOT'S OF TENSION, the twins appear, alcohol consumption, cursing, weapons, violence (death, mentions of suicide), and references to gambling. a/n: house edge refers to the odds advantage in the house/dealer's favor. haha this totally isn't late haha. i'm back in school and wifi sucks so this took awhile. i still hope you enjoy. reblogs and comments are always appreciated. lmk if you want to be tagged for the rest of the series. tagged: @sprout341 @miffysoo previous chapter | lads masterlist | next chapter

before he can savor that addictive look on your face (he couldn't care less about the cards), sylus' phone rings.

"tch," he clicks his tongue, ready to decline whoever's interrupting his moment with you.

however, his brows furrow upon reading who's calling.

the twins.

sylus curses under his breath as he stands up. he can't reject their call. he's made it clear to them that they should call only when it's important.

"i'll get back to you on my wager soon, gentlemen," he says as he strides towards the door, ignoring sherman and his lackey's frantic attempts at a compromise. "sweetie," he nods at you, brings the phone to his ear, and steps out of the lounge.

as sherman and his lackey lunge for sylus' cards to search for signs of foul play, you frown at the door he just closed.

this guy. he's no ordinary guy. of course, you knew that when your handler stationed you here. he's the head of onychinus for fuck's sake, the infamous person who runs the infamous faction that runs the infamous n109 zone. but seriously? anyone in their right mind would stay after seeing the hands on the table, especially after a whole night of losing. your handler emphasized that despite how much the rumors about him vary, they all point to him being a cunning man, capable of bringing a rival faction to their knees in less than a day. 

it’s not like he’s a gambling addict either. you’ve seen your fair share of them, and they all have this crazed look in their eyes. but no, this fucker gave you the most smug look before tapping the table. it's almost as if he knew he was going to win.

"hey, we need you at the bar," your one-day manager calls for you. "lounge's closing in five minutes."

"yeah," you exhale a deep breath. you need to calm down. it’s bad enough you lost your composure (in front of the head of onychinus of all people). for now you’ll focus on what’s important: no longer the commission but getting out of here. as soon as the last cup is put away, you’ll ring for transportation and book it. 

"goodnight gentlemen," you step away from the table. sherman and his lackey stand up in pursuit. "i would advise against any attempts at violence," you say as politely as you can. "this is a lounge, after all. one that is closing too. have some tact, will you?"

and with that, you walk towards the bar, paying no mind to their insulted faces. if they still decide to follow you, you'll use your evol to the max. you can’t afford to care about anyone who’s within fifty meters anymore. every additional second spent here is jeopardizing your chances of escaping sylus qin. did you see that nod? he's nowhere near done with you.

luckily, you don't hear footsteps chasing you. once you reach the bar, you quickly scan the lounge before collecting the empty glasses. 

all seemed well for a moment. there were little signs of your one-day manager assigning you more tasks. there were many signs of sherman and his lackey waltzing out. most importantly, there was every sign of you finishing your task, meaning you could soon leave without running into a certain silver-haired man.

however, there were no signs of sherman's gun on the table.

♢♢♢♢♢

it's raining by the time sylus leans back against an alleyway, a hand in his pocket and a foot against the wall.

"speak."

"hey boss!" luke and kieran greet simultaneously through the phone.

"you'll never guess what we found out," the older chirps.

"idiot, he's the one who sent us here," the younger reminds.

"what did you just call me?!"

"cut to the chase," sylus snaps. "i'm in a hurry right now." he is very much in a hurry right now, damn it. every additional second spent here is jeopardizing his chances of seizing you, having you. he needs to get back to the lounge as soon as possible. he needs to see you, talk to you, squeeze out of you that enticing look you had on your face less than five minutes ago.

"woah there, boss. is everything okay? you sound tense," luke asks.

sylus sighs, pinching his nose bridge. "yes, everything is fine, luke. thanks for asking." he glances at the rain-covered window across from him to see if you're still at the table. he frowns when he doesn't see you. "did you confirm what i asked you to?"

"yes," kieran answers, earning a grumble from his twin about his stolen thunder. "there are no authentic protocores here at sherman's warehouse. actually, there are no protocores here at all."

"seems like he was trying to strike us a deal with nothing," luke pipes in.

"how disappointing," sylus chuckles drily. "not surprising, though."

"should we go after him, boss?" the twins excitedly suggest at the same time.

"no need," sylus peels himself off the wall and moves over to the window for a better view. "i'll take care of him myself," he assures as he wipes the glass. he's delighted to find you at the bar drying a glass while sherman and his lackey make their way towards the exit, which leads right into the alleyway he's in. "in fact, i'll take care of him right now."

and with that, he hangs up the call. right on cue, sherman and his lackey step out of the lounge, their faces twisted with frustration from all the losses they experienced tonight. however, their faces immediately morph into fear upon seeing the head of onychinus.

"gentlemen," sylus smirks as he pockets his phone. "i just heard something very interesting."

in a blink of an eye, bloody, inky wisps wrap around the two men's necks and slam them into the wall. the very wall the feared man was leaning on moments ago. how unfortunate.

"w-wait," sherman chokes out. "let's t-talk about t-this."

"what could there possibly be to talk about, sherman?" sylus mocks with crossed arms. "surely not the fact that you tried to deal me not even fake protocores but none at all?"

one would find it difficult to determine if the two men were going pale from the lack of air or the abundance of fear. perhaps both. how unfortunate.

"no matter," sylus shakes his head. "let's talk about my wager instead, shall we?"

the air shifts as his evol tightens around sherman and his lackey's necks. the crimson and ivory tendrils rampage faster and faster, signaling for a brutal execution to come, a signature move every bastard in the n109 zone is aware of. however, the dreaded crushing and disintegration of flesh never comes. seizing this chance, sherman desperately searches for something in his pocket. 

“looking for this?” 

his eyes widen upon seeing his gun in sylus’ hand. 

nobody, not a single one of you, noticed him swipe the gun before leaving. 

“now, about my wager,” sylus cocks the gun. “how about your lives?” he aims at the drenched forehead of its owner. “surely it’s the least both of you can do after trying to trick me.” he places a finger on the trigger. “again.”

before sherman can open his pathetic mouth, sylus pulls the trigger, a glorious bang ringing through the rainy night sky. he doesn’t give the lackey a chance to mourn. instead, he gives him the same fate as his employer: a bullet lodged deep into his skull. not a single one of them was worth his evol. 

wiping the blood off his cheek, sylus tuts. “felled by your own gun.” he releases his evol. “how unfortunate.” 

after chucking the gun on the floor, he approaches the entrance of the lounge. he doesn’t have time to clean up the corpses. he’ll just escort you out another way (yes, this man plans to accompany you wherever you go after tonight). unable to hide his frenzied smile, he grips the door handle and steps in. 

♢♢♢♢♢

the brief pitter-patter of rain let in by the door should’ve been your first sign to hightail it out of here. the silver-haired man who’s currently seated at the bar with an elbow planted should’ve been your second. the red hungry eyes trailing over your figure most definitely should’ve been your third. 

but you’re too busy drying the glasses with your back turned. big mistake. 

“a glass of gin fizz, please.”

you still.

“make that two, actually,” he adds. 

you don’t turn around. you don’t dare to. instead, you slowly grab the last glass, prepared to put it away. 

“i’m afraid the lounge is closed, mr. sylus,” you counter gracefully. 

the man chuckles, leaning back in the stool. “surely this lounge can make an exception for the head of onychinus.”

“of course!” your manager dashes out of the employees' room, eager to earn the lounge additional funds. “what are you doing?!” she scolds you with what she thinks is your name. you’re thankful you have an alias tonight because the idea of sylus knowing your identity turns your stomach, which you’re sure is what he’s trying to do by ordering two glasses past closing time. “pour him a glass of gin fizz!” she instructs and dashes back into the employees’ room. you resist the urge to curse when you hear the employees’ entrance lock, meaning she clocked out for the night, meaning it was just you and sylus. couldn’t she have just made the drinks herself if she wanted the additional funds that badly?

exhaling deeply, you use the glass in your hand to scoop up some ice. no point in resisting. last thing you want is for your handler to nag you for not cooperating with the client’s staff, especially when you already gave up on the commission. might as well just get this over with.

“i wouldn’t scoop the ice first if i were you, sweetie,” sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. “it’ll dilute the alcohol.”

you don’t say anything. you just grab a bottle of gin and pour it into a jigger. your customer scoffs. 

“are you ignoring me, sweetie?”

you pour the gin into a shaker and squeeze some lemon juice. 

“if you’re upset about something, then you should tell me.”

you take out the simple syrup from the fridge and pour it into the jigger.

“how about this?” he starts. 

you add the syrup to the shaker along with three ice cubes. 

“i ask you a question, and you ask me a question.” 

you equip the shaker with its strainer and start shaking it violently. 

“aren’t you curious as to how i won?” 

you freeze. only now do you feel the chill of the liquor from the shaker. 

“go ahead, sweetie,” sylus coaxes, thrilled to finally have your attention. “ask. i know you want to. your face back there said it all.”

placing the shaker down, you open its lid, pour its contents into the ice-filled glass, add a generous amount of soda water, turn around, and slam the glass in front of sylus. 

that’ll shut him up for a minute or two. 

but it takes everything in you not to gasp when you look up from the glass. 

since when was it raining outside? he’s seated with his shiny, silvery hair messily slicked back, beads of water slowly dripping down his face and neck, his drenched button-up suit clinging onto his chest and forearms for dear life, and his ruby-streaked blazer not only hanging from his broad shoulders but also adding to the puddles forming beneath the stool.

you make a mental note to inform your handler that the head of onychinus is NOT some old, short man with a face only a mother could love, like some of the rumors say. 

enjoying your gaze on him, sylus tilts his head teasingly. “well?”

you can’t back down. it sounds like he won’t either until you talk to him. pinning your hands on the counter, you lean in. “why did you hit? you knew your chances were low, even after looking at my cards.” 

he doesn’t answer immediately. it’s your turn to expect something from him, want something from him. it’s the least you could do after driving him in circles the whole night. besides, he wants a closer look at your face; commit it to memory in case you even think about leaving without compensating him for the absolute torture you put him through. 

after taking a slow sip from the glass, sylus asks, “ever heard of gambling addicts, sweetie?”

you squint at him. “yes, but you aren’t one.” 

“oh,” he quirks a brow. “so you know of me?” 

“everyone in the n109 zone knows who you are, mr. sylus.”

“yes, but you aren’t from the n109 zone, miss dealer.” 

you tense. although the shift in your shoulders was incredibly tiny, it was taken hostage by his eyes. he’s impressed by how controlled your reactions are. 

but now it's his turn to ask.

standing up from his stool, sylus leans in dangerously close and whispers, “what brings you to the n109 zone, sweetie?”

you don’t answer. but you don’t back away either. sylus likes that. he likes what’s happening right now. when was the last time he felt this ecstatic from a conversation? even though your answers were cryptic, he was able to conclude that you come from a place or are in a position where his existence is made aware, and probably in certain detail too, given your insistence on him not being a gambling addict. when was the last time he had a gin fizz that tasted this good? he’s delighted the serving he had at the previous table was also made by you (how does this psycho know that). and most importantly, when was the last time he felt threatened? something is unsettling about the way you won every single game tonight, with a look of indifference too. 

by chance, are you an evolver?

“i assure you, i am from here, mr. sylus,” you answer with a small smile. it doesn't reach your eyes. removing your hands from the counter (he frowns when you do), you turn around to make another glass. hopefully his previous request for two will serve as a distraction. “you’re welcome to look into my name, but i’m sure the head of onychinus has better things to do than to worry about some dealer.” 

sylus laughs. he actually laughs. although it isn’t loud, the intervals as to which his rich voice seeps through are enough to convey that your lie hasn’t convinced him. “sweetie,” he shakes his head endearingly and sits down. “because i am the head of onychinus, everything and everyone in the n109 zone is subjected to my worrying, including intruders who use fake names.” 

you spin back around, your eyes full of alarm. how does he know about your alias? no, how does he even know you’re not from here? from the beginning, that’s what he’s been insisting on. there’s no way someone as busy as him could know about every single person residing in the n109 zone. at least, that’s what your handler said (oh how wrong she was). 

“do you truly expect me to believe that is your name?” sylus repeats your alias with scorn. it’s an injustice to your frame. “it doesn’t suit you. you need to pick better names, sweetie.

what the fuck. he’s convinced you’re an intruder because your alias doesn’t suit you?! this guy. this guy’s not sane. that’s it. now you really need to get out of here. glaring at him, you snatch his glass and dump its contents down the drain. damn it, you wasted too much time. he got you. he got you good. he never intended to uphold his “a question for a question” deal in the first place, given his bullshit answer about gambling addicts. 

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through gritted teeth. “now excuse me, mr. sylus. the lounge was supposed to close fifteen minutes ago.” 

sylus licks his lips. he can almost taste the frustration in your face and voice. it’s intoxicating. that’s the second time he’s forced a reaction out of you. how much more until you beg him to stop? 

“of course, miss dealer,” he concedes mockingly. "allow me to escort you out.”

“that won’t be necessary,” you hiss. “my car is right around the alleyway.” 

“still,” he blocks you from exiting the bar. “it’s dark and raining outside. it’s the least i could do to pay for the drink.” 

“money will do,” you frown. 

“i’m afraid i’m all out, sweetie,” he smiles. “you did quite the number on me, after all.” 

you scoff. not only is his smile shameless, but so is his lie. you may not be from here, but you know damn well it’s going to take an eternity of games to even leave a dent in the head of onychinus’ bank account. you glance at the clock. you should have called for transportation by now. technically, you still can, but you need to be outside. and it doesn’t look like he’ll let you go anytime soon unless you accept his offer. 

“you can walk me to the alleyway,” you sigh. 

“not to your car?”

you scowl at him. don’t push it. 

sylus chuckles and steps aside. when you exit the bar with a huff, he can’t help but think you look like a cat, a cute little one who scratches when agitated. perhaps kitten will be what he calls you next. 

after turning off the lights, you step out of the lounge. only to freeze in your tracks.

corpses.

corpses of the two people involved in your commission. narrowing your eyes, you notice a bullet wound in each of their foreheads. you scan the ground, searching for any traces of the murderer. however, your blood runs cold when something catches your eye. sherman’s gun. you crouch to pick it up. did he kill himself? no, that doesn’t explain why his lackey has the same wound. 

“ah,” sylus interrupts your thoughts. “i forgot to escort you out the other way. my apologies, kitten.”

he knows violence doesn’t faze you as it normally would for any other outsider. still, he didn’t want you to see this kind of violence since there’s a substantial difference between witnessing an arm get crushed and witnessing the glassy eyes of lifeless bodies. 

though, he supposes he worried for nothing since you’re being eerily quiet with your eyes fixated on the gun. 

skillfully, you unload the gun. no bullets left. you exhale deeply. from the looks of it, sylus killed them since he knew the bodies would be here. furthermore, he used sherman’s gun, which initially only had two bullets, given the lack of bullet marks in the alleyway. you just happened to miss the sound of gunfire since you were too occupied. but if that’s the case, that means sherman and his lackey died quite the unfortunate death where the former’s gun was their undoing and no one could’ve heard them, which means… your evol. it did its job. too good of a job. 

“at least the commission is complete,” you murmur. 

sylus furrows his brow. “you, what did you just say?”

for a moment, all that is heard is the downpour of rain and the distant rumbling of thunder. 

you pull out your phone and press a contact. “delilah, open it now.” 

“what?”

you sprint down the alleyway, not bothering to acknowledge his confusion. 

sylus immediately chases after you, his legs moving like never before. shit, you completely took him by surprise. what was that phone call? no, what did you mean by a completed commission? and why do you know how to unload a gun? clenching his jaw, he prepares to teleport to the end of the alleyway, determined to intercept you. he’ll be damned if he lets you escape. 

although he blinks to the end of the alleyway, you make a sharp turn, evading his outstretched arm. 

“tch,” sylus clicks his tongue before continuing his pursuit. however, you make another turn around the corner, giving you three seconds out of his sight. 

by the time sylus turns around the corner, you’re gone. not a single trace of you left behind. but what infuriates him more is that this is a dead end. not a single way out but the way he got here. he slams a fist in the wall, ignoring the blood that seeps down and the deep cracks in the bricks. using his free hand, sylus pulls out his phone and dials his most recent contact. 

“luke. kieran. get me access to the cameras surrounding this lounge,” he spits the lounge’s name. “now.” 

♢♢♢♢♢

you breathe rapidly as you fall onto the floor, your throat burning and your ears ringing. you’ve never run so fast in your life. 

“welcome back,” a smooth voice says your name. your actual name. 

you look up to face your means of transportation, delilah. 

“what the— did it rain over there?” an acute voice asks. 

stella, your handler enters your vision. 

both of them reach out a hand for you to take. 

you begrudgingly accept and swiftly walk towards the door, eager to give yourself a fucking break after all that happened today. 

“what’s the rush?” delilah asks with a yawn. “don’t tell me you failed the commission—"

"how was your first time in the n109 zone?” stella interjects, warning delilah with her eyes. 

you pause before turning the knob. 

“never send me there again.”

[christopher-bangnaldoskzz]

This is 1000% a rewrite of this series, I read through it recently to refresh my memory of the story and I actually died a little inside knowing this is how I wrote 3 years ago 😅 I deeply apologise so please this is my redemption post.

Soft Dom Bangchan x Female Reader Sub!

Genre: Dark Romance

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: No warnings yet, however, I am going to say this is strictly 18+ MDNI fan fiction.

Summary: In a world where submissives crave dominance and dominants seek out their submissives, a thrilling tension brews when deep emotions start to intertwine with binding contracts. What happens when the lines blur between desire and duty? Can a contract stay just a contract when the flames of passion ignite? As love weaves its way into the dynamic, are they prepared to face the tumultuous journey of balancing hearts and agreements? The stakes have never been higher—will they surrender to love, or will they fight to keep it in check?

A/N: would also like to dedicate this story to @daceydeath, thank you for always putting up with my deluluness, also thank you for putting up with my drama fill life honestly. I wouldn’t be still writing if it wasn’t for you encouraging me.

Chapter One

 

"Are you out of your mind, Grace?" you respond, a mix of disbelief and amusement in your voice. Surely, this can’t be serious—she must be joking, right?

 

"Absolutely, I mean it." She was your sole ally in this vast world, and there was something undeniably captivating about her dominant nature.

 

“What!.noooo, please, I’m not looking for one at the moment,” you replied, trying to sound convincing, although deep down, you knew it was a lie. The truth was you did desire a Dom to share laughs, experiences, and quiet moments with. However, the thought of finding a random guy on the internet made you feel uneasy.

 

Grace was aware of your past experiences and the fears that lingered from them. Your last relationship had left a sour taste in your mouth; he had been a bit too rough, disregarding the boundaries you tried to set. You often replayed those uncomfortable moments in your mind, unsure if you were ready to open yourself up to someone new. The idea of stepping back into the BDSM world felt daunting, and the online scene was even more intimidating. You longed for a genuine connection, but the anxiety of navigating it all made you hesitate.

 

"I have found a guy I think you will like...he classifies himself as a soft Dom, “As she spoke, her fingers quickly navigated her phone's screen until she found the image she was looking for. With a proud smile, she turned the device towards you, revealing a clear picture of the guy. His features were sharp and striking, framed by tousled hair that suggested a carefree spirit, and his expression was one of warm confidence. You could see the way his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, instantly drawing you in as she eagerly awaited your reaction.

 

You look closely at the profile photos. He catches your eye. "Grace, please tell me you haven't messaged him?" You watch her mouth curl into a mischievous grin. 

 

"He's here right now." She was such an asshole for doing this to you. "Okay, behave,” she warns, her teeth clenched tightly. With a mix of tension and determination, the young man strides toward the table, his expression revealing a blend of nervousness and curiosity.

 

"Umm, hi," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a hint of nervousness in his voice. You glance up from your spot, and there, standing before you, a man of about 5 feet 7 inches tall. His brown hair is slightly tousled, falling just above his expressive brow. But it’s his eyes that truly captivate you—rich, warm brown, like molten chocolate, drawing you in with an intensity you didn’t expect. As he awkwardly chuckles, a shy smile breaks across his face, revealing a deep dimple in his left cheek, and he shifts his weight before sitting down beside you. The air feels charged with an unspoken connection, and you can’t help but feel your heart flutter at this unexpected encounter.

 

"Hello, I'm Chan," he said, extending his hand with a warm smile that momentarily lit up the elegant room. But as he leaned in closer to introduce himself the glass of red wine that grace, had ordered from the bar tipped over, spilling its contents across his Fendi black suit.

 

"Oh no, not again," he exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise as he quickly lifted the glass, but it was too late. The dark crimson liquid soaked into the fabric, threatening to leave a permanent stain.

 

Almost instantly, a waiter in a crisp white shirt and black bow tie appeared by your side, looking flustered. "I'm so sorry, sir," he said, his face flushed with embarrassment as he bent down to help with the clean-up. He hurriedly grabbed a stack of napkins and began to dab at the fabric, his movements quick but careful.

 

"We will get you another glass," the waiter added, waving his hand to signal the bartender to come over and replace the drink.

 

Chan shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes despite the situation. "No, no, it's quite alright, truly. This was all my fault. I really don’t need another glass, thank you," he replied, waving dismissively.

 

His gaze shifted back to you, and he hesitated for a moment before continuing. "But perhaps, miss—" He glanced at you with an inquisitive expression, silently asking for your last name to complete his introduction.

 

"Y/L/N," you replied with a playful smile, confidently shaking your head. "But no, thank you—I don't drink," you said, watching as the waiter redirected his attention to the bartender.

 

A soft "good girl" slipped from Chan's lips just as he attempted to wipe the wine stain off his jacket.

 

"Wait, don’t rub it! Dab… let me handle that," you said, leaning in closer, the thrill of the moment pulsating in the air. He met your gaze, his eyes lingering on you, drawn in by the tantalising view.

 

He carefully extended the jacket towards you, his fingers brushing against the fabric as he offered it. "Thank you, but you really don’t have to go through all this trouble," you replied, though your hands had already instinctively reached for the coat. With a napkin soaked in water from your glass, you began gently dabbing at the dark stain that marred the material.

 

He watched you intently, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "It’s important to act quickly; it stops the mark from spreading," you explained, your voice calm yet serious.

 

Just then, Grace, with a resigned sigh, pulled the clasp of her handbag shut with a decisive snap. "Well, this is off to a swimming start… I think I shall be heading out now," she announced, her tone laced with Amusement. Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she made her way toward the restaurant door, her exit as swift as the unfolding drama around you.

 

"I'm really sorry she had you come all the way out here just to meet me," you said, brushing your hair back to clear your view.

 

He glanced at you, a hint of surprise in his wide eyes. "Honestly, I'm not," he replied, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

 

You caught his gaze and offered the jacket, carefully passing it back to him. "Just remember to use some stain remover when you get home. Let it sit for about 20 minutes, then give it a soak."

 

He grinned, taking the jacket, placing it behind him. "Stain remover, let it sit, then soak—got it! Thanks for the tip!"

 

"So, have you visited this place before?" he asked, a nervous itch at his shoulder blades giving away how he was feeling.

 

Leaning in closer, you locked eyes with him, feeling the weight of the moment. "I'm going to cut to the chase," you said, your voice low and confident. "I know Grace mentioned that I’m looking for a dom, but honestly, after our conversation, I don’t think your quite suited for that role."

 

Chan raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief curling his lips into a smirk. "Oh really? … What makes you think that?" His sudden loss of composure intrigued you, a thrill running down your spine as you recognised the shift in his demeanour.

 

With a playful giggle, you tilted your head slightly. "Well, for starters, you seem to be struggling to keep it all together," you teased, enjoying the way his confidence wavered under your gaze.

 

He chuckled, a charming smile spreading across his face as he glanced back down at his menu, the playful banter intensifying the electric tension between you. "Well… you might just have to be the one to keep it together for both of us," he replied, a glint of mischief lighting his eyes.

 

Curiosity bubbled up inside you as you contemplated where to go from here. With a gracious smile, you leaned back slightly, wanting to gauge his reaction. "Should we hit the reset button on this conversation?" you asked, your voice infused with intrigue. It was clear he was not one to back down easily; the playful challenge hung in the air, inviting exploration.

 

"I'm Y/N," you said with a warm smile as you extended your hand, ready for a handshake.

 

"Chan… or you can call me Chris for now," he responded, his eyes locking onto yours as he firmly grasped your hand. There was something reassuring in his grip, a blend of confidence and approachability. "So, tell me, Y/N… what do you like to eat? It's on me, obviously," he added, a playful smirk spreading across his face as if relishing the chance to treat you.

 

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes. "Hmmm, if you're paying… I think I might just go for the lobster." A grin broke across your face, the thought of indulging in a luxurious meal making your stomach flutter with anticipation. He chuckled softly, seemingly unfazed by your choice, his gaze wandering back to the menu as he scanned the options with a thoughtful expression.

 

Suddenly, the same waiter who had attended to you earlier approached your table, a notepad in hand and a charming smile on his face. "Are you ready to order?" he asked, his tone professional yet friendly, clearly accustomed to the rhythm of the restaurant. The atmosphere was filled with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes.

 

“I’ll have the eye fillet” Chan said, flashing a warm smile as he looked up at you, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

 

"And Y/N will have the lobster, right?" he added, confidently placing the order for you. The thought of him being willing to pay for your $100 lobster meal sent a thrill through you, a mix of excitement and disbelief.

 

"Oh yes, please!" you replied, returning his smile with one of your own, sweet, and grateful as you addressed the waiter. He nodded politely, jotted down your orders, and then disappeared into the bustling atmosphere of the restaurant, leaving you and Chan in a cosy bubble.

 

"You honestly didn't have to order me lobster... I could have picked something else," you admitted, leaning in closer to him, the intimacy of the moment warming your cheeks.

 

Chan leaned in too, a mischievous glint in his eye as he lowered his voice slightly, creating an air of secrecy between you. "The truth is… I'm secretly hoping you don't eat it all so I can have some." The playful confession made your heart flutter; you loved how he relaxed in your company, the tension that once lingered starting to fade away.

 

"Maybe Grace was right about you," you teased, taking a sip of your water, savouring the cool refreshment as you tried to read the expression on his face, delighting in the rapport that seemed to blossom effortlessly between you two.

 

"Oh, you think so... hmmm, interesting," he said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers interlaced thoughtfully. “So why did you leave your last dom?” His gaze was steady, encouraging you to share more.

 

“He uhhhh... he was a sadist,” you began, you voice trailing off as memories flooded back. “I left him because he burnt me pretty bad." The weight of your confession hung in the air, a heavy reminder of a past that felt both distant and achingly close. As you recalled those terrifying times, it felt as though it all happened just yesterday; the emotional scars still fresh in your mind, a painful reminder of a relationship that had spiralled out of control.

 

 

"How severe is it?" His voice carried an undertone of concern, mixed with a curious edge that hinted he was trying to grasp just how serious the situation really was. The furrow in his brow and the intensity in his gaze suggested he braced himself for an answer that could change everything.

 

"Let's just say my back tells a story, “You replied, your tone deliberately flat. The scars weren't merely physical; they were haunting reminders of a past you rarely revealed. You wondered if he would probe deeper or gracefully allow this moment to linger in silence.

 

"So, fire is definitely a hard boundary for you, then?" His voice softened, now cautious as he delicately navigated a sensitive topic. It was evident he wanted to understand your limits without pushing you into uncomfortable territory.

 

"Yes, absolutely," you replied, a slow smile breaking through as you started to warm to the idea of Chris as your master.

 

"Noted," he said, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Did he ever mention anything about being into sadism?"

 

"No, not at all. He started off charming and sweet. I never would have agreed to play if I’d known. But over time, as our relationship deepened, his obsession with sadism began to surface."

 

"I'm truly sorry he treated you that way," Chris said softly, his voice filled with empathy as he reached across the table to take your hand in his. His gaze was intense, penetrating your eyes as if searching for a connection. "But if you decide to be with me…I promise I will never put you in a position like that." There was sincerity in his tone that made your heart flutter.

 

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. "But it's your turn now," you said, eager to learn more about him. "Why did you leave your last partner?"

 

A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face. "She left me... There were just certain expectations I couldn't fulfil, things she wanted from me that I couldn't overcome," he explained, his voice tinged with regret. "We came to the conclusion that it was best for her to move on." The admission stirred some unease within you, prompting you to dig deeper. "So, it sounds like… you weren't firm enough for her?"

 

A nervous tension sparked in the air as he pulled his hand away, his expression shifting as if he were retreating into himself. Just then, the waiter approached with the meals, momentarily breaking the atmosphere.

 

"Excuse me, sir… would you mind placing both meals in the centre of the table?" you asked, giving the waiter a warm, inviting smile. He nodded in agreement, carefully setting down the beautifully plated steak and lobster in front of you.

 

"Thank you so much. I truly appreciate it," you said, watching the waiter depart with satisfaction. As you turned back to Chris, you noticed a flicker of admiration in his eyes.

 

"Here, allow me," you offered, excitedly reaching for a lobster tail. With deft movements, you placed it beside the generous steak. You then sliced the steak in half, transferring one piece onto the lobster plate. After artfully arranging lobster tails atop the steak, you drizzled luscious lobster sauce over the entire presentation.

 

Once you had skilfully crafted the dish, you presented it to Chris, who looked genuinely captivated, his eyes wide in disbelief.

 

As he snapped out of his daze, a soft chuckle escaped your lips. "I believe they call this surf and turf."

 

His smile faltered, replaced with a thoughtful expression. "Thank you. I must be honest with you… I would like to discuss the possibility of a contract."

 

Chan POV

 

"Chan, come on, you really have to move on from Vanessa," Changbin asserted as he dramatically dropped onto the well-worn studio couch, the cushions sinking under his weight.

 

"I’ve moved on, seriously," I scoffed, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

 

"Then what’s the big deal about going on this date?" Changbin asked, tilting his head slightly and shifting to the edge of the couch, his curiosity evident in his expression.

 

"I don’t know, man... I’m just nervous," I admitted, running a hand through my hair in frustration. "What if she doesn’t like me? What if it all goes wrong? She doesn’t even know it’s supposed to be a date," I continued, my voice trailing off as I felt the weight of uncertainty settle in my chest. As I spoke, Changbin began packing up his headphones, clearly trying to focus on my dilemma.

 

Changbin was staring at me, his brow slightly furrowed and his eyes wide with confusion, as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit.

 

"It's someone that Grace arranged for me to go on a date with," I explained, trying to keep the details vague. I didn't want to delve into the specifics of how the matchmaking had come about or share my mixed feelings about it.

 

"Oh, your hot friend Grace," he said with a smile. If only he knew what she was like, she would eat him alive. "When are you planning to hook me up with her?" he continued.

 

"I'm not… you're not her type" I mean, I wasn't lying. She liked women. 

 

"You just want her all to yourself," he said, his voice laced with a hint of jealousy as he fixed his gaze on the ground, his brow furrowing slightly.

 

"Anyway," I replied, meeting his eyes with a light smile, trying to shift the conversation away from the tension. "What do you think I should wear? We’re going to a really fancy restaurant, and I want to look the part."

 

He paused for a moment, considering my question, before finally saying, "Your black suit is stylish. It always fits you perfectly."

 

 

……

 

This brings me to the point where I find myself saying, "I would really like to offer you a contract," and I can't help but wonder, Chan, why do you always act this way? She barely knows you, and here you are, making a complete spectacle of yourself. I couldn't help but notice the advice about the stained shirt—I mean, it was a bold move on her part to share that with me. And the way she offered me half of her food was so generous. I realise that if I don't seize this opportunity now, I might never encounter another submissive like her again.

 

She smiled politely, a hint of amusement in her eyes, and replied, "I'm flattered…but don't you think you should get to know me a bit better first?" As she said this, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her gesture both casual and intimate, making me realise just how much I wanted to learn more about her.

 

"I'll be right back," I promised, glancing at her as a smile spread across her face. I knew that Vannesa always kept a stash of hair ties in my car, a little quirk of hers that I had come to appreciate. With a quick stride, I made my way to the parking lot, the cool evening air brushing against my skin.

 

Once I reached my car, I opened the glove compartment with a soft click. Inside, neatly tucked away among a few scattered receipts and an old parking ticket, were the hair ties — a colorful assortment that Vanessa loved. I picked out a bright pink one, its elastic still strong and ready for action.

 

"Perfect," I murmured to myself as I closed the compartment and locked my car's door. I turned and made my way back to the restaurant, my heart a little lighter with each step.

 

As I re-entered the warm, inviting space filled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, I spotted Y/N sitting at our table, her hair slightly tousled. "Here," I said, extending the pink hair tie toward her. "Please… take this."

 

Her eyes sparkled with delight as she reached for it, the tension in her features easing with a grateful smile. In that moment, I could see how the small gesture meant the world to her.

 

A faint blush crept across her cheeks as she glanced down, an awkward smile breaking through her initial embarrassment. "Oh wow, thank you… I, umm, totally forgot to bring mine," she admitted, her voice light yet laced with a hint of self-consciousness.

 

I chuckled softly, remembering my own past. "You know, my ex used to always keep spare hair ties in the glove compartment of the car. I completely forgot they were even there until I saw you struggling with your hair," As I spoke, I took a decisive cut into the perfectly cooked steak on my plate, savouring the moment while trying to ease her discomfort.

 

"Well, thank you," she replied, returning my gaze with a warm smile.

 

As she tied her hair up, I couldn't help but notice how the sleek strands came together in a polished ponytail, accentuating the graceful curve of her neck. There was something undeniably captivating about her look, and I found myself drawn to the way the lighting caught her hair, making it shimmer. "I really like you with your hair up," I remarked, feeling a rush of warmth spread across my cheeks as her eyes lit up with my compliment. Her smile widened, and in that moment, the world around us seemed to fade away.

 

……

 

 As I glanced down at my watch, the glowing numbers caught my eye, and a sense of urgency washed over me. The night had slipped away faster than I had anticipated.

 

"Well, Chris…" she said softly, a hint of reluctance in her voice as she reached across the small table to grasp my hand. Her touch was warm and grounding, making it difficult for me to let go of the moment.

 

"I'll walk you to the car," I replied, hoping to prolong our time together just a little longer. After settling the bill, I led the way out of the cosy restaurant, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the sidewalk.

 

As we walked beside each other, the cool evening air wrapped around us, filled with the faint sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from nearby establishments. We made our way around the corner, where her car was parked under a lamppost, the light casting a gentle glow over its sleek silhouette. I couldn't help but steal glances at her as we walked, cherishing each second of this fleeting encounter.

 

"Thank you for tonight," she said with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with the soft glow of the overhead lights. "I assume Grace gave you, my number?" She laughed lightly, the sound as familiar as a favourite song. She and Grace had a long-standing friendship, a connection that made me feel a little more at ease.

 

"Yeah, she texted it to me during dinner," I replied, chuckling in return.

 

"Well… call me, please," she continued, her voice shifting from casual to something more serious yet undeniably inviting. There was a warmth in her tone that caught me off guard. "I'd love to discuss your proposal." Did I really hear that correctly? Did she just express genuine interest in talking about the contract? My heart raced at the thought, the prospect electrifying.

 

In that fleeting moment, I felt a powerful surge of desire to convey just how much she intrigued me. I could almost visualise those soft, inviting lips of hers brushing against mine, the warmth of our kiss igniting something deep within. Yet, amidst that longing, a voice of caution echoed in my mind, reminding me that rushing into anything too quickly could scare her off. I took a deep, steadying breath, trying to find the right balance between my yearning and the need to nurture a genuine connection.

 

"You can kiss me, Chris," she said with a playful smile, her hand resting lightly on my chest, sending a jolt of electricity through me. I gently tilted her chin upward, ensuring our eyes locked in a moment that felt suspended in time. With a soft, steadying breath, I leaned in, my lips hovering tantalizingly close to hers. "I will, but only when you sign that contract, missy," I teased, a playful smile breaking on my lips as I held her gaze, savouring the tension that crackled between us.

 

Y/N  POV

 

You couldn't believe it, but Grace was right about him. As he strolled away towards his car, a warm smile spread across your face, a blend of excitement and disbelief. Everything about him seemed to resonate with you, from the way he carried himself to the charming glint in his eyes that sparked a quiet hope for what might unfold.

 

Just as you were lost in your thoughts, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you back to reality.

 

**Ting Ting**

 

An unknown number flashed on the screen, and with a curious frown, you opened the message. It read: 

 

"Meet me at my office on Monday at 9 a.m. (address included). We will discuss the contract terms then - Master."

 

Y/N 

"Yes, sir, I look forward to it." 

………

 

Sunday morning dawns, and you are jolted awake by an insistent pounding on your door. Groggily rubbing your eyes, you mutter, "Jesus Christ," to yourself as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and shuffle toward the door.

 

Swinging it open, you find Grace standing there, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Oh good, you’re up!" she exclaims, brushing past you into the apartment without a second thought. "So, how did the date turn out with Chris? Isn’t he just delicious?"

 

Sitting down on the couch with a resigned sigh, you can't help but smile at her excitement. "He’s nice," you reply, playing with the hem of your shirt. "But... he’s an absolute mess." You lean back against the cushions, recalling the chaos of the evening you just survived. Grace plops down next to you, eager for the full story.

 

"Look, I know Chan pretty well," she said, settling onto the couch with a decisive thud. "He was a bit nervous earlier, which is unusual for him. You must understand, he’s a very sought-after dom in our community. He doesn't just take on any submissive; he’s quite selective. If he's offering you a contract, trust me, you should seriously consider it."

 

Curiosity piqued, I leaned in and asked, "What makes him so special?"

 

She raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my question. "Excuse me? He is the perfect dom…. If you're looking for a soft pleasure dom, he's one of the absolute best out there."

 

My mind raced as I processed that. "Wait, he’s a pleasure dom?" It felt like an incredible revelation. Pleasure doms are rare gems in this community, and to hear about one of his calibres was intriguing. It's no wonder he had such high demand—his reputation preceded him.

 

"Absolutely, big time," she affirmed, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "He hasn’t had a submissive for over eight months now, which is practically an eternity for him. I’ve never seen him so anxious about meeting someone before. He must really like you—there's no other explanation for his nerves! So, when does he want you to sit down and discuss the details of the contract?"

 

"Tomorrow," you said, turning towards her. Suddenly you feel nervous. What if you can't please him like he wants. 

 

“Shit, he’s moving fast,” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief. She shook her head, her brow furrowing as thoughts raced through her mind. “Look, nobody knows Chan like I do… There’s no way he’d just turn around and ask a girl he met to sign a contract like that.”

 

Her tone shifted, urgency seeping into her words. “So, what should I do, Grace?” you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice.

 

“Listen to me… You need to hear him out, alright?” She leaned in closer, her eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “Do you trust me?”

 

“Yeah,” you replied, your gaze unwavering as you searched her eyes for assurance.

 

“Good girl,” she said, a sultry undertone lacing her words, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, as if she knew she had you right where she wanted you.

 

………

**Monday**

 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, you took a deep breath, your fingers carefully wrapping a curling wand around a lock of hair. “Why am I so nervous?” you muttered, forcing yourself to focus on your reflection. The soft morning light streamed through the window, highlighting the mix of excitement and anxiety etched across your features.

 

“Okay, Y/N… You’ve done this before,” you reassured yourself, smoothing down the front of your blouse. “Just strike out what you’re not comfortable with.” You ran through your mental checklist, contemplating the plans for the evening, and mentally discarding any doubts that surfaced.

 

Finally, satisfied with your appearance, you grabbed your handbag—a sleek black purse that felt just right in your hand—and headed for the door, taking one last glance back at your apartment. With a quick exhale, you stepped outside into the crisp air, feeling a flutter of nerves in your stomach.

 

As you approached the curb, your heart raced a little faster. There, parked majestically in front of your building, was a black Range Rover. Standing beside it was Chris, an easy smile lighting up his face as he spotted you. “Oh good… I was afraid you wouldn't show up,” he chuckled, his warm demeanour instantly easing some of the tension you felt. The sound of his voice made you grin.

 

"So, you actually came to pick me up?" you inquired, your voice laced with curiosity as you approached him.

 

Chris stepped aside with a flourish, swinging open the door of his sleek black car. "After you," he replied, a hint of mischief in his eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted this unexpected gesture. Wasn’t he supposed to have his own driver? The thought lingered as you climbed into the plush leather seat, the scent of fresh upholstery filling your senses.

 

Inside the car, an uncomfortable silence settled between you, heavy with unspoken words. You caught glimpses of the city lights reflecting in the windows, your mind racing as you tried to make sense of the situation. Just as the tension began to feel unbearable, Chris reached over, his hand enveloping yours with a warmth that both surprised and calmed you. He threaded his fingers through yours, creating an unbreakable connection. "You don't have to be a nervous baby girl," he said, his tone both gentle and commanding.

 

You let out a nervous chuckle, shaking your legs to release the anxious energy coursing through you. "I can't help it," you admitted, feeling the flutter of excitement and anxiety battling within.

 

"Spot that," he said, his voice taking on a stern edge as he fixed his gaze on the road ahead. There was a seriousness in his tone that made your heart race, but a part of you felt comforted, knowing he was there.

 

You sit perfectly still in the passenger seat, fixing your gaze straight ahead, your heart racing as you decide to remain silent for the remainder of the drive to his office. The moment you arrive, the name "JYP Entertainment" slips from your lips, your tone laced with surprise and intrigue.

 

With a playful chuckle, Chris swings open the car door and steps out, the sound of the vehicle’s door closing echoing in the quiet lot.

 

“Here, allow me to help,” he offers, extending his hand toward you with a warm, inviting smile. You can feel a slight flutter in your stomach as he firmly locks his fingers around yours.

 

He leads you through the entrance of the building, its sleek, modern design taking your breath away. "I've booked a meeting room for us," he states, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. You can’t help but notice the briefcase he holds, its professional elegance hinting at the serious nature of the meeting ahead.

 

"This way," he continues, his voice bright with enthusiasm, as he guides you toward the elevator. The polished metal doors slide open, and you step inside, both of you sharing a moment of anticipation as the elevator begins its ascent.

 

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, you stepped inside alongside him, feeling the heat of his presence nearby. His hand trailed along your lower back, a gentle yet possessive gesture that sent a shiver down your spine.

 

The soft hum of the building faded away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble once again. You settled into a chair, the plush fabric contrasting the excitement that swirled in your stomach, while he turned to pour you a cup of water from a sleek glass pitcher on the table.

 

“have some water,” he commanded, his voice firm but not unkind, echoing authority that sent your heart racing.

 

With a playful glimmer in your eyes, you shot back, “You’re not my dom yet, Chris… I don’t have to listen to you.” Your tone carried a cheeky defiance, a challenge laced with a hint of flirtation.

 

In response, he leaned closer, closing the distance between you until he was mere inches from your face. His breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “Do you want to repeat that?” The thrill of his proximity made your pulse quicken, mixing a touch of mischief with a growing sense of exhilaration that hung heavily in the air.

 

You take a gentle sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat as you try to quell the anticipation bubbling within you. He leans closer, his presence both comforting and electrifying. "That's my good girl," he murmurs, pressing a soft, tender kiss just below your ear. The warmth of his lips against your skin sends an involuntary shiver cascading down your body, igniting a thrill that dances through you.

 

"Alright… shall we get started?" he asks, shifting into a more businesslike demeanour as he settles down next to you. With deft movements, he opens his briefcase, revealing a neatly organised array of documents inside.

 

He pulls out two contracts, the crisp paper brimming with promises and stipulations. "Let's begin with the limits," he states, his voice steady as he hands one of the contracts to you. With a flick of his wrist, he opens his copy, revealing a series of terms and agreements laid out before him. "I took the liberty of striking out fire," he says, glancing at you to gauge your reaction.

 

You nod appreciatively, feeling a sense of control in the negotiation. "Okay, also animal and age play… those need to go as well," you respond assertively, catching his eye momentarily. There's a moment of understanding between you two—a silent assurance that both of you are on the same page. "And you should add… I will not refer to you as anything other than Chan, Chris, Master, or Sir."

 

He smiles as he acknowledges your added stipulation, a glint of approval in his eyes. "Okay, yeah, that works for me," he replies, his tone lightening with the shift in energy. Then, with a teasing lilt, he leans slightly closer and raises an eyebrow at you, asking without words if you have any further limitations in mind. "Sooooo noooo..." His playful inflection hangs in the air, inviting a deeper exploration of the intricate boundaries you’re both establishing.

 

“No use of the word 'Daddy,'” you say with a slight frown, your eyes narrowing playfully.

 

“Okay, okay, that’s fine with me,” he replies, raising both hands in mock surrender, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

 

Curiosity piqued; you lean in closer to examine the document spread out on the table. “What is this down here… am I meant to move in with you?” The words hang in the air, and you can’t help but feel your pulse quicken at the thought.

 

“Uh, well… only if you want to,” he stammers, his cheeks flushing slightly. He reaches for a pen, ready to strike that line out, but you swiftly grab his hand, squeezing it gently to stop him.

 

“How about we start with just weekends, okay? Besides,” you add with a teasing grin, “I have to work during the week.”

 

Chris's expression brightens at your decision. The tension eases, replaced by a shared excitement as he nods, clearly pleased with the compromise.

 

……

 

As the hours ticked by and you delved deeper into the intricacies of the contract, a sense of comfort began to wash over you. Chris had truly anticipated every detail, which was both reassuring and exciting. Eager to break the silence, you turned to him and asked, “How long have you been a master?”

 

A warm smile spread across his face, and he met your gaze with a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “I’ve been a master for five years now," he replied, his tone light yet filled with a hint of nostalgia. He looked away for a moment, as if lost in a memory, before continuing, “Before that, I was a sub.”

 

“Oh, really?” you interjected, genuinely intrigued. “What made you decide to make that transition?”

 

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he leaned back slightly, his demeanour becoming more relaxed as he reminisced. “It was my dom… She inspired me in ways I never expected. She was incredibly smart and stunningly beautiful, but she had this fierce temper that kept everyone on their toes,” he admitted, the warmth of his memories evident in his voice.

 

You leaned in a little closer, your heart racing with anticipation. “So, is that what I can expect from you?” you challenged playfully, feeling a flush of excitement as you pressed your legs together tightly. The prospect of uncovering more about Chris and what it meant to be under his guidance stirred a rush within you.

 

"I make it my priority to be fair in all situations," he states, a playful smile dancing on his lips. "But I must warn you upfront—I only provide one chance when it comes to behaviour. If you test the limits, punishment will follow, and trust me, I don't take chatting back lightly." He observes you closely, noticing the hint of mischief in your eyes that suggests a bratty side lurking beneath the surface.

 

"Oh really? Hmmmm... that sounds intriguing. Have you ever successfully tamed a brat before?" you reply, your voice laced with seductive curiosity, a challenge glimmering in your eyes.

 

"I have," he replies, his tone firm yet teasing. "Just remember, even though I have a softer approach as a dominant, I won’t tolerate bad attitudes for long." He continues flicking through the contract, his focus partially on the words, but mostly on you.

 

"I wouldn't dream of testing you, sir," you say, a slight smirk playing on your lips. Chris's expression shifts at your use of "sir," a flicker of interest igniting in his eyes.

 

"I'd love to see your house before I sign the contract," you add, your tone growing more enticing.

 

"Absolutely," he replies, gripping the paper tightly, his curiosity piqued. "Do you have time to check it out right now?" He leans forward, eager to show you more than just the words on the page.

"I actually need to go to work", you smiled. Very convenient timing. 

 

“Perfect, I’ll drop you off,” he said with a tone that caught you off guard. You felt a rush of heat spread through you; after all, you worked at a sex shop, and the last thing you wanted was for him to discover that little secret in such an unexpected manner.

 

With a gentle smile, he led you down the path to the car, his presence both reassuring and slightly intimidating. As he opened the passenger door, you hesitated for just a moment before sliding into the plush seat. The driver, who had been waiting patiently, turned to you expectantly as you recited the address.

 

As you spoke, you glanced over to find Chris looking increasingly astonished. “You mean the sex shop on the corner?” he asked, his eyes widening in disbelief.

 

A light laugh escaped your lips, barely able to conceal the amusement bubbling within you. “Yeah, is that a problem?” You tried to keep your tone light and playful, enjoying the unexpected turn of events.

 

He shook his head, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, though you noticed the hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Nope… not at all,” he replied, though the way he fidgeted with his hands and avoided your gaze gave away his intrigue. You could tell he was trying to play it cool, but it was hard to miss the excitement fluttering beneath the surface.

 

Your workplace is about twenty minutes away, nestled in a bustling part of town. As you pull up outside the shop, Chris undoes his seatbelt with a determined look on his face.

 

"What are you doing?" you exclaim, a wave of panic rising in your chest. The thought of him entering the shop sends your mind racing.

 

"I’m coming in…. I want to look around… and I might pick up some toys for later when I come to get you," he replies, his voice casual but his eyes glinting with mischief.

 

"Don't you dare," you retort, giving him a warning look. His expression shifts, and he shoots you a challenging stare, the kind that reminds you how stubborn he can be. Realising you’ve lost this battle, you slump back into your seat, resigned but still slightly irked.

 

"Let’s go," he says with a playful grin as he steps out of the car, extending his hand toward you.

 

You take a deep breath, roll your eyes, and push the door open, hopping out reluctantly. "Fine," you mutter, but there's a hint of amusement in your voice. As you take his hand, you can’t help but feel a mix of exasperation and affection for his spontaneous nature. Together, you walk toward the entrance of the shop, the bell above the door jingling as you step inside.

 

Chan  POV

 

"Did she really just roll her eyes at me?" I thought, feeling a mix of irritation and intrigue. "Be careful, Channie... she's not yours just yet," I reminded myself as I walked beside her, the anticipation of the moment hanging heavily in the air. Though the urge to discipline her for her blatant disrespect bubbled beneath the surface, I knew I'd have to bide my time.

 

As we approached the store, I reached out and intertwined my fingers with hers, the warmth of her hand sending a jolt through me. She paused momentarily, her surprise flickering in her eyes, before she confidently led me inside. "Good morning, Noah," she greeted cheerfully as we entered, her voice brightening the room. I cast a glance toward Noah, who stood behind the counter—a striking young man with long, flowing blond hair that framed his chiseled features, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to capture the attention of everyone around him.

 

"Morning, Y/N... Who's this?" he asked, extending his hand toward me with a mixture of curiosity and charm.

 

I grasped his hand firmly, my grip slightly stronger than normal, as if to assert my presence. "This is my friend Chris," she said, her smile a beacon of warmth as she looked up at me, the friendly tone in her voice stinging a little. Just a friend? A surge of possessiveness surged within me; I yearned to show her just what kind of "friend" I could be.

 

Y/N then walked behind the counter, placing her bag with a practiced ease that suggested familiarity, while I observed her every move. There was an effortless grace to the way she navigated her surroundings. Once she returned to my side, a playful smirk danced on her lips. "Okay, you can leave now," she playfully dismissed me.

 

Taking the moment, I gently lifted her chin with my index finger, a gesture that was both tender and commanding. Drawn in by the magnetism that crackled between us, I leaned closer and pressed my lips against hers. The softness of her plump lips sent a rush of warmth through me, and I couldn't help but smile as I pulled back, feeling victorious.

 

I turned to Noah, whose expression of shock illuminated the space between us—clearly, he hadn’t seen that coming. With a sense of satisfaction swelling within me, I stepped out of the store and headed back to the car, a grin plastered on my face. "That'll show him... she's all mine," I muttered under my breath as I settled into the driver's seat. Opening my phone, I glanced at the time and said, "Okay, can we go back to the company?" My mind was already racing ahead, planning the next moves in this intricate game.

A:n thank you again to all that have read my rewrite for master

Taglist: @daceydeath @bakedlilgoonie @armystay89 @krishastumblernow @cakeracha

[macapunoz]

UNREQUITED CLUB ; choi seungcheol

summary it’s not good to resort to breaking hearts if you’re afraid to admit you’re still in love with someone else.

starring seungcheol x f! reader

genre angst，fluff (i might be lying)，unrequited love，mutual pining at some point (?)，uni au，reader does fashion designing

contains reader is kinda toxic，same thing with coups (they’re just both not good ppl)，breakups and leading ppl on，based on a true story。。。 sorry 97z

word count 6k ( thankyu sophi for proofreading ) | playlist bad religion by frank ocean, japanese denim by daniel caesar, secret door by arctic monkeys, all because i liked a boy by sabrina carpenter, fluorescent adolescent by arctic monkeys, green by 12bh, toxic till the end by rosé, first love by sondia

from rhin，this was originally gonna be a smau oneshot but i need to clear my penalties😭 (only 2k words left🗣️) anyways this fic is dedicated to my friend who doesnt have blr but her bias is scoups and she hates the dude cheol is based on😹😊🫰

You always thought you could do well with love. As a kid, you dreamed of marrying a prince after watching way too many princess movies. As you got older—going into middle school—your standards changed once you discovered a few dramas. A lot of them happened to have male lead CEOs, so you wanted a hot, rich man instead.

Eventually, those fantasies died down once you ended middle school. The boys you’ve encountered made you lower your standards and began to think that all boys were full of shit. But you figured you’d find better when you’re an adult. Sure, you’ve found at least some guys cute, but you knew way too much about them to never find yourself together with them.

It was only then that the first year of high school changed something in you. You knew a few older kids since you were family friends with them, and some of them had friends that would tag along. One of those friends happened to be Seungcheol. He was in tenth grade when you met him—just a year older than you. Always smiling and always said kind words.

From there, you’ve been crushing on him. You always thought he was different from all the other boys you’ve liked before. But you figured it was more of a you problem. You remember how you couldn’t even say a word to any guy you liked back then. However, talking to Seungcheol was a piece of cake. You two were close, and others always told you that they think he makes it obvious he likes you.

Back then, you wouldn’t dare to tell him how you felt. He was way out of your league, and you recall that he mentioned not being interested in dating. Plus, you liked it when you thought of him as a friend more than a crush. But like they say, the more you suppress the feelings, the stronger it gets. 

Your feelings towards him lasted until his final year of high school. He was graduating soon, so you figured it was time to confess to him. You were hoping for a rejection, but he ended up reciprocating the feelings. Or, so you thought. Just a week before his graduation, he admitted to you that when he said he liked you, he meant it as friends.

He didn’t mean to hurt you, but all you could ever think of was how much he disappointed you. For a few days, you ghosted him, until the day before he graduated, he wanted to talk to you. Although he never liked you in that way, he still liked you as a friend. Neither of you wanted your friendship to be ruined all because of that. 

You ended up attending his graduation, since you thought it would be mean not to show up to a friend’s important day. It was a bit sad though; you realized your final year of high school would feel a little bit empty. But you reassured yourself that you’d use that time to get over him, because he promised you that it’s okay if you still like him since getting over takes time.

So about doing well with love right now, you’re certain you’re ready for it. You hope you’re at least ready for it.

“I gave your number to Mingyu,” your friend brings up. You two were talking about the men in your biochemistry class, saying how they were either too old or too mid. There were only a few guys who weren’t too bad, and your friend gave your number to one of them.

“Mingyu? As in biochem Mingyu?” You quickly got up from lying down on her bed, looking dead into her eyes in case she was joking with you.

“Yes, that Mingyu. He’s been eyeing you for quite some time, so I told him I can get him with you.”

You wish you could tell her you’re not too sure about this. You have some mixed feelings; a part of you says to YOLO it, but another part is hesitating about it, and you’re not sure what is exactly stopping you. Mingyu is a nice guy, very nerdy, and tall. Lots of girls want him, but it turns out he wants you. What’s the worst that can happen?

A notification from an unknown number pops up on your phone. The message was from Mingyu, and he was asking you out to lunch some time. It took you a while to respond since you and your friend were getting giddy over it. But you ended up agreeing to have lunch with him.

The lunch date with him wasn’t too bad. He was super sweet when you two were conversing. He always kept complimenting you, and it made your heart skip a beat. He did it often, and your pounding heart began to feel sort of different. You weren’t feeling quite ecstatic, but you figured you were just nervous.

From there, you’ve gone on several dates with him, and at this point, you’re just waiting for him to ask you to be his girlfriend. There’s no rush; he’s probably not ready, so you might as well wait for him. The more dates you go on with him, the more you’re hoping he doesn’t ask you. But on one date, he ends up asking you to be his girlfriend, and without thinking before speaking, you immediately say yes.

You never told anyone except your friend about the two of you being together, and you never found yourself with him during biochemistry. You weren’t too sure why you did that, but the relationship ended when you told him you couldn’t give him the same amount of love he gave you. That was only because you found yourself staring at Seungcheol for only two seconds. Your relationship with Mingyu lasted for only two months. 

When you told your friend about the breakup, she was surprised that you didn’t cry about it. She kept pestering you to tell her why you broke up with him, only to get a vague response from you that you just felt bad. You weren’t sure if it was the pang of guilt for staring at Seungcheol or the fact that you didn’t actually like Mingyu, but you were sure it had to do something with Seungcheol.

“Hah, Cheol just sent me another stupid brain-rotted reel,” you say out loud to your friend, scrolling through Instagram on your phone while she does the same.

“Seungcheol? I thought you said you guys don’t text anymore." Your friend’s curiosity piqued right when you mentioned that name.

“No, no. We don’t text like that anymore, but we send reels here and there. He probably just does it to annoy me or infiltrate our DMs. The only time he ever texts me is when he’s waiting for me by the studio,” you tell her, not realising she never knew that you always meet up with him at the end of the day.

“He’s the one giving you rides on Tuesdays? I thought that was Mingyu.”

“Nope. Seungcheol takes the same route going to the dorms, so he offered to give me rides once a week.”

“Is that why you broke up with Mingyu?” Your friend’s question makes your eyes go wide. You close your phone and get up from resting on her headboard to look at her properly.

“I–” You don’t want to continue your words; it’s most likely something you wouldn’t want to hear, especially if it’s about Seungcheol. “I’m… starving. Let’s eat first and talk about that later,” you mutter, hoping she forgets about it later on.

You never ended up talking to her about that, and you hope she never brings it up.

Seungcheol places a cup of coffee on the table in front of you. You were resting your head on the table, but immediately lifted up when Seungcheol sat next to you. “You look like you were dying today, so I got you some energy.” You thank him for the drink and start downing it like you were parched for days.

He picks up your notebook and starts analyzing the draft you drew. “What’s this for?” He asks, pointing at the lazy sketch of a jacket.

“It’s for my fashion properties assignment. We have to make an outfit out of fabric given to us. Mine is leather, so I’ve been brainstorming how to make this jacket look cute but comfy. I already drew the skirt for it.”

“I think you can easily come up with something. Your designs are cool and leather looks hard to work with, but you’re always dedicated,” Seungcheol assures you, hoping you don’t crash out in front of him over this.

You scoff. “Hah, what do you know about fashion?” Pointing out his every-day lazy black hoodie and grey sweat pants combination. 

“Okay, not everyone wants to wake up early and choose what to pair their tops with their bottoms! Some just pull out whatever they have,” he rolls his eyes.

“You would not survive fashion school,” you joke, making Seungcheol huff but grin. As much as he can be annoying and get annoyed by you, he’ll never take a joke seriously.

If only he knew how much he makes your day by his annoyance.

Life was calm. You were so close to finishing the leather jacket, only having to attach the pockets, but you decided to take a break and finish it another day. You still had to work on the skirt, but you had plenty of time—grateful that this project is due in six months.

While waiting in the mall for your friends to come back from the washroom, you were sitting down and sketching out a new design in your journal.

You were thinking of making a top for your friend since her birthday was coming up soon. She would definitely like a sweatshirt. Your name gets called out, turning your head in that direction, and you see your friends walk out the washroom.

The three of you walk around, thinking of what stores to check out. Jiwon brings up going to the shoe store nearby, so the two of you follow her. You roam around the store, looking at the different kinds of shoes. Platforms, Mary Janes, sneakers, boots, all kinds that were in your size and style.

“…Yo what the heck? I didn’t know you work here.” You overhear Jiwon. She was talking to one of the workers, most likely a friend of hers. He’s tall and kind of cute. His glasses sit on the top of his head, and you caught him glancing at you while talking to your friend.

You avert your eyes to the black loafers, picking it up as you examine them. Your other friend goes up to you and asks your opinion if she should get brown boots or black boots. After she tried both on, you told her to get the black pair since she already owns a brown one.

As you accompany your friend to the check-out, Jiwon goes up to you and says she needs to go buy some makeup after this. You looked at her friend, who was standing by the counter, catching him staring at you again. He quickly turns his head and walks away.

It only took a week later to meet Jiwon’s friend again at a café. You were sitting alone by the window and still sketching out the top for your friend, so focused that you didn’t notice someone was standing in front of you.

“Can I sit here?” He asks, making you look up. You nod and go back to sticking your head into your journal. He sits in the chair facing and starts a conversation. “You’re one of Jiwon’s friends, right?”

You put your pencil down and look at him. “Yeah, and you are?”

“Dokyeom,” he introduces himself with a smile, sticking his hand out for a handshake.

You shake his hand. “(Name).”

You got to know a lot about him and talked about how the both of you met Jiwon. He was her classmate since high school, and you met her in your fashion design courses. You ended up exchanging numbers, and the moment you left to go back home, you spammed your friend with multiple messages.

As usual, you laid on her bed while you yapped to her about him. It’s always been this way with every guy you both encounter since your high school days. You talked for a while, not even realising it was already midnight—at least it’s a weekend night.

You spoke to Dokyeom very often. Always texting during your lectures and even calling at night. Sometimes you would even call him while you were sewing. There was something familiar about him every time you talked, and it felt nice.

One time you were on call, he asked you about your ideal type. You never really had an ideal type, so you said common traits all your crushes had from the top of your head. “Someone tall, kind, and a cute smile too. I’d want them to be smart and productive as well.”

"So...me basically,” he jokes. You agreed without a thought and that conversation started your relationship with Dokyeom.

You really like him. He was kind and entertaining. He was always fun to your friends and was nice to everyone. He always took you out on dates and took you home. Unlike Mingyu, Dokyeom made sure that the world knew you were his.

He really loved you and wanted to show everyone that he did. And by every one, he meant every one. The news got to Seungcheol one day and it all just stopped. The daily brain-rotted reels he sends you ended up being three times a week. 

He barely got a response from you to the reels, and you only reacted to the messages. He slowed them down and sent them to you once a week. The only time you responded to a reel he sent, he left your message on ‘seen’, and then stopped sending you reels.

It’s not that he hated you or anything. He just knew you had a boyfriend now, so he didn’t want to go against your relationship’s boundaries. He would still pick you up every Tuesday, but the car ride conversations were always about school now or sometimes silent. He never asked about Dokyeom, and you never brought him up.

Being distant with Seungcheol kind of hurt, but you knew you were just getting over him and Dokyeom was there to help you. Or so you thought. Somehow, there would be conversations you have with Dokyeom, and you would absentmindedly bring up Seungcheol.

The first time you did, he asked who he was, and he didn’t sound jealous, just curious. You explained that he was just an old crush from high school and that he was basically a distant friend to you now. 

He got more curious about him so you showed him his profile once. He looked through his account and started saying how you downgraded so much, pointing out Seungcheol’s physique.

You didn’t want Dokyeom to be hurt, so you began assuring him that he was much better than Seungcheol. You admit that Seungcheol played you back in high school and that he’s not even all that. Ever since that, you would bring down Seungcheol.

You were convinced you disliked Seungcheol, but Dokyeom always thought otherwise. Even though you would talk badly about him, your boyfriend still listened to you talk about him.

“I think you still like him,” Dokyeom brings up while you were ranting about what Seungcheol did to you in your junior year of high school. You were taken aback and denied so quickly. “You talk about him more than me,” he mutters. You apologized and assured him that you care about him more than Seungcheol.

“You know it’s okay if you still like him,” he considered. 

“No!” You retorted. “That’s just morally wrong! Why would I like another man while I’m in a relationship?! I don’t like him anymore, and I never will. I have you now, and you already make me happy.”

Dokyeom still wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t want to see you angry again, so he just nodded and patted your head.

Another time you brought up Seungcheol was when Dokyeom asked you who your first love was. When you admitted it was Seungcheol, he already knew since you always talked about him. When you asked him who his first love was, all he did was point at you, and that already made you regret saying your answer.

I never will. You said that in hopes you won’t ruin your relationship because of an old crush. Why do you always find yourself talking about Seungcheol anyway? He did you so wrong, and you’re sure he doesn’t care about you. Why was he even your first love?! 

A week later, you realized you were lying. After you told Seungcheol he doesn’t need to drop you off at your dorm anymore since Dokyeom could take you there, you ended up deleting his contact on your phone and unfollowing his Instagram. But after one car ride with your boyfriend, you thought about Seungcheol and what he really means to you. Dokyeom was right.

You went to Jiwon for advice about it, and she figured he would want you to admit it to him since all he wants is for you to be happy. That night, you confessed to Dokyeom that you still had feelings for Seungcheol, but it was only 1%—since 99% is for your boyfriend.

However, the more you saw Seungcheol, the feelings kept growing more. You never told Dokyeom, but you didn’t want to keep hurting him. On one random Monday afternoon, you met up with him at the same café you first met him and broke up with him on the spot. You never wanted to admit it was about Seungcheol, so all you told him was that you were just the problem in the relationship—which was true.

Your relationship with Dokyeom only lasted for six months, but for some reason, you felt relieved and free. It only took you a few days to realize that Dokyeom reminded you of Seungcheol, and you used him to fill that empty void since senior year. But no matter how loving Dokyeom was to you, you secretly hoped it was Seungcheol instead.

Guilt held onto you and convinced you that you were a bad person at this point. You knew you were going to die alone, but honestly, you’d rather have that than break someone’s heart again. Not only were you single—which you could care less about—you were still distant with Seungcheol. 

You tried not to care, but every time you saw him on campus, it always hurt to think about how distant you two are. It got to a point where you walked past him and neither of you said hi. You figured he hated you until you once had a dream about him when you got a fever.

You were at a party, and all of a sudden Seungcheol’s friends made fun of you. You blamed it on him and left the party. The scene changed, and you were walking with your friend to your next lecture. As you walked down the halls, you noticed your mother’s friend was with someone, so you greeted her, not bothered by the fact that your “aunt” was at your university. That someone she was with ended up being Seungcheol. When he smiled and waved at you, you frowned and ignored him as you walked away. 

You instantly jolted awake, sweating real bad as the headache you had earlier stopped. You looked at the time, 4:27. It’s Tuesday, and around this time, you would wait for Seungcheol to pick you up. You thought a lot about the dream and how you were so mean to him in that dream.

“I don’t want to hate him anymore,” you think to yourself. You open your phone to Instagram, look up his username, and immediately hit follow. Then you go to your contacts and type his number to remake his contact in your phone—still remembering his number and putting it in your phone like the first time you two exchanged numbers. 

Right when he followed you back three minutes later, you sent him a message about how you don’t like the two of you becoming distant and wanting to start over as friends. He agrees, and you ask to see him over lunch.

The next day you met up with him for lunch, and he was still the same annoying Seungcheol: always watching brain-rotted reels while you two talk and always teasing you. It feels nice to have this back, and you’re glad the two of you are not going to be distant anymore. Well, you thought you two were on bad terms, but everyone, including him, never thought that. It should’ve hit you that he could never hate anyone, so what would make him hate you?

After that, you went to the design studio thinking about Seungcheol. You really do like being friends with him, and you’re sure you don’t like him romantically. You soon realized that you didn’t need to bring him down in order to get over him. Today made you realise why he’s your first love. 

You finally finished the leather jacket and the skirt. You never realized how you never got to finish the outfit while you were with Dokyeom, but only being able to finish it when you were alone. The good part of being a single fashion designer is that you have a lot of time for yourself to design anything.

The bad part, though, is that people like you always make apparel for others but yourself. It took you a while to notice that the leather jacket was too oversized for the skirt. It’s a men’s jacket, and the measurements were for Seungcheol.

After handing in your design, you finally took some time to design something for yourself. Maybe some jeans or a cute sweater. Since Valentine's Day was coming up and you and your friends were invited to a party that day, you had an excuse to make a whole outfit for yourself.

You took several days brainstorming and sketching out what to wear, but you finally settled on something simple. Maybe you were too focused on creating your outfit that you didn’t realise Valentine’s Day was about love, and all of sudden all your friends had a date to the party.

“I can’t believe we’re the only ones without a date!” Your friend complains. “Even Jiwon is going with that red head guy!”

“Hey, we have each other. You should wear that top I made for you for your birthday.”

“I definitely will.”

The both of you lie down on her bed, except this time you’re not talking about guys. It’s not bad to not have a date, but you’ll be disgusted if you see your friends all over their dates.

“Hey, it’s kind of ironic how all our friends’ dates are all friends too. And they have three guys who still don’t have a date.”

“Yeah, no. Saerom tried setting me up with Junhui because she thought we’d be perfect for each other, but he keeps sending me cat photos. And didn’t he like everyone?”

“Yikes. I forgot his friend group is odd.” Right when you brought that up, you get a text from Minghao, Jun’s cousin. He asks you if you already have a date to the party, and you reply with a no. The only person from that friend group you can tolerate is Minghao. He’s pretty much normal, but he’s just a friend.

Minghao then asks you if you want to go with him to the party. “Oh, wow, Minghao is asking me out,” you say to your friend. “What should I say?”

“Yes! Are you crazy (Name)?”

“What about you, though?”

“I’ll be fine. I have Hayoung since she doesn’t want to go with anyone.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not going to show up.”

“Still. Just go with him!”

You sigh and send him a thumbs up. A part of you only wants to do this for the fun of it, but another part of you doesn’t want to since you like being alone.

The day of the party rolls by, and you just finished up the dress you were making for it. All your friends agreed you were all going there together. You quickly made a few adjustments to your dress in the car, putting the pack of pins in your handbag. If there’s one thing you can’t go out in public without, it’s a sewing kit.

You arrive at the house where it was being held, and you see several people entering. When you all entered the house, your friends easily found their dates and you met up with Minghao.

You honestly just wanted to stay with your friend, so you stuck with her as Minghao followed behind with his friend. No matter how many times you wanted to be with your friend, your other friends and his friends always pushed you into Minghao’s arms and took pictures.

You felt that same pang of guilt when you were with Mingyu and Dokyeom. You know that feeling a bit too well, and all you want to do is leave the party with your friend. You eventually gave up and just stuck with Minghao for a while.

As you left him to go get a drink, you bumped into Seungcheol, who you thought doesn’t go to parties like these. "Hey, I thought your mom banned you from going to parties." He mentioned as you two walked to the kitchen.

“I thought you don’t go to parties? And my mom doesn't care anymore.”

“My friends convinced me to go here.” He picks up his phone, and his screen reveals ‘Mingyu’ as the person calling him, making your heart drop. He answers the call, hanging up seconds later. “Which, speaking of, are looking for me. I’ll see you around (Name)!” He walks the other way, and you leave the kitchen without a drink in your hand, only leaving with a pounding heart. 

You went back to Minghao and told him you were going to go home with your friend, and you left him without giving him a chance to say goodbye. Honestly, you hope Seungcheol didn’t see you with him and hope that none of your friends upload those photos. 

You looked for your friend and left the house together. Instead of going back to the dorms, you two just walked to the nearest convenience store to just hang out and calm down.

“So you don’t like Minghao?” Your friend asks as you look through the candies in the candy aisle of the store.

“I like him as a friend, just not in that way.” You confirmed, picking up a pack of gummy bears and following your friend to the drink aisle.

“I heard Saerom’s man was the one encouraging Minghao to ask you,” she points out.

“Junhui got pissed at me because I took his last person he was going to be with, like I kept telling him he can have his cousin!”

“What made you want to leave, by the way?”

You stayed silent as you watched her think of what beverage to buy. She looks back, waiting for an answer. “I think it’s because of me.”

She picks out an orange soda, and you two make your way to the cashier. “What do you mean?” She asks, in the middle of paying.

“I think I just like being single.” You two leave the store and sit down at a table right outside, placing your stuff on the table.

“And that’s okay. It’s not bad being single,” she assures, putting down the drink and holding your hand with one hand.

“I know it’s not. I just don’t do well with love; I keep hurting guys.”

“I can tell. I was there when Mingyu asked for your number, when Dokyeom said he was your ideal type, and when Minghao asked you out.”

You sigh and chuckle after. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m such a manipulator. I just led on three guys.”

“(Name) as much as I love you, that’s not something to be proud of.” You nod in response, repeatedly muttering a bunch of ‘I know’ to her. “You always keep saying it’s about you and your emotions. But have you ever considered it’s about Seungcheol?”

This is what your friend has wanted to discuss since your days with Mingyu. You knew your breakups were because of Seungcheol, but you never realized it wasn’t him, it was about him. That feeling in your heart you had earlier when you saw your ex’s name on his phone brings you back to freshman year.

You like Seungcheol.

“I think I still like Seungcheol,” you admit to your friend.

“All because you saw him earlier? Cause I saw you two talking in the kitchen,” she brings up about that little interaction that made you aware of your feelings.

“No. I think I always liked him, but I was in denial about it. Just think about it. I caught myself staring at Seungcheol while I was with Mingyu. Dokyeom told me I talk about him a lot. And well, Minghao never reminded me of him.”

“I figured. Whenever I asked you if you were going to be with your man, you were a bit soulless. No offence, but you were never excited when you talked about them. Now that I think about you, when you were with them, you never talked about them at all to us.”

You lowered your head, mentally slapping yourself for doing that. “It was so different from Seungcheol though. Every time you looked at Seungcheol and talked to him, it wasn’t the same with the others. I saw stars in your eyes. You didn’t like him; you were in love with him.”

Your friend is still holding onto your hand, ignoring the fact that you’re in the middle of having a heart to heart in front of a convenience store. 

“(Name), I think all you needed was to be honest with yourself. It’s okay to love Seungcheol. No matter how many hearts you break, you’re not a bad person. It just shows how caring you are. You can still be friends with him even if all our friends hate him. Even though I think what he did to you back in junior year was so messed up, you were so strong to go through that heartbreak. You are amazing and loving, and I want you to tell that to yourself every day.”

With your free hand, you cover your eyes with it. Your friend gave you tissue paper from her bag, as she was quick to notice that you were tearing up. She moves herself closer and brings you into her arms.

“Choi Seungcheol is one lucky man to have you love him.”

You got your leather jacket and skirt back, getting a 98% on it. As long as you got over the nineties for it, you’re happy. You only lost a few points for making it a men’s jacket instead of a women’s jacket. 

Since you got the jacket back, it would make sense to give it to Seungcheol since it’s clearly his size only. Your friendship with Seungcheol has been calm ever since that heart-to-heart with your friend. He still picks you up from the studio, but instead of taking you to your dorms, you two go on little side quests for fun. 

The weather has been getting warmer, so you two would go wherever to hang around outside. He picked up a hobby of taking photos due to a friend of his gifting him a camera. So every time he would drop you off at the dormitory, he would take a picture of you in front of the building.

“Open your sweater so you can show off the new shirt you made,” he requests, looking at you through the lens as he watches you zip down your sweater. You made an unserious shirt, printing a picture of a sock monkey on it. 

After hearing camera clicks, he puts the camera down. “Cute outfit,” he points out.

“And we need to work on your closet!” You tease.

He rolls his eyes and tells you good night, driving off when you tell him to rest well tonight. Right when you turn around, you face Jeonghan, who happens to be one of Seungcheol’s friends and lives on the floor above you.

“Wow, and Jisun said there was going on between you two,” he remarks. If there was anyone nosy about you two, it would be Jeonghan. According to Jisun, several guys—including Jeonghan—would ask about you and Seungcheol, some of whom she didn’t even know by name. 

"Yeah, cause we’re friends,” you confirm, heading to the elevator as Jeonghan follows you in.

“I asked Seungcheol if he still likes you, and he said he likes you as a friend only.”

Even though you’re quite annoyed by him, you still manage to respond to that. “Well, he never had feelings for me, so he’s valid for that. Plus, I like it that way.”

“So you can’t be delusional anymore,” he jeers as the elevator comes to a stop on your floor. You step out of the elevator, hoping Jeonghan just minds his own business and stays in there.

“I like being his friend anyway, Yoon Jeonghan,” you mimic his tone as you watch the doors close in front of him.

You’re not wrong with your words, though. You love being friends with Seungcheol.

Seungcheol and you are on your usual side quests after he picks you up from the studio. This time there were bands performing at a nearby park, so you went there to chill. You brought the jacket, but held onto it considering he’s going to assume it’s yours.

As you picked a spot to sit down, there was already music and the sky was getting dark soon—before that, you two went to feast yourselves with cheap ramen and an unhealthy amount of soda. 

You hand him the jacket without saying anything; he takes it with a puzzled expression displayed. “It’s the leather jacket I was designing a few months ago. I accidentally made it your size,” you speak up, smiling as you watch his perplexed expression turn into an ecstatic smile.

“Accidentally? Or did you intentionally make it for me?” He jokes as he puts it on, making you push his shoulder.

“This is going to be the last time I’ll ever make you something.” You snootily look away. He laughs and apologizes—always apologizing after he makes fun of you.

You two stayed silent as you swayed to the music. It’s calm and sweet. You could stay in this moment forever, nothing and no one to bother you. Right now could be a good time for Seungcheol to make another stupid joke, but he seems to be enjoying the music too.

This is what you need. Nothing romantic with him, but close to him. The sky was dark, and you pointed out the fairy lights hanging around the trees. Seungcheol lies down his head on the grass, now staring at the sky, as you follow along.

“Sky is too cloudy to see stars,” he mentions. You avert your eyes from the sky to him, turning your head to comfortably gaze at him. He was still looking up. You don’t expect him to look back; he never does. But you enjoy this, just intaking his unforgettable face.

“Thank you, (Name),” he mutters, “for coming here with me.”

You don’t respond right away, still listening to the music. “Of course, but I’m sorry,” you let out, now turning your head to gaze up at the sky again.

“Sorry for what?” He asks, your no-context apology makes him look at you now, watching you stare at the non-existing stars—just like his love for you.

“Still being in love with you.”

svt masterlist .ᐟ