#once again Link knows what he's doing I think | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heylittleriotact · 2 days ago

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𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤-𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐃𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤.

Here's an ao3 link because apparently we're still not auto-formatting

Two Weeks Later

Rook nibbled at her lip and sat up straighter to get a better view of the curb. Parking was a bit trickier on side streets once the windrows of melted and refrozen snow and ice started accumulating, but she managed to negotiate the uneven surface, pulling up alongside the curb and putting the car in park. “Am I good?”

Emmrich opened the passenger side door and glanced down. “Perfect - about five inches from the curb. Well done!” He closed the door and Rook set the parking brake, then cut the ignition.

“Thanks Emmrich - I really appreciate you letting me do this.”

For the past week he’d been letting Rook use his car after work to practice driving in preparation for attempting her road test. Practice, being the vital operative to their arrangement: Emmrich wasn’t actually teaching her anything, because as she had been brutally quick to point out when he initially floated this idea to her that: ��I don’t need you to teach me anything: I already know how to fucking drive, Emmrich. I did the in-car lessons and everything when I was 17, I just never actually got around to doing my test.’

So ‘practice’ she did, and thankfully she hadn’t crashed his car yet.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, unable to keep the smile from his face: her long black hair fell in soft, shiny waves around her face and over her shoulders today, and she looked very pretty under the streetlights outside of her apartment.

“Good! I feel like I’m getting more confident each time, which is what I need, honestly. I think I should be ready to try my test soon - I’m thinking after Wintersend is a reasonable goal.”

Wintersend was five weeks out.

That meant at least five more weeks of practicing with Rook.

His heart leapt at the thought. There was no denying that he looked forward to their time together each day, and he genuinely missed it when they couldn’t get together due to one or both of them having days off, or an evening cropped up where he was scheduled on a visitation or prayer service.

He’d only managed to falsify excuses to avoid being alone with her for a week after Mrs. Gardner’s funeral. Only had it in him to come up with reasons why he couldn’t drive her home for a few days until finally he could no longer resist the self-serving appetite to be in her company, and resumed offering. On days he couldn��t drive her home, he always made a point of texting her to make sure she arrived safely, because again: any occasion in which he had a convenient reason to converse with her was a happy one.

She slipped off her seatbelt and put her hand on the door handle, pausing for a moment as if she wanted to say something, but clearly thinking better of it before opening the door and stepping out of the car.

Taking this as his cue to get back in the driver’s seat and head home for the night, Emmrich got out too, walking around the back of the car until he was on the driver’s side.

Rook hadn’t moved. She was just standing there, clutching the open door of his white Audi like she might fall if she let go.

“Rook?” He inched closer, concern piercing through the ever-present haze of infatuation that lingered in his head these days.

Her eyes drifted to her hand on the door, her face set in an uncharacteristic look of consternation before her gaze met his.

Then she let go of the door and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in her chest as she squeezed him tightly.

“Thanks,” she said, voice somewhat muffled as he attempted to come to grips with what was happening.

He was just about to return the unexpected embrace when she released him suddenly, parting from him only for a second before she stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his - a quick, impulsive connection that made his stomach bottom out.

Then she was looking up at him again: she was tall, but he was taller than most people.

Her gray eyes that reminded him so much of the cleansing summer storms that rolled across the plains during the dog days of summer searched his, though she remained silent.

The dwindling warmth left by her lips on his punctuated the continuance of time as he stared at her, his mind reeling.

Her fingers curled around the knot of his tie, and the warmth returned when she dragged him down and crushed her mouth against his, her sweet soft tongue sweeping past his lips, brushing hungrily against his and tasting him with a desperation that caught him off guard.

His mind stopped reeling and immediately went blank instead. He leaned into the kiss, returning her enthusiasm, one arm snaking around her waist, the other slamming onto the roof of the car, bracing them both, as her hand relinquished his tie to palm the side of his face.

She wanted him. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her…

Their teeth bumped, and she kissed him harder, biting down gently on his lower lip before pulling away only enough to breathe, “I need you to fuck me, Emmrich.”

Certainly. He could absolutely acquiesce to that. His mind was all but consumed with sinful thoughts of fucking her lately: this would pose no inconvenience.

The journey from the car into the warm lobby of her apartment building was a blur, as was the time it took to climb the stairs to whichever floor she lived on. And then he was kissing her again, even as she closed and locked the door behind them, then dragged him down the hallway to the bedroom, leaving her coat in a heap on the floor, tugging his suit jacket from his shoulders and down his arms, discarding it with the same exhilarating carelessness.

Then there was a soft bed beneath them, their hands frantically wandering, squeezing, and groping as they undressed each other with little pretense or ceremony: his tie was loosened and yanked over his head before it vanished into the comforting dimness of her room. Her shirt was hauled up over the perfect tits he had been fixated on since the day she sent that cheeky photo to him, and he filled his hand with one, plunging under her dark blue bra while her fingers darted between the buttons of his waistcoat and his belt-buckle, seemingly unsure of which article of clothing she wished to do away with first.

She eventually seemed to settle on his pants, conquering the belt with his assistance, and slipping loose the button, then the zipper that were concealing his throbbing cock. She slipped him free from the confines of his underwear, stroking him with a keen urgency that made him buck into her hand as he undid her jeans with one hand and yanked them down over her ass along with her panties.

Not wanting another second to go by without being inside of her, he lined himself up and thrust into her sodden core, his hands finding her beautiful, tattooed wrists.

“Ohhhh - Emmrich… fuck!” She groaned, looking up from under him, her black hair splashed over the red sheets like it had been in that perfectly scandalous picture.

He claimed her lips once more, swallowing her moans as he took her with a instinctive hunger he did not know he was capable of - filling her tight, soft pussy; feeling every inch of her as she clenched and flexed around him before withdrawing and slamming back into her sopping heat, the lewd sounds of their frenzied tempo filling the room.

“You feel just as amazing as I… as I knew you would,” she panted, squirming against him and palming his ass with one hand, urging him deeper - harder. “You feel so fucking good,” she whined through clenched teeth, managing to wriggle free from her jeans and drawing her knees towards herself, opening further for him. “Fuck me hard, Emmrich - fuck me the way you’ve wanted to fuck me since you met me...”

He was about to do exactly that… but then his phone rang.

That awful, evil, damnable Marimba tone that in that exact moment made him feel positively murderous.

His eyes snapped open. The dream vanished.

The Marimba did not.

Disoriented, blinking into the darkness, he grasped for the phone on his nightstand, picking it up with an anguished groan.

‘Call-Center, McDermott & Rafferty’ said the name on the call display. The time in the upper left corner was 2:17.

He slid his thumb over the screen to answer the call and flipped his legs over the edge of the bed, the sheets still covering his leaking, rock hard cock. “Hello, this is Emmrich.” He put on his most professional voice - certainly not the cadence of one who was just dreaming about being balls deep in a coworker.

“Hey Emmrich,” came the familiar voice of the overnight receptionist, Jen. “Got a first call on the line. Vital stats are done. It’s for Mr. Phillip DeSouza - he passed away at Crystal Grace Hospital, we have permission to transfer him into our care, and his son, Gio is on the line and wants to talk to a funeral director.”

Emmrich took a deep, grounding breath he hoped that Jen couldn’t hear. “Thank you Jen, you can put him through.”

He took the call, answered Gio’s questions with the appropriate amount of compassion and kindness befitting someone who had just lost their father, booked an appointment to meet for arrangements the following morning, and put the phone down when he was done, drawing both hands over his face, raking his fingers through his sweaty, untamed hair as his cock continued to throb insistently, clearly not interested in calming down despite the early hour.

Sighing, he reached for the phone again, opened his messages and found the ongoing exchange he had with Rook.

The most recent messages were from earlier this evening. She had said ‘Thanks for the parallel parking brush-up - it’s fucking crazy to me that you can do that with a hearse no problem lol’. He had said ‘It’ll be second nature in no time’ and even dared to tack on a smiley-face.

He could probably text her now and get a reply: even when she wasn’t out on the town with her friends, she was a self-proclaimed night-owl and by her admission she rarely went to bed before three.

He tapped the message field and the keyboard popped up.

But what would he say? ‘Hello Rook, I just took a call from a family with a raging hard-on because I was in the middle of an exceptionally vivid dream of having sex with you when the phone rang. How is your evening going?’

Hardly palatable late-night conversation between professionals…

He tapped out of the message and scrolled up and up and up until he found the picture she’d sent him: he couldn’t bring himself to save it to his device. If he did that it would be admitting something he wasn’t yet ready to admit.

There she was, crash-landed on the dark red pillow like she had been in his dream. Snarling up at him defiantly - daring him… taunting him as if this static image of her from weeks earlier knew exactly what he had been dreaming about minutes earlier.

He grasped his cock and imagined her pale fingers around him instead of his own. Lost himself in the quirk of her plump lips and the delectable fantasy of them wrapped around him; her perfectly white teeth scraping gently up his shaft before she took him until he hit the back of her tight throat.

It was far from the first time he’d jerked off to this particular photo, and it was unlikely to be the last at this rate.

Breathing heavily into the darkness he worked his cock feverishly, giving himself over completely to the image of Rook and the intoxicating hold she had on him.

His balls tightened, pressure reaching its breaking point deep within, and with a shuddering gasp he spilled into his hand, feeling the heat of his cum as it dripped onto the sheets and ran down between his legs, moaning softly as his movements slowed and then finally ceased.

Down the hallway he could hear the telltale warble of Manfred, followed shortly by rhythmic wheezing and a wet ‘splat’ as the cat ejected a surely massive hairball onto the floor.

His timing was as impeccable as ever.

“-So instead of spending your break or your lunch scrolling through your phones, we’d really like to see you socialize: talk to each other.”

Rook had to actively force herself not to roll her eyes at the ludicrous imposition put forth by Derek: the audacity it took to think that he had the authority to tell any of them what to do with their time during their unpaid breaks was astounding.

Asshole.

Why was it that every Derek she’d ever met (only two, to be fair) turned out to be a massive prick?

She felt the tingle of someone’s eyes on her, and Rook stopped regarding Derek with an expression of subtle disgust to look across the huge lunch room table, meeting Emmrich’s gaze in time to see the corner of his mouth curve slightly upwards.

He looked tired: the dark circles around his eyes were darker than usual. He must not have slept well, she decided, though despite that he looked as put-together and handsome as always.

Her heart skipped in her chest, and whatever Derek was droning on about at the weekly staff meeting no longer mattered.

Did he have any idea? The slightest inkling of what that sweet, clever smile did to her?

She’d basically resigned herself at this point to the fact that she was smitten with Emmrich: she was no stranger to infatuation and the ferocity with which it would blow into her heart, ravaging her carefully crafted barriers and walls, laying waste to her various doubts and reservations until all that remained was a burning fixation - an all-encompassing curiosity that begged to be satisfied until she either bent to its will, or waited for it to run its course, letting it burn itself out until it was little more than smoldering ash.

In this case, she’d just have to be content with the excuse of driving practice to scratch the itch until the urge to shove her tongue down Emmrich’s throat subsided in a month or two, and she could get back to fantasizing about someone else - a celebrity or something - when she got herself off.

How many times had she wanted to test the waters? See if he would be interested in more than letting her drive his car?

How many times had she talked herself out of it because there was no way someone like him would be into a train-wreck like her?

Oooh, but she did rather like imagining him smiling like that at her from between her thighs…

Fuck…

Her panties practically flooded at the very thought.

“Does anyone have anything else to add?” Derek looked around the table, finally finished outlining his grand vision in which they were all best pals as well as colleagues. God she hated his stupid pink face and his stupid haircut that was identical to his father’s, except it was blonde instead of white.

“The RSVP deadline for the annual Wintersend Dinner is this Friday - if you haven’t already, please respond to the invitation that would have been sent to your personal email address and let us know if you plan to attend, and if you’re bringing a guest.” Myrna, making a rare appearance outside of the chapel in the south end of the city that she managed, tapped the end of her pen on the table as she spoke, looking about as interested in the prospect of the Wintersend party as she sounded. “It’s at a new venue this year, so you don’t want to miss it.”

She looked like she wanted to miss it.

Before she’d gone on maternity leave, Tessa had told Rook that the party the year before was a mess: the venue ran out of food and over a third of the staff in attendance either didn’t get dinner at all, or they got a very small portion. The only silver-lining to the night was that Tom Rafferty got especially into his cups and was buying drinks for anyone who so much as said ‘Happy Wintersend’ to him.

Rook was still on the fence about going: she didn’t have anyone to bring with her, and she’d been to enough work parties over the years to know that she had little interest in getting drunk with or around the people she worked with.

They didn’t need to know that side of her.

She didn’t need to know that side of them.

“Thanks Myrna,” Derek said, “I think that’s everything. Have a good week, everyone.”

Rook pushed her chair back from the table and stood, picking up her coffee, ready to file out of the lunchroom with everyone else.

“Rook.”

She turned to see Derek pushing in his own chair, his pudgy, well-moisturized hands without a single callus on them gripped the back of it. “I need to speak with you. Meet me in the clergy office in five minutes, please.” There was no depth in the expression on his face: no genuine emotion on it. It was empty and unreadable like something that had been soullessly rendered by AI.

Emmrich, having overheard this as he passed behind Derek, frowned at Rook from behind the future-owner. She shrugged one shoulder slightly to indicate she was just as confused as he was.

“Uh… yeah, of course,” she said, mind racing to try and figure out why the hell Derek would want to speak with her. Was she getting fired? Had a family finally complained about her? Had it been brought to management’s attention that Rook was actually a cantankerous cold bitch, and a terrible, terrible fit for a career that required patience, kindness, and the ability to pretend you weren’t fucking annoyed constantly?

She slipped out of the lunch room, joining Emmrich as he climbed the stairs to the main level.

“What does Derek want with you?” He asked. Ascending the narrow stairwell together put them in close proximity to one another, and Rook couldn’t help but notice how good he smelled today: grounded and earthy, like wet cedar and oakmoss.

“I have no idea, but I get the feeling it isn’t good,” she admitted, trying not to let nerves get the better of her: she’d tried so hard over the past four and a half months to be perfect. She still had a month and a half left of probation, and they could let her go for any reason until that six months was up…

Emmrich let her pass through the door at the top of the stairs first. He squeezed her shoulder comfortingly - such a small gesture, but one that made her stomach do backflips. “Try not to worry,” he said quietly so no one else in the hallway could hear. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

Rook nodded, wanting to believe him. She couldn’t make her voice work, so she just nodded some more and then made her way to the clergy office, one door over from the main admin office.

She sat down at the desk and resisted the urge to screw around on her phone till Derek showed up: if he wandered into the office and found her on her phone, he’d flip his shit.

Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long: Derek appeared in short order, closing the door behind him and sitting across from Rook, holding a pen and a sheet of paper - a termination letter?

Rook’s mouth felt dry.

“Sorry for interrupting your morning,” Derek began, folding his hands over the paper on the desk so she couldn’t make out what it said. “I won’t keep you long, Rook. I just wanted to chat with you about an urn you sold last week - the cloisonné for Mrs. Strickland?”

Rook felt herself frown. “Uh… okay.”

“Let’s start with you walking me through exactly what your process was when you ordered the urn for her.”

“I don’t understand,” Rook said, her ears heating up. “Was there some sort of problem?”

“If you could just start with your process, please,” Derek insisted, his face the same placid expression of absolute nothingness as always - it was like it was supposed to be friendly and assuring, but it missed the mark completely and was just fucking creepy instead. This dude literally was the perfect image of the stereotypically creepy funeral director.

“I… I… she came in - Mrs. Strickland - last week and said she wanted to buy a keepsake urn for a portion of her husband’s cremated remains,” Rook began, still completely at a loss, but taking care not to sound defensive or nervous. “I took her up to the selection room and showed her the urn catalogue as well as some of the actual samples we have up there. She was quite indecisive, but was especially drawn to the cloisonné urns - she just didn’t know which colour she liked more. I spent the better part of an hour with her, listening to her thoughts on the different colours as she weighed her choices, making suggestions or offering my opinion when she asked for it.

“She wound up settling on the blue butterfly cloisonné because her husband had some sort of deep spiritual connection to the colour blue or something.”

It had taken forever to get her to pick an urn, and Mrs. Strickland had that rich-bitch, Karen energy about her that implied that Rook should be thanking her lucky stars that she was so blessed to be the one helping the widow with this magnanimous undertaking. Honestly, she was awful to deal with, but Rook could at least try to chalk that up to grief and not a consistent personality trait.

“I brought the urn with me and took her to this exact office, actually, to finalize the purchase and take payment. Once that was done, I gave her a copy of the receipt, the urn catalogue, and then updated Mr. Strickland’s file with the purchase so I could email the arranging director and have them order the urn.”

“And you specifically meant to select the blue butterfly on the dropdown list in the file?” Derek inquired.

Yeah… that’s what I fucking said, right? I’m fucking sick of this dick jerking me around.

“Yes.”

Derek sighed and fidgeted with the pen in his hand. “Listen, Rook - you ordered the wrong urn. When Mrs. Strickland came back to pick it up, she said she’d actually ordered the brown butterfly cloisonné, and since Mr. Strickland’s remains were already placed in the blue one, we’ve had to charge it back to the yearly bonus because as you know, we don’t resell used merchandise.”

“What?!” Rook’s voice rose incredulously. “But I’m sure she wanted the blue one - I said the words ‘blue butterfly’ no less than thirty times - I even had it sitting here on the desk when she paid for it!”

“Sometimes we mishear or misunderstand when families ask us something,” Derek said in his sage, holier-than-thou tone that implied he’d pursued his solemn calling as a death-professional with stalwart passion his entire life, rather than fucking off years earlier and fooling around as an investment banker until he lost everything came crawling back to daddy and his business. “Which is why we’ve got to be really careful when we’re assisting them with these important and meaningful decisions: they might not seem like a big deal to you, but they’re huge to them - that woman just lost her husband.”

Her heart pounded in her ears as she reined in the desire to tell Derek where he could shove his arrogant, condescending bullshit.

“Perhaps you clicked the wrong urn on the dropdown menu and meant to click the brown one?” He suggested. He was trying to give her an out: a way to excuse the mistake that would reduce it to a careless mis-click rather than a blatant overlooking of a family’s wishes.

“I clicked the blue butterfly cloisonné and had it ordered because that’s what Mrs. Strickland told me she wanted,” she asserted, unwilling to admit to something she didn’t do - even if it might save her ass. “Perhaps she was confused and forgot that she ordered the blue one - I can only imagine she’s going through a lot right now.”

Derek’s lips pressed into a thin and rather disapproving line. “We can’t blame families for our own mistakes, Rook. That’s not fair.”

I didn’t make a fucking mistake, you asshat! That broad forgot which urn she ordered, and rather than admitting that, doubled down and insisted that we fucked up!

“I can tell you’re upset about this - that’s good. It means you won’t forget the lesson to be learned from it. You’re a great employee, and you do good work, Rook - we’re thrilled to have you on the team, but just try to be a little bit more attentive when you’re ordering merchandise for families, okay?”

Fuck you, man.

He slid the piece of paper and the pen across the desk to Rook.

McDermott & Rafferty - Chargeback Form, said the header at the top.

“This just outlines what we’ve talked about today, what you’ll do to avoid it in the future, and indicates the cost of the urn, which will be taken out of the shared company bonus.”

$210. Son of a bitch.

She didn’t want to sign it. Didn’t want to put her name on it because if she did, it meant that she was agreeing that this was her fault and she’d done something wrong when she knew she hadn’t.

But… she didn’t have a choice.

She scribbled her signature on the bottom of the form and slid it back to Derek. “Can you please email me a copy of that?” She asked, keeping her voice amiable and professional. She’d learned the importance of keeping a paper-trail the last time she’d been unceremoniously canned from a job.

“You bet.” Derek said, signing off on the form as well. “Try not to take it too hard, Rook - we all make mistakes.” He set the pen down - oh lovely, he wanted to talk more. “Are you planning on attending the Wintersend party?”

Her eyes meandered over the platinum wedding band on his left hand, and she immediately felt uneasy with the direction of this conversation.

“Haven’t decided yet. Maybe,” she said shortly, reverting to her defensive, guarded way of interacting with men she didn’t trust.

“Since it’s your first year with us, we’d love to see you there.”

We, he said, like there would be some sort of committee of McDermott & Rafferty employees eagerly wringing their hands the night of the party, hoping she’d make an appearance.

“Yeah if I’m not busy that night, maybe,” she said again, standing up. “Am I free to go now? There are arrangements starting any minute that I need to help with.”

“Of course, Rook.” Derek stayed seated, but she breezed past him towards the door anyway. “Have a good day.”

“I’m driving us to a bar,” she announced hours later, looking over her shoulder and backing out of Emmrich’s parking space. “You can choose to leave me there and I’ll find my own way home after I’ve had a fucking well-deserved drink, or you can stay and have a well-deserved drink with me.”

She’d been in a mood for the rest of the day after her chat with Derek. Emmrich hadn’t needed to inquire what it was about: she’d texted him as soon as she was done and told him about the nightmare with the urn.

He felt for her: as far as chargebacks went, it was a particularly lazy one. Eating the cost of the urn wouldn’t have blown the bottom line of the business, and doing so would have avoided planting the seed of distrust in Rook’s mind that would almost surely take root and grow wild in time after more and more microaggressions and petty implications that she wasn’t good at her job: He’d seen it enough times in nearly thirty years.

“I’ll have a drink with you,” he said. “But you won’t be getting back behind the wheel this evening.”

Rook’s learner’s license had a zero tolerance for alcohol condition.

“Fine,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road as they exited the parking lot and she navigated towards her side of town.

The bar was a hole in the wall: a locally owned little place called Ray’s that occupied a spot in an old strip mall in between 7-11 and an adult store. The neon sign was half burnt out, and one of the windows had a large crack spider webbing across it from a central impact point as if someone had kicked or punched it.

Not really the sort of place Emmrich regularly found himself, but he was hardly one to judge.

“Just a moment, please,” he said when Rook went to get out of the car. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie pulling it up over his head and folding it carefully before depositing it in the glove compartment. Then he put his jacket in the back seat, very aware of how close the twist and stretch put him to Rook, who he noticed smelled like apples and magnolia and the freshly baked cookies that they served to families at arrangements.

He undid the top button of his shirt and said, “There we are - now we can carry on perpetuating the notion that funeral professionals cease to exist outside the walls of the funeral home, or the boundaries of the cemetery.”

Staff of McDermott & Rafferty were not to be seen in places like bars with their uniforms or name tags on. They were not to take or distribute photographs of themselves in their uniforms either: the business was fiercely protective of the reputation of their brand, and Emmrich was aware of at least half a dozen staff over the past decade who had been fired without question for breaking that particular rule. Of course, all of them would have gotten away with their crimes if someone they worked with who didn’t like them for one reason or another hadn’t seen their social media postings and immediately ratted them out to management. Trusting people in this line of work was nothing short of a gamble, no matter how nice they seemed, hence why Emmrich didn’t have - nor would he ever have - a ‘Facebook’ or an ‘Instagram’.

The smell of bleach and stale beer hit his nose as soon as they got inside, and Emmrich followed Rook to a booth along the far wall: wood panelled, with mirrors spanning the wall above it. This place looked like it was untouched by time, frozen somewhere in the late 70s.

Sitting across from Rook, he rolled up his sleeves and ordered a pint of whatever she was having from the server who approached them.

He listened to her go off about her conversation with Derek, hands waving through the air, pausing occasionally to take a long drink from the rather skunky lager in front of her, while he occasionally sipped from his own.

It’s nice to be able to offer a supportive ear to a colleague, he told himself as he silently marvelled at the colour of her eyes, the shape of her delicate, feminine fingers; and the way she filled out the Misfits t-shirt she was wearing.

Having taken her winter coat off when they got inside, he’d never seen so much of her arms, and he was fascinated by the sheer variety and clarity of the tattoos now visible: a swallow, a red rose, a Zippo lighter, a coffin, and a dagger through an anatomically correct heart were only a few of. He was of the mind that he could stare at them for hours.

“- and honestly I wouldn’t be so stuck on this if it weren’t for the fact that I don’t know what I could have done differently to avoid it,” she said, pausing to take a breath. “I have no problem with admitting when I’ve fucked something up, and I’m happy to do things differently in the future to avoid it happening again, but like… what can I learn from this? What, am I supposed to… to like make families sign off on their purchases to confirm and verify that we’re on the same page? That seems shitty: people will think I don’t trust them!” She took another drink and set her pint glass down a bit harder than she needed to. “I need a smoke,” she muttered, sliding out of the booth and grabbing her coat and swiping a pack of smokes from the front pocket of her backpack. “I’ll be right back.”

Emmrich was already on his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

“Oh you don’t have to - it’s cold out and you’re not wearing a jacket. Don’t worry - I’ll be fine on my own for five minutes.”

“I was actually going to ask if I could impose myself upon you and bum one.”

Rook looked from the pack of cigarettes in her hand to Emmrich, then back again, looking delightfully bemused.

“I’m sorry - you smoke?”

“I’ve been known to partake from time to time - not habitually of course, but as more of a social experience.”

“Uh… okay. I am legitimately shocked.”

He laughed, unable to help himself, and held the door for her. “Why?”

“Because you’re so… proper and… good.” She slid two smokes from the pack and put them between her lips, lighting them both and handing him one.

“And good people can’t indulge in the occasional enjoyment of a harmless vice?” He quirked an eyebrow and took a drag, savoring the powdery, artificial taste of her lipstick on the filter.

“Smoking kills,” she quoted.

“Everything kills, eventually.”

“Touché,” she shrugged, shoving her free hand in the pocket of her coat. “Sorry for sitting around ranting this whole time - I know it’s a downer, but I’m really pissed off about that chargeback.” She puffed on her smoke and ground the toe of her boot into some snow. “Are you gonna go to the Wintersend party?” She changed topics abruptly.

“I usually do.”

“Does it suck as much as everyone says it does?”

He chuckled again. “It’s not all that bad when there’s enough food to go around. Were you planning to go?”

“Dunno.” She stubbed her smoke out against the metal ashtray fastened to the brick wall, clearly too cold to linger outside long enough to smoke the cigarette down to the sponge. “Are you bringing a ‘guest’?”

What an interesting question.

He extinguished his own smoke and dumped the butt inside the ashtray, “I wasn’t planning on it. Are you?”

“I never said I was going,” she smirked, ducking under his arm to pass through the door, back into the heat of the bar.

She got back to the booth and slipped out of her coat as Emmrich sat back down. When she went to hang it from the hook at the top of the booth, a wayward sleeve caught her pint glass which was still roughly a third full, causing it to wobble, then tip over.

“Shit!” She exclaimed, watching as what was left of her beer dripped off the edge of the table onto the vinyl seat of the booth on her side. “Typical,” she sighed. “And they didn’t give us any napkins. Oh well.”

Emmrich didn’t have any time to question her - she just shook her head and slid into the booth alongside him. Their thighs brushed and he nearly leapt out of his skin as she sidled up next to him innocently.

“Rook, what are you—?” He stammered.

She righted her glass and dragged the laminated drink menu over the table towards herself. “Hm? Oh, I’ll get the server to bring a rag when she comes back to take our order - I’m assuming you’ll have another one?”

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, truth be told: he certainly was not in the habit of going out for drinks after work with colleagues - especially not ones half his age. To say he was out of his element was an understatement, but the lascivious details of his dream the night before kept intruding on his train of thought, and now Rook was sitting right next to him…

“I really like you, Emmrich,” she said, looking sidelong at him, her voice taking on an uncharacteristic softness.

“Thank you - I like you too, Rook,” he responded cheerfully, and for some reason, Rook sighed heavily, put her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.

He thought he heard her mutter, “Holy fuck,” but he couldn’t be sure.

They each had one more drink, then Emmrich drove Rook home. She was quieter than she had been all evening, and she looked distracted and worried on the ride home - he chalked it up to the weight of a stressful day, and was sure to tell her to try to have a relaxing rest of her evening when he dropped her off.

Bad days happened to everyone, but there was no denying that in this profession they tended to hit harder and sting a bit more than they did for most other people.

He set down the book he’d been reading in bed for the past hour when his phone buzzed. Picking it up, he saw it was a message from Rook, and his stomach immediately leapt at the sight of it. He really loved hearing from her - he was quite taken with her, as inappropriate as it was, but— oh.

He’d opened the message and was now staring - bug-eyed, his mouth slightly agape - at the screen, and the image of Rook on it.

The other picture she’d sent him was an innocent moment of drunk impulse. This was something altogether different… and unmistakably deliberate.

She was posing in front of a mirror, holding the phone up to her reflection, wearing a snug gray chemise trimmed with light pink lace. Her long, thoroughly inked legs were visible right up to the hem of the chemise, which was very short. The flimsy material of the garment made it clear that her hard, perky nipples were pierced and her free hand was splayed sensually over her hip as she pushed out her chest, emphasizing her narrow waist and the luscious curve of her hips.

‘Thanks for listening to me vent today. I feel much better now - Rook, xoxo 😘♥️’

What…? Surely this was meant for someone else…

It was bad enough when he was just drooling over her like a depressed, unmarried, middle-aged man, but unless he was completely mistaken and way off base, this new photo and the message that came with it seemed to indicate some sort of romantic interest - or physical attraction to the recipient at the very least.

“I really like you, Emmrich,” she had said at the bar.

Emmrich’s blood went cold and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the photo and the suggestive little smile on her crimson lips.

No wonder she looked like she wanted to cry when he responded like the oblivious fool he was.

But if she… if I…

What do I do?

The right thing would be to politely inform her that this wasn’t appropriate, and he’d appreciate it if she refrained from sending him any more pictures of herself.

But Emmrich Volkarin had done the right thing for his entire life, and in his mind that more than made up for the words he tapped out in response.

‘You are beautiful.’

His cheeks heated, his stomach roiled on itself and his hands went clammy as the three bouncing harbingers of an imminent response popped up.

‘I’m off tomorrow… do you wanna come over?’

He nearly vibrated out of his skeleton as adrenaline shot through him at those words and the blatant meaning behind them: she wasn’t asking him over at this hour for a friendly chat.

He could just stop.

He could just not reply at all, put his phone down, and go bitterly masturbate in the shower like a mature human being, knowing that getting tangled up with someone - a colleague - of Rook’s age was begging for trouble - not to mention a potential danger to his professional career and reputation.

Knowing that it was unfair to take advantage of someone as youthful and full of potential as she was in order to stroke his own aging ego and soothe the cruelty of his own inadequacies.

Knowing that if he went through with this, he was almost guaranteed to regret it.

Instead, he typed out: ‘See you soon.’

He hit send and got out of bed, unable to stop his hands from shaking as he dressed himself in a hurry in a cashmere sweater and chinos.

He felt strangely disoriented as he beseeched Manfred to please not get into anything while he was away. Felt like he was dreaming again, even though he knew he was not as he threw on his peacoat and grabbed his keys before setting the alarm system and vanishing into the garage, unable to get the image of Rook’s incredible body from his mind.

“I really like you, Emmrich.”

#emmrook #emmrich x rook #emmrich romance #emmrich smut #modern au #funeral home au #dragon age #datv #dragon age the veilguard #rook is an edgy mall goth #emmrich volkarin #dragon age emmrich #emmrich the necromancer #this is an emmrich thirst post #dragon age fan fiction #da fic #dragon age fic #v writes #ao3

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l0v3gore · 11 hours ago

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Aftermath ☠︎︎

Yikes!!! - The link to the inspo of this oneshot 🥲

Feat.Katsuki Bakugo

Warnings:- Hangover, vomiting, near death experience and over all suffering.

Synopsis:- When you wake up with a sprained foot, a stomach that hates you, and a memory of a goldfish, you know it’s been an insane night. But things really hit rock bottom when you realize Katsuki Bakugo—the guy who literally saved your life from going splat run over by a lorry—has stuck around to witness your suffering firsthand. Between the projectile vomiting, the awkwardly holding a bucket, and Bakugo’s zero-tolerance for your stupidity, you’re left wondering if this is what true love looks like—or if you’re just lucky he hasn’t killed you yet. Either way, you’ve got a lot of apologizing to do... after you can stand up without throwing up again.

If you hadn't hit rock bottom already, you were definitely going there.

Your foot? Sprained. Your stomach? A warzone. And the last segments of your remaining ego and dignity were long gone after the first sip. So much for keeping up with that mysterious, nonchalant aura.

You didn't remember much of the night before—or maybe you were better off not trying to.

The stinging pain in your foot that slowly travelled up your back as you were practically grappling for your life in the middle of the road, the blinding lights that cut off your vision as the lorry preyed on your struggling form—Yikes!!!

Nevertheless, bad decisions were made, and here you were doubled over a bucket retching as your stomach revolted against you. Retching was a nice way to put it, but if we're being completely honest, it sounded like an exorcism was being performed, and in a way of its own, it was. Of course this was absolutely not left unheard by Katsuki as he approached you, mumbling curses left, right, and centre.

You barely lift your head. "Kats, I think I'm dying… --BLEGH"

He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep exhale as he does, "Good."

You whimper, clutching the bucket as another wave of nausea hits you like a tonne of bricks. Katsuki, on the other hand, reluctantly crouches down beside you. His hand—warm, firm—rubs small circles against your back in a way that almost makes you feel human again.

"You're so fucking lucky I was there," he grumbles, but his words hold no malice, rather an undertone of worry.

The only response you had left in you was a mewl as you lurched forward once more, practically burying your face in the bucket as you held onto one of his arms to support your weakened, frail frame: "Please kill me."

He clenches his jaw. "You almost got flattened; wasn't that good enough, dumbass!?"

Your personal recollection of the night before was limited compared to Katsuki's; it was vaguely painted out in black and white, and his little remark rebooted your memory just enough to lift your heavy head and lock his eyes with yours.

"Oh." That was it; that was all you could muster.

"Oh?" He snaps. "Is that all you have to say??"

"...Thanks for saving me?"

He rolls his eyes, not saying much, as he presses a bottle of water into the palms of your hands. "Drink up. Slowly," he warned.

You sip at it gingerly, eyes fluttering shut as the cool, refreshing liquid cleanses the palate of your tongue, the lingering bitter taste instantly washed away in one go, and after a small, hollowing silence, he speaks up.

"You're a pain in the ass." A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips after he said that, his hand still on your back, soft and steady, holding you in place even as you slump over, exhausted and wrecked. You know he's not going anywhere, letting out a small hum in response, pausing a moment, "...I know..." You say, barely just above a whisper, as you let your body collapse against him, taking in all his warmth and comfort.

#bnha #mha x reader #mha #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #hangover #drunk #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #one shot #oneshot #bakugo oneshot #mha fanfiction

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thesadpuffin · 7 months ago

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Zelda Reacts Part 6

this has been about 90% finished for such a long time lmao, but hopefully the wait was worth it!! omg it was so fun drawing Link in this armour, it's one of my top faves for sure - HE JUST LOOKS SO GOOD ASFJGHDK

Part 5: Snowquill <<< >>> Part 7: Dark Link

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leenfiend · 2 years ago

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i would trust my instincts but they lie to me like i lie to you

#this song works for both of them i think but im envisioning it as one for keith #denying himself the option to admit he likes lance bc he doesn't know how to love someone like lance who is so full of love #anyway i hope u all like the colored in version of the comics maybe i will do more !! who's to say who's to know #my art #voltron #klance #vld kalnce #vld #also once again just ripping off heynhay's link to song with additional lyrics in the description what can i say u inspire me <3

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quirkle2 · 2 years ago

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question!

i've been wanting to stray away from lu for a while now and do my own thing with wars n ledge and the rest of the links (mainly bc i feel restricted by jojo's rules/don't agree w her takes, and wanna pursuit my own stuff), but there's one big thing holding me back, and that's lack of views to put it bluntly

if i make my own au and don't tag its content as #lu, then it will most definitely get a fraction of the attention my lu content does. and i know it sounds self-centered of me to worry abt something like that, but i put months of work into the fics i post. i put days of work into each art piece i post. if i work on something for months and then 10 people on ao3 read it and an astounding 0 of them even leave a comment, that will be Devastating to my motivation And confidence

what im asking y'all is this: should i finally make my own au to separate myself from lu and risk the plunge in notes, or should i stay in the lu fandom and suffer?

#qktalks #i feel like my links are far enough apart from lu's canon to justify this #ESPECIALLY my wars #my wars is Nothing like lu wars; he's silly and goofy and not at all serious #not even accounting for the fact that he Looks completely different design-wise i think he's pretty far from canon lu now #my sky design is Nothing like lu sky's and i have my own characterizations of him despite not posting abt it much #to put it bluntly once again i wanna post stuff of them all cuddling and being a family without dipshit lu fans coming in and correcting me #so far it's only happened like Once but the fear and anxiety of being ridiculed is still very much apparent #im afraid to post stuff. i don't wanna be afraid to post stuff #i wanna have my own au where i have my Own rules #and i wanna be in a fandom that doesn't fuckin suck VGIEAYGV #but im terrified of switching over and out of the fandom bc then my stuff won't be viewed at all #and without reblogs of my art and comments on my fics i have a feeling i will simply stop producing anything altogether #i know the whole ''u should make art for yourself'' thing but . it's no fun if nobody else is gonna see it yaknow ?#i wanna show other people what makes me happy and maybe make them happy in the process #that's hard to do when u don't tag ur posts w a popular fandom tag that everybody searches through #idk . willing to hear anybody's takes on this

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rearranging-deck-chairs · 1 year ago

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cw rape but im listening to sic transit gloria by brand new and like,,,,fic idea

#instead of 'wished i had just kissed her just once' like 'shouldnt have let her do that to me'#yaz letting herself be talked into things bc of the ticking clock and bc its the doctor #'shes moving way too fast and all he wanted was to hold her'#i havent written a Final Hour ficof them #i think?#i might do this #no! NO.no im not writign again im finishing this fic and im Doing Other THIngs #fuck #dont get distracted #couldnt do it justice anyway #and from the doctors side of course like its all #desperation regret pain like actually physically the existential threat of being actively dying #selfpunishment+yazidolisation #toxic combo #'was never able to open up to her like i should have' so like wildly overcompensating #'here have all of me then'#which is Not what yaz wanted #anyway im not writing it but if anyone happens to know of a fic thats done this send me the link

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fragmentedblade · 11 months ago

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Not to be a jingfu on main, but it's so cute that Jing Yuan thought of Fu Xuan with those jelly beans

#me: the Xianzhou characters are all just coworkers #also me whenever anyone is shown to be fond and have intimate knowledge of some other character: awwww #Like Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan playing starchess and teasing each other or making a reference to things they like #or Jing Yuan talking about young Yukong #Quingque apparently disliking Fu Xuan but obviously that not being the case‚ knowing what she likes and how she thinks #Fu Xuan hiding that she has a sweet tooth but Jing Yuan and Quingque knowing it and teasing her for it #I don't know. There are a lot of instances of these small intimate details in the middle of what looks like a coworker relationship #Good coworkers‚ but coworkers nonetheless #And ironically it moves me so much? Even more so than Belobog. I've been told several times that Belobog seemed more tight. And I agree #In Belobog people were friends or family or companions but linked by something closer than mere coworkers with Wildfire #Even Sampo in the Underworld was strangely 'theirs'. He had the magenta colour of Wildfire and he was trusted to some extent #The Luofu characters don't have that. And yet the fragments of intimacy scattered through their interactions move me a lot #These are people who have known each other for centuries. Jing Yuan knows of Yukong's youth‚ its joy and grief #He knows Fu Xuan has a sweet tooth and teases her about her height. Quingque does too #Fu Xuan chastises both of them for being lazy but she knows they're smart and good at their job. She plays starchess with Jing Yuan #Quingque mocks Fu Xuan for being a workaholic but is very aware of the weight she carries both in her position and ideas about destiny #I won't mention Yanqing and Bailu because there is obviously more than a coworker bound when it comes to them #But yes I love the moments of intimate knowledge scattered through the Xianzhou‚ so telling of the fact that these people have known #each other for longer than several human lifetimes‚ and that perhaps they don't necessarily regard each other as more than their coworker #But perhaps that's enough in order for them to care. Perhaps in a lifetime over one thousand years the intimacy gained with a coworker #through several centuries is something beyond what we could understand in our decades lifespan #But also‚ perhaps‚ I don't know. Also‚ perhaps‚ the do care beyond coworkers in that strange line between work and friendship #Perhaps it's strange for Xianzhou natives to tell apart that kind of relationship after so much intimacy and knowledge through the years #And perhaps‚ once again‚ as it often happens for them‚ they think they'll always have enough time to tell; until they run out of it #They play chess together. Quingque can lose time because Fu Xuan can't stay mad if she brings her sweets. Are they just coworkers?#We play chess. I know what tea and sweets you like best. I brought them today since you would indulge me and play starchess with me #Thanks for playing with me‚ I'm running out of book puzzles. You keep divining my moves but I'll invent a fake story to distract you #Are we coworkers or something more like friends? Where is the line after so many years?#I talk too much but I love this charged nothingness haha I find it ironically so true to how many relationships in real life develop #And I find it so moving‚ that representation of this endearing smallness of everyday life. Of these small things is life made

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bongo-clash · 2 years ago

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TWs for: Death, mentions of illness/poison, implied panic attack/flashbacks, and extremely botched ecto-science

The Justice League has known Phantom for a while, now. They’ve fought beside him in several battles in the year, and he’s handled every one of them with an inhuman efficiency and grace. His power-set is strange and extensive, but he’s taught them more about the Infinite Realms than any of Constantine’s tomes ever could. About its history, its cultures; about a particular kind of ectoplasmic corruption that only comes with exposure to oxygen.

It’s this particular detail that Batman remembers, when—after years in sort-of remission—Jason’s eyes glow lurid green, and the tidal wave of the Pit’s rage returns.

It’s hard, to express that level trust, especially with his kid’s safety on the line (one he’s already lost before, that he can’t lose again. Can’t, can’t, can’t). But really, it’s either Phantom or the League of Assassin’s—a group that certainly doesn’t have a great track record of doing right by his children—so Bruce bucks up the most difficult kind of courage, and approaches the other hero after a debriefing.

“Phantom,” He calls out, just as everyone’s leaving. His hands are clasping the back of the chair he’s risen from; one of his older tactics for preventing visible tremors. “Stay behind for a moment. We need to talk.”

Phantom’s shoulders draw in on themselves just slightly as he waves goodbye to the rest of the group, drifting back towards the meeting table with a sheepish smile on his face. He crosses his legs in the air as he says “Man, I feel like I’ve just been sent to the principal’s office. Am I in trouble?”

Despite the tension lining Bruce’s heart, he almost finds it funny. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Phantom. I just wanted to ask for your input on something.”

“Wait, really?” The hero perks up, neon-sign eyes shining. “The big ol’ Batman wants my help with something? I mean—sure, Bats, what’s up?”

Batman doesn’t allow himself the luxury of hesitance, and speaks before he can even think of sighing. “A few weeks ago, you mentioned your belief in the presence of large sources of corrupted ectoplasm on earth. I want your input on the potential effects of this ectoplasm on a living being.”

Even before Phantom replies, it’s obvious the answer isn’t a good one—based purely on the way the ghost’s eyes turn wide and nervous. “A- a living being? Well, um, I don’t—look, ectoplasm in its most basic form is an obligate anaerobe, right? And corrupted ectoplasm comes from a natural portal destabilising, and oxygen breaking through the initial protective layer. So, you’ve got a sort-of-maybe-sentient—kind of depends—oxygen-poisoned anaerobe getting—what, absorbed into a fully living being? If they’ve had no prior exposure to ectoplasm, then best case scenario’s probably death, Bats.”

But Jason isn’t dead. And Jason won’t be.

“…What about a living being who has had prior ectoplasmic exposure?”

He looks at Bruce like he’s hoping this is a hypothetical, but knows with Batman it never is. “So, like, a medium, or…?” Batman only stares. The sigh the ghost gives says more than it should, given he doesn’t need to breathe. “It’s… Batman, if you’re telling me right now that there’s someone out there with even a little bit of a dependancy on ectoplasm, with corrupted ectoplasm in their system—then you need to take me to them. I can’t have any idea how serious this is without more context.”

This isn’t what Bruce had wanted to hear at all. He’d wanted everything to be okay; he’d wanted Phantom to wave him away with a laugh and say it’ll filter itself out on its own in a couple years’ time- and sure, fine, he’d have pushed to the ends of the earth for evidence of that claim, but at least it would have been a little bit reassuring. Jason could be—

No. Jason will be fine. Phantom just needs more context.

“Friday, 10pm.” Batman finally bites out, and sweeps out of the room with all the steel and confidence of a man who will not be losing his son.

To his credit, Phantom does actually show up on Friday, despite the fact that Bruce hadn’t actually confirmed that Friday would be okay. He’s shuffling his feet like they’re touching the ground hands fiddling with the straps of the backpack he’s wearing, and when he looks up, says nothing at all. Taking the silence for what it is, Batman leads him to the Zeta.

Surprisingly, it hadn’t been all that difficult to convince Jason to show up. Though he tried to hide it, he was worried about Pit, too; he’d described it to them, a few times, that sludge-like haze that took him over, nausea in places that couldn’t be nauseous—he wanted it gone just as much as they did. More than they did, probably. When Bruce had told him someone in the Justice League might know what to do, he’d barely even complained about clearing his schedule for the night.

Phantom takes one look at Bruce’s son, and promptly blanches.

“Holy shit. Dude, that has to hurt so bad.” Seeming stuck between getting closer and coiling away, Phantom looks at Batman, and then at the Red Hood, back forth.

Bruce can’t take his eyes off Jason, for all that he can’t see an expression from beneath the helmet. “What is that supposed to mean?” Batman asks, barely refraining from a growl.

“It’s—you’re like, the closest thing to a revenant a guy can get without being a revenant and, y’know, forming a core. You’ve got some natural ecto in you, but it’s completely swamped by the corruption trying to breach it.”

Jason doesn’t move, but Bruce can see the way his fists clench and unclench at his sides, trying to look relaxed and perhaps succeeding to Phantom, but not his father. “Right, yeah, cool. That’s great,” Red Hood replies, voice made forcibly neutral by the helmet’s modulator. “Laymen’s terms, if you’d be so obliged?”

Phantom shrugs, also trying to look causal- but, unlike Jason, both of them can tell he’s uncomfortable. “Okay, so we’ll call the ectoplasm death energy. You’ve got some of your own—which means you’ve either died, got really close, or you were exposed to natural death energy some other way—and you had that before you came into contact with a corrupted source of death energy. But then you came intocontact with this corrupted death energy, and it got absorbed into your system. If you had a core, which is this thing that ghosts have, that would be, like, urgently bad. It’d basically rot your core once the corruption reached it and you’d cease to exist without intervention.”

He pauses for a second there, just to let them absorb that information before continuing. “As it is, you don’t have a core, so the corrupted ectoplasm- sorry, death energy- isn’t going to kill you or anything. But it’s definitely not good for you. You need oxygen to live, obviously—the natural energy makes you kind of a microaerophile, but we don’t need to worry about that right now, because the corrupted energy is an obligate anaerobe that’s already been poisoned by oxygen contact, and it’s trying to take over the energy you already have to save itself. But… it can’t save itself. All it can do is just keep clinging on so it doesn’t rot away completely. Your energy is renewing itself enough that the corruption isn’t going to rot you by extension, but you can probably feel it doing something, can’t you?”

Jason, apparently, decides this is a ‘helmet-off’ kind of conversation now (he only does that when he finds it hard to breathe; Bruce wishes he could make this easier on his boy—), and releases the catches on the back of his hood with a mechanical hiss.

“I get angry.” He admits carefully, trying to keep his expression blank. “It feels like somethin’ in me starts rebelling against itself, and I end up lashing out at everything. It… yeah, it does hurt.”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know about this sooner.” Phantom says, tone soft.

Red Hood waves him off immediately. “Not your fault. But, you’re here now; can you do anything about it, or is this just somethin’ that’s gonna have to run its course, or whatever?”

“I can separate it,” Phantom answers quickly, reassuring. “It’s trying to cling, but it isn’t actually part of you. The corruption can be removed. The only thing is just, y’know…”

“Know what?” Batman says, suddenly nervous; thrilled beyond beliefto hear that his son won’t have to suffer anymore, but dreading getting his hopes up. Dreading the but.

The ghost looks back at him. “I think I mentioned that normal ectoplasm can be a little bit sentient? Or, well, gain sentience?” Batman nods stiffly, Jason’s glitch between stilling and fidgeting. “Yeah, it’s been clinging to you for a while; this stuff’s probably going to come out as a ghost of its own, and I highly doubt it’s going to be friendly.”

Jason stares. “But you said the stuff can’t exist without leeching off me?”

“Yeah,” Phantom nods, something unpleasant on the tip of his tongue. “It won’t last long without you, but it might try to attack, or reabsorb. You can’t let it reabsorb.”

“Figured that, yeah.” Red Hood scoffs. “We doing this now, or what?”

Phantom hesitates, but assents. “I’ve got some gear in my bag. We can do it as soon as you’re ready.”

…

It takes them a few minutes to get kitted up. Phantom shows them the spectre-deflectors—explaining how he’ll separate the corrupted ectoplasm from Jason, and how he’ll have to put the deflector on immediately after to prevent the corruption from reabsorbing—with Batman wearing one too, just in case. Phantom can defend himself just fine, and the corruption will likely only take a few minutes to completely fade. They don’t even need anything else.

Jason is looking around like he can barely believe what’s about to happen and, quite frankly, Bruce can hardly comprehend it himself. Jason’s struggled with the Pit Madness for years, and to have an option to get rid of it, once and for all? It’s like a dream Bruce never wants to wake up from; he’s wished for this for years. He’s wanted so desperately for his son to be happy without something looming in the shadows, and all at once, it’ll finally be over.

When Phantom asks if they’re both ready, it takes only half a moment to push past the surreality of it all and say yes. Red Hood readies his deflector, and with one crack of his knuckles, Phantom reaches through the man’s chest, and pulls something out.

…Someone. Phantom pulls someone out of Jason’s chest.

Someone red, and yellow, and green, and crying.

Oh God. Oh God.

Jason doesn’t even look up until his deflector’s secured, and Bruce is so, so glad his own was fastened long beforehand, because it’d have dropped from his hands the moment his eyes fell on white-out domino. He’d expected the corruption to look like a monster; Batman had been prepared to steel himself in the face of an incorrigible beast trying its damnedest to cling to his son. He hadn’t expected, not even for a moment, that the leech poisoning his kid would look like a little boy.

The one he lost in a warehouse five years ago.

He wants to call out to Jason not to lift his gaze, but like a film in slow motion, his son’s head raises, and his whole body freezes, twitching back like he’s been doused in cold water. He stares like he’s seeing everything, and nothing at all.

Robin—the corruption, turns to Phantom with a snarl on his lips (Its lips. Its. He cannot think of this like his son. He cannot think of this like his son when Jason is right there in front of him).

“YOU!”It roars, in Jason’s scratchy fifteen-year-old pitch, shooting over to Phantom with its tiny, green-gloved fists clenched tight enough to creak. He hadn’t known it would be able to speak. “What did you do?!”

Phantom looks as if he’s about to say something, but the corruption’s attention has already been diverted. His (its, its, its) eyes are set on Jason.

“Why did you-?” It cries out, choking on its own tears, face contorting into a grief and an anger Bruce had never seen on his son’s face until it was too late, rushing towards him. Jason takes a stumbling few steps back—and he isn’t fast enough to avoid the corruption’s reach—but it doesn’t matter anyway, because the spectre deflector lights up, and the ghost wails as the shock reaches it. The electricity seems to destabilise it, too; its form glitches and seems to melt a little.

Bruce feels sick. This corruption that was trying to kill his son is heaving huge, gasping sobs, falling apart at the seams, and Bruce feels like he’s about to throw up. “What’s happening?” He croaks. “It-it hurts, I don’t understand.”

And then it turns its see-through little head to Bruce, teardrops rolling down splotchy cheeks still round with baby fat, and his heart drops right through his stomach and out to the other side of the earth.

“…Dad?”

No.

Bruce stumbles backwards, whole body trembling like his chest’s the epicentre of a personal earthquake, barely saved from falling by a weak grip on the Batcomputer chair. He wants to look away, but all he can see is his baby’s crestfallen face, dying all over again, and he doesn’t want to see this but he can’t stop watching.

The ghost lurches forward again and this time, Phantom silently flicks a hand out, and some kind of green forcefield forms around it. The silhouette of his fifteen-year-old son beats at the shield. His cries are muffled by it, but Bruce can still hear them. He can’t help but think that this is what Jason sounded like in Ethiopia, crying out for a father than would never get there in time. His son’s dying all over again, and he’s just standing there.

“Let him out.” Bruce pleads, voice rasping. “We have to save him.” He can see it through the green tinge of the barrier: Jason’s fading fast. The tips of his fingers and pixie boots are disappearing into thin air.

Phantom turns to him with utter devastation in his eyes. “Bats, that’s not Jason.” He says, just as the twenty-year-old son that came back tumbles knees-first onto the floor, head leaning forward until his forehead touches stone. It’s the smallest he’s ever seen him in the last five years.

That’s what snaps him out of it, if only for a moment. He falls over himself reaching for Jason, curling around him like a blanket of kevlar and heartbreak. This close to his son’s head, he can hear the quiet hiccuping of tears.

They sit there, for the world’s most unbearable two minutes, as a version of his son pretending to be his son sobs and screams and falls apart. Bruce’s surroundings blur between the cave and a warehouse on the horizon, shimmering like a mirage under a hot African sun—his son is right here, safe in his hold, but he’s dying over and over, infinitely again, and Bruce can never stop it.

Two minutes later, the world rings out with “Dad, I’m sorry!” and a muted scream, before silence is the only thing that’s left.

…

Phantom gives his boy a completely clean bill of health, promises that his uncorrupted ectoplasm will sustain itself just fine without any further intervention, and leaves the moment Batman asks him to.

Jason is free from the corruption that had been draining him like a leech for the last five years, and so long as he doesn’t go back to the Pit, he’ll be free of it for the rest of his life. He won’t have to hurt people with an anger he can’t control anymore; Bruce will no longer have to watch his son suffer from a rot welling deep within him ever again.

This should be one of the happiest days of his life. But that night, he and his second oldest walk to a hill with a tombstone at its peak, hiding beneath the shade of a yew tree; neither of them acknowledge that the other is crying beyond the barest glimpse of fingertips ghosting together.

In time, this will be a good day, but the relief comes later. For now, they sit down beside each other, worlds away, and don’t move until the sun rises the next morning.

(Jason apologises to a boy he will never be again—that he left in a coffin and never took with him—and Bruce apologises to son he could never save in time. In the end, the only evidence they have of their grief at all is a phantom scream in the wells of their ears, and a stone on the top of a hill with nothing underneath it at all.)

Short DPXDC Prompts #770

Danny cures Jason’s pit madness.. only issue is the pit madness reforms as an evil ghost

#I know this said *evil* ghost but I got carried away thinking #About what the worst possible thing I could do with this prompt would be #And then this happened!!#The corruption is more like?? A death echo I guess?? The agony of Jason's demise lingering within him and poisoning him from the inside #Or a parasite that clung so hard to Jason that it became a mimic of him and what he was almost??#Bruce didn't get to see his son's last moments the first time but he gets a Front Row Seat here HHJSDFGSDJ #Every time I think I'm normal about Jason Todd #I remember the metaphorical ghost looming over his shoulder that both is and isn't him and I descend into madness once again #Have you ever heard that thing that's like. Once someone is dead they have always been dead?? You can never see them any other way??#Literally Jason with his Robin-self #And like. Displaying that self-mourning through an actual manifestation of everything that he was and never will be again??#He upsets me so much I'm obsessed with him #The ectoplasm being an obligate anaerobe thing is a reference to an ectobiology hc post I made like. A Million Years Ago #It's completely incoherent but I'll link it in the comments of this post if someone asks lmao!!#Also if there's any spelling/grammar errors ignore them I am. A Bit Sick.#dpxdc #dpxdc fic #Bongo's Writing!!!#Bongo's Reblogs!!!

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domjaehyun · 2 months ago

Text

the need to know (l.dh) —part one

PAIRING. sneaky link!fwb!haechan x fem!reader GENRE. smut, fluff, mild angst, some humor CONTENTS. mentions of marijuana, explicit smut (unprotected sex, oral (receiving), overstimulation, praise kink, dom!haechan, switch!reader, breast play, nothing too crazy in this fic dw) WORD COUNT. in total, 40.4k, 13.5k in part one SUMMARY. you and haechan have undoubtedly had tension for the majority of your friendship. what happens when you act on it? PLAYLIST. the need to know (feat. sza) - wale // notice me - sza NOTES. i hope you enjoy! if you’re subscribed to my patreon, this fic is already published in full over there :) the next part will be up on wednesday, december 11th! :) friendly reminder that leaving nice feedback is incredibly sexy and very appreciated!

“I feel like we’ve been in line for these bumper cars for twenty minutes,” Haechan groans.

You check your phone and roll your eyes. “It’s been eight.”

“Well, eight too many! What’s taking so long?” he complains, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the numerous heads in front of you.

“Patience is a virtue,” Jihyo chimes in, and Haechan huffs.

“Well, I’m running out of virtue.” he mutters, and you snort. He looks over at you with a small grin. “You liked that, huh?”

“Yeah, that was kinda funny.” you admit, and his smile widens as he turns fully to face you.

“Well, you know what they say about funny guys,” he muses, and you look off into the distance thoughtfully.

“I don’t think I recall.” you say after a moment, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“They say funny guys are dangerous. They’ll make you laugh and chuckle and then they’ll make your knees buckle.” he announces proudly, and you shoot him a look.

“Literally who is saying that?”

“They are!”

“Who’s ‘they,’ Haechan? I want names and receipts, because I feel like you made that up.”

“Well, I don’t have names or, like, timestamps, but—”

“You have nothing to back you up, is what I’m hearing.” you reply with raised brows, and he scowls at you.

“You’re no fun. Why are you my favorite?” he mutters to himself, and you laugh.

“I’m your favorite?” you coo, leaning onto him with a smile, and he looks over at you with a smile he tried and failed to restrain.

“Unfortunately.” he grouches. “Hey, look, we’re moving!”

“See how time flies when you stop complaining?” you say as the eight of you move up. Shifting slightly behind you, Haechan steps on the back of your shoe, making your heel slip out of your sneaker. “What is your deal?”

“What are you talking about?” He’s the face of innocence, if you ignore the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You did that on purpose.” you point out.

“What’d he do?” Jiwoo asks curiously, and you turn to her with a pout.

“He stepped on my shoe so it came off.” you complain, and Jiwoo rolls her eyes in Haechan’s direction.

“I did not!”

“You’re a bad liar.” Mark points out, and you smile, satisfied that your friends have your back.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” he replies, maintaining his innocence, and you huff, glowering at him before turning back around. When the line moves up, he does it again, and you growl under your breath, whirling around to face him once more. “Hi.”

“Shut up.”

“Ouch?” He places a hand over his heart like he’s been wounded, and you roll your eyes dramatically. “Words hurt, you know.”

“Not nearly as much as I wish they did.”

He gasps, loudly and obscenely, and points at you accusingly. “You want to hurt me?” He looks you up and down with budding intrigue. “Why is that kind of hot?”

You sigh loudly, resting your hand on his shoulder as you fix both of your sneakers. “You’re insane, and you’re a nuisance, Haechan.”

“Only to you,” he coos, and Renjun clears his throat pointedly from his spot in front of you two.

“Not true. I also find you to be a nuisance.” he adds.

“I thank you for the support, Renjun, but you find most things to be a nuisance… so that’s not really a surprise.” you say carefully, and his brows knit together thoughtfully before he shrugs, nodding in agreement.

“Fair point. On the bright side, we’re almost at the front of the line,” he points out, and you shift to Haechan’s side as you all step up.

“Aw, you wanted to stand next to me?” he teases.

You blink at him. “You can’t fuck with me if I’m standing right next to you.”

“Is that a challenge? It sounds like a challenge.”

“And if I throttle him?” you announce to your friend group.

“He’d probably moan,” Jaemin says regretfully, and Haechan nods, eyes wide with glee as he presents you with his neck.

“I definitely will. Go for it.”

“Have you no shame?” Jaemin remarks, scandalized, and Haechan pauses to think.

“No.”

“Lovely. Great.” Jaemin mutters to himself, and Haechan smiles, pleased. “Can this line move so I can hit Haechan with my bumper car?”

“Agreed,” Jihyo says.

“Amen,” Mark chimes in.

“Retweet!” Jiwoo adds.

“Period.” you agree.

“Damn, even you?” Haechan exclaims, looking at you with a frown.

“Do you have short term memory loss? Did you forget how you deliberately made my shoes come off, like, two minutes ago?” you ask incredulously, and he rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“I’m going to harm you physically.”

“Maybe come stand next to me,” Jihyo offers, gently pulling you forward in the line towards her.

“Yeah, and you come here.” Jeno suggests, yanking Haechan backwards in line by the collar of his jacket.

“I don’t wanna stand next to you!” Haechan complains. “You smell like weed.”

“I took an edible today.” Jeno remarks plainly, and Haechan wrinkles his nose.

“The stench is embedded in your clothes.”

“I washed this jacket yesterday.” Jeno answers flatly.

“Well, in my defense, how was I supposed to know that?” Haechan huffs.

“Can you shut up and move up? We’re next, I think.” Jeno pushes Haechan forward in the small of his back, and Haechan crumples with a wail, stumbling forward to clutch onto you.

“He stabbed me!”

“Poor baby,” you coo, embracing Haechan as he clings onto you.

“I cannot, for the life of me, make sense of you two.” Jihyo chuckles with a shake of her head, and you shrug, the movement difficult due to Haechan holding onto you.

“He’s cute when he whines.” you answer, and Haechan coos at you fondly, nuzzling his nose into your neck affectionately.

“I think you’re the only person who thinks that,” Jeno chuckles, and you shrug again.

“Don’t listen to him,” Haechan mumbles, words muffled by his face being squished against your neck. “He’s mean. He stabbed me.”

“I poked you.” Jeno sighs with a roll of his eyes.

“You jabbed me!” Haechan counters, and you stroke Haechan’s hair, shushing him gently.

“It’s okay,” you hum soothingly. “You’re safe over here as long as you don’t get on my nerves again.”

“I’ll be such a good boy,” Haechan promises, and your eyes widen in surprise, your sharp intake of breath catching in your throat and making you cough for a second.

“Did not expect you to say that,” you mutter when you recover, and he chuckles, tilting his head up to look at you.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he teases, and you blink down at him blankly.

“Shut up before I make you stand with Jeno again.”

“Shutting up.”

Finally, your group moves up to the very front of the line, the attendant briefly going over the rules. The eight of you agree to follow the guidelines and he lets you in, all of you scurrying to get in a car. You spot a cute, baby pink bumper car and get in that one, strapping yourself in and quickly familiarizing yourself with the controls.

The attendant hits the buzzer to begin the timer for your session, and you all start to drive around the course, quickly getting the hang of the controls and maneuvering the small vehicles.

You’re careening down the course when you’re bumped from the side, sending your car veering into the guards on the wall. You glare over at the culprit, Haechan grinning flirtatiously as he surges forward, repeatedly bumping your car closer and closer to the corner and more off-course.

“Haechan, pick on someone else.” you complain, and he scrunches his nose as he shakes his head.

“You’re so fun to mess with, though.” he says with an attractive pout.

“God, you’re lucky you’re cute.” you mutter, missing too late the way his eyes flash with satisfaction and budding mischief.

“What was that?” he calls over to you, placing a hand behind his ear.

“I didn’t say anything.” you huff, and he raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad? Not my problem.” you reply with a shrug, and he narrows his eyes.

“Don’t make me come over there.”

“How are you gonna come over here when we can’t leave our bumper cars?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

“I’ll get out and come over there and climb right onto your bumper car.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Jeez—” you mutter, huffing and puffing before admitting, “I said, ‘you’re lucky you’re cute.’”

He grins widely and runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it up casually before he speaks. “How lucky am I, hm?”

You shoot him a wary look. “Haechan, what are you talking about?”

“I wanna get lucky tonight.” he says slowly, wiggling his brows, and you blink at him, waiting to see if he’s serious before an incredulous scoff-laugh escapes you involuntarily.

“I suggest you get real acquainted with your hand, Haechan.” you chuckle, starting to drive forward and bump him out of your way.

“You’re cruel,” Haechan laments. “What happened to me being cute?”

“You’re still cute,” you assure him, blowing him a kiss. “Just not that lucky.”

“Next time,” he calls out to you as you drive away, and you wave him off dismissively.

You half-wish you hadn’t brought up the image of Haechan touching himself, because now it’s all you can think about; his hand gripping himself, the way he might stroke—fast, slow, tight, with a flick of the wrist—

“Pay attention, girl!” Jihyo laughs, bumping into you as she drives by. Rapidly blinking out of your reverie, you realize you’ve been slowly veering in towards the center of the rink, your car riding along the guard rails, and you do your best to clear the Haechan-induced fog in your mind.

The rest of the bumper car session passes fairly quickly, with shrieks and giggles of delight and Haechan repeatedly bumping into you “by accident.” When you get out of the bumper cars, your legs are a bit wobbly, but the light, bubbly feeling you have in your heart more than makes up for it.

“Can we please go on a roller coaster next?” you say hopefully, and Jihyo frowns instantly.

“Those make my stomach drop… I’m gonna pass this time.” she says apologetically, and you nod in understanding, although your face falls a bit.

“We just ate corn dogs and funnel cake, like, right before the bumper cars, and if we go on, we might blow chunks.” Jeno explains, gesturing between himself, Mark, and Jaemin.

Jiwoo looks over at them in confusion. “When did you have time to get food?”

“We snuck off,” Jeno admits sheepishly. “Well, I snuck off… Mark and Jaemin just followed me.”

“You just sensed corn dogs and funnel cake so you wandered off?” Jihyo snorts, and Jeno looks even more embarrassed now than he did earlier.

“I smelled them…” Jeno admits quietly, and you blink, surprised.

“Okay, bloodhound.” you joke, and Jeno snorts in amusement. “So Mister Super Sniffer and his greedy nosy companions are out, Jihyo’s out… I can tell by the look Renjun’s giving me that he’s also out…”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Jiwoo? Haechan?” you ask hopefully.

“I’m sorry, girl, I’m just—I’m kinda scared.” she admits quietly, a small frown on her face.

“Aw, okay,” you reply sympathetically, squeezing her hand gently. You look over at Haechan hopefully, and to your relief, his face softens into a fond smile. “That’s the smile you give me when I’m about to get my way,” you say excitedly, and he chuckles, something warm and inviting in his eyes.

“I’ll go with you.” he agrees, and you squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck for a hug. “Careful, now, before I ask you to ride something else.” he murmurs in your ear suggestively, one hand moving to clutch at your waist, and you gasp, releasing him instantly.

“You’re gross.” you scold him.

“What’d he say?” Jiwoo asks curiously, and you narrow your eyes at Haechan before waving your hand at her dismissively.

“You don’t want to know. Let’s go, Haechan!” you chirp, grabbing his hand and pulling him after you to the biggest, baddest roller coaster you can find.

When you get in the line, Haechan sighs loudly as he looks at the numerous people ahead of you.

“We’re gonna be in this line forever, you know.” he complains.

“Worth it if I get to ride this thing.” you say, looking at the rollercoaster lovingly.

“You are so cute.” Haechan coos, squishing your cheeks until your lips pucker out.

“Can you unhand me, you fiend, you?” you huff, pushing his arms until he releases you with a frown. “You like being treated like a baby; I don’t.”

“Oh, really?” he asks, brows raised in a challenge. “So if I offered to hand feed you and tie your shoelaces and coo at you all the time, you wouldn’t like that?”

“Oh, I’d love that. But that’s being pampered, not being treated like a baby.” you say, and Haechan rolls his eyes.

“Same thing.”

“Nuh-uh! Pampering is treating me like a princess, not a baby.”

“Is that right?” he muses thoughtfully. You nod, and he chuckles, continuing on to say, “So I’m dealing with a little pillow princess, huh?”

“Hey!” you exclaim, looking over at him in surprise.

“Relax, I happen to love pillow princesses.” he assures you, and you eye him warily. “I do! Something about the idea of a pillow princess lying back and letting me do whatever I want to you…” he trails off with a dreamy smile, and you blink rapidly in alarm.

“Her?” you suggest, and he looks over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Huh?”

“You said ‘you’ instead of ‘her,’” you point out, and he nods slowly, clearly not getting your point. “The way you said it made it seem like you were fantasizing about… doing that… to.. me…” you say, trailing off slowly as his brows lift as if to confirm what you’re saying. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he copies you, stepping closer with a grin. “Now what, hm? What’s so wrong with me thinking about you like that?”

“We’re friends, Haechan. Friends don’t typically fantasize about their friends.” you remind him.

“Friends should be allowed to fantasize about their friends,” he counters, “as a treat. Especially when their friends look as good as you do.”

“You’re such a flirt.”

“You know you’re lowkey into it.” he replies confidently, and you hate that he’s right.

“Move up, I think we’re gonna be in the next group.” you say, deliberately shifting the topic.

Haechan eyes the moving line ahead of him and looks back at you with a smile that says he knows exactly what you just tried to do, but relents and moves forward regardless.

As he turns to move, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, realizing that maybe, just maybe, Haechan’s a bit more serious about his flirting than you thought he was, and you have yet to determine how you feel about that.

The smell of cheese and pepperoni pizza fills the bowling alley, almost a pleasing enough aroma to mask the faint but still present smell of sweaty socks and shoes. You sip your diet Pepsi and look around the room; there are birthday parties for children, teenagers congregated by the fountain soda machine, and a smattering of tired parents sitting in the chairs by the bowling ball dispensers—and then there’s your group of friends, eight twenty-somethings far more rambunctious and chaotic than the younger age groups present.

“You’re up,” Jihyo calls to you, nudging you gently, and you sigh heavily before setting down your drink and standing up, making your way to the bowling balls.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you announce loudly to your friends, and you pick up a sparkly pink ball, walking over and just rolling it down the lane with no thought towards strategy or physics or anything of the sort.

To your surprise, you manage to hit three of the corner pins, your ball coming dangerously close to landing in the gutter, and you hear Haechan snicker behind you.

“Laugh it up, Haechan; not everyone is good at bowling. Some of us have other strengths.” you huff, glowering at him, and he raises his hands in defense.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything!”

“You laughed. That’s arguably worse than saying anything.”

“Maybe you should stick to the influencer thing… live life on easy mode, you know?” he says with a wry grin, and you watch as Jiwoo freezes, Jaemin audibly gasps, Mark smacks Haechan on the arm, and Jeno and Renjun exchange a look of disapproval.

“Oh, that’s not–” Jihyo starts, but you hold up a hand to silence her.

“Haechan, do you have any idea how difficult my job is? Just because I don’t spend my days learning the intricacies of Cobra—”

“Python,” Haechan corrects.

“Whatever! Just because I don’t have to submit pages upon pages of technical jargon to my boss, that doesn’t mean I have it easy.” you huff, placing your hand on your hip as you stare him down.

“How hard can it be to be an influencer?” Haechan says with a dismissive roll of his eyes. “I have to submit a code to my boss by midnight, and you have to, what? Do a TikTok?”

You glower at him. “You’re horrible. My job comes with the constant pressure of maintaining public approval, and you know how they have hive minds on TikTok! One day, you’re good, the next week, you could be nothing and everyone’s in your comments talking about, ‘Oh, you fell off,’ or, ‘Not you flopping.’”

Haechan levels his gaze at you, raising an eyebrow. “You get to go on social media and shake your cute little ass for a living… stop whining.”

You blink at him for several beats, processing which part of his statement to address first. “...Did you just call my ass little?”

He rolls his eyes and stands up from his spot, walking in the narrow space between you and the bowling ball dispenser. “More importantly, I called it cute.” he points out, and you can’t help but smile. “Personally, I think your ass is perfect.” He murmurs in your ear, and you hum softly in acknowledgement.

“Oh, yeah? Is that why you spend so much time looking at it?” you ask, and he grins.

“Absolutely. How else do you think I made such an astute observation?” he chuckles, picking up an emerald green bowling ball and lifting it in the air. You watch as his forearm muscles tense with the strain of managing the extra weight of the ball and do your best to hide your staring. “Why? Does that bother you?” he wonders, raising his eyebrows handsomely.

You think about it for a second. “It probably should, huh?”

Haechan grins brilliantly. “Does that mean you like it?”

“I never said that.” you reply, shooting him a look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

He chuckles and turns from you briefly to bowl, the ball rolling down the lane in a perfect straight line before it hits the center pin and subsequently knocks every other pin down. He turns back to you, smiling smugly, and says, “It’s all in the subtext, baby.”

“Baby?” you echo incredulously.

“Yes?” he answers as if you’ve called him, eyes glinting with mischief, and you roll your eyes with an undeniable smile growing on your lips.

“You’re too much.” you mumble, laughing softly, and he smiles at you, his eyes twinkling.

“Can’t handle it?” he murmurs in your ear as he passes by you, heading back to his seat.

“Never said that, either,” you say as you walk over to him and sit beside him. “Just think it’s kinda crazy to call me ‘baby.’”

“Why is that crazy?” he hums, reaching behind you to rest his arm on the bench behind you, his fingertips grazing your shoulder. “Should I call you something else? Honey, baby girl, angel, babe—”

“Shh!” you giggle, reaching to cover his mouth, but he dodges your attack smoothly, eyes alight with mirth as he joins in on your laughter.

“What? Pretty, gorgeous, cutie, sexy—” he continues, dodging your attempt to silence him again and grinning cheekily. “I could do this all night.”

“Please don’t,” Mark and Jeno pipe up in unison. You look over at them with a slight jump, having temporarily forgotten you and Haechan aren’t even remotely alone in this building.

“Killjoys.” Haechan mutters mostly for your ears, and you laugh quietly, covering your mouth to remain inconspicuous. “It’s your turn again,” he points out with a jerk of his chin at the lanes as he pops a piece of gum in his mouth, and you manage to tear your gaze away from his jaw and the attractive way it moves as he chews for long enough to stand up and walk over to the lanes again. “Want them to put up the rails?” he teases, and you turn back to glare at him. “I’m just trying to help you out,” he says, hands raised defensively, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Maybe you should come show me how to do it, then.” you suggest with a small smile, and he chuckles before rising to his feet and striding over to you.

He’s quick to place his hands on your sides, squeezing gently before carefully repositioning you. It doesn’t take long for his hands to slide down to your hips, pulling you back against him so close you can feel his chest rising with every inhale he takes.

“You wanna start with your feet like this,” he murmurs in your ear, manually moving your legs by holding under your thigh just above the back of your knee until he’s satisfied.

“Like that?” you muse softly, looking over your shoulder at him, and he sucks in a breath before chuckling to himself under his breath and nodding.

“Just like that.” he assures you, but the way his voice dips when he says it leads you to believe there’s a suggestive meaning to his words. “Next, you’re gonna bend your arm like this and hold the ball just a bit in front of your shoulder.” he instructs gently, and when you do as he says, he smiles, pleased. “That’s it,” he encourages you, his voice dropping to a deliciously low pitch with that same suggestive lilt. “Bend your knees a little bit and put the foot that’s gonna slide slightly behind the foot that’s gonna stay still.” You do, looking back at him for approval, and he nods proudly. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” you say confidently, and he squeezes your hips slightly before releasing you. You send the ball rolling down the lane in a perfectly straight beeline for the center pin, the ball knocking it and all the pins behind it over, and you squeal with excitement, wrapping your arms around Haechan’s neck and pulling him in for a hug. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer, and just like that, the vibe of the hug shifts, his touch electrifying you as he tucks his face in your neck, breathing in deeply.

“Good job,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, lips grazing your skin ever so slightly but making you shudder nonetheless.

There’s a loud, obscene retching noise from behind you two, and you both break apart in alarm, turning to look at the source of the noise, Renjun sitting with a very displeased expression on his face and his arms crossed.

“Can we help you?” Haechan asks slowly.

“Yeah, you can get a room.” he says with a grossed-out scowl, and you remove your arms from around Haechan’s neck sheepishly, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

Haechan doesn’t release you just yet, though, still maintaining a firm grip on your waist and the small of your back until you clear your throat gently and his gaze shifts from glowering at Renjun to looking down at you with a question in his eyes. Your throat dries, not expecting his full attention so suddenly, and he lets out a tiny chuckle, lips quirking up into a smile before his eyes drop to your lips.

Your lips part subconsciously, and his grip on you tightens slightly before Jeno clears his throat pointedly, garnering your attention once more.

“Yes?” Haechan asks impatiently.

“A room. Get it.” Jeno remarks with a grimace, and you carefully pry Haechan’s hands off of you, since it seems like he won’t be doing it himself.

“Don’t be a hater,” Haechan remarks with a huff. “It’s not a good look on you.”

“Desperation isn’t a good look on anyone, either, but here you are.” Jeno counters, and Haechan frowns before he looks back at you with a pout.

“He’s so mean,” Haechan whines dramatically, pulling you to stand in front of him. He points at Jeno accusingly. “He hurt my feelings.”

“Don’t worry, Haechan,” you coo, turning to face him. “I happen to think you look very cute when you’re desperate.”

He grins. “Thanks.” His brows furrow in thought a second after, and you wait patiently, eyebrows raised expectantly, for the rest of the sentence to kick in. “Wait—hey!”

“There it is.” you chuckle. “For a software designer, your processing is surprisingly slow.”

“You’re mean, too.” he laments, pouting in a way that’s somehow both cute and handsome. “You’re lucky I kinda like it when you’re mean.”

“Oh, do you?” you muse thoughtfully, reaching up and running your hand through his hair. His eyes flutter shut and a blissful smile makes its way onto his face. “Do you prefer it when I’m mean or nice?”

“Nice, for sure.” he sighs happily as you repeat your motions of playing with his hair. “I like when you dote on me.”

“Is that why you’re such a whiny baby?” you chuckle, and he nods.

“Only for you.”

“Aren’t I lucky?” you drawl sarcastically, and Renjun snorts.

“I’d consider the rest of us deeply unlucky for having to witness it.” he chimes in, and you look back at him.

“Then close your eyes.” you hum dismissively, and Renjun gasps in disbelief.

“I think they’re worse when they’re on the same page.” he remarks to Jeno, who nods.

“They’re definitely worse together, if you ask me.” he agrees, and Haechan opens his eyes to narrow them at Jeno.

“Good thing I didn’t ask, then.” you reply, and Haechan grins at you.

“That was hot.”

“Down, boy.” you warn him playfully, and he wets his lips slowly and deliberately, grinning when your gaze drops to his mouth. “What did I just say?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t listening.” he says with a cheeky grin. “Got distracted.”

“By what?”

“Take a guess.” he suggests, raising an eyebrow pointedly as he looks you up and down.

“There’s, like, no hope for you, is there?” you laugh, and he shakes his head.

“No, ma’am.”

(You ignore the way the term of respect makes something tingle inside of you.)

“Guys, I think Deadpool tickets sold out,” you say worriedly as you enter the movie theater.

Jihyo looks over at you, confused. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, it says ‘Deadpool sold out’ right under the movie time listings, so… that kinda gave me a hunch.” you explain, pointing right at the sign, and Jihyo frowns.

“Maybe that’s an old sign,” Haechan says, striding over to the front desk confidently. “Hi, can we get eight tickets for Deadpool, please?” You don’t get to hear the woman’s response, but you do see her point behind herself at the sign you very much just pointed to. Haechan’s shoulders slump slightly and he walks up to your group once more. “They’re sold out.”

“Gee, how unfortunate. If only there was some way we could have known… some sort of sign, perhaps… maybe one that your dear friend already pointed out…” you lament sarcastically, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Oh, I can. Not only can I, but I will.” you retort, and he scrunches his nose at you.

“Well, can you two stop doing that weird foreplay banter thing you do so we can pick a new movie to watch?” Mark asks, and you splutter, surprised.

“That is not what we’re doing—” you start to defend yourself, but Haechan cuts you off.

“No, no, no, that is what I’m doing.” he says, and you slowly turn to look at him in disbelief.

“You shut up.” you huff, crossing your arms. “What are we gonna watch now?”

“We could watch The Texas Chain Saw Massacre,” Renjun suggests. “They’re re-releasing it.”

“How about we not?” Haechan says instantly, brows knitting together in distaste.

“No, I think it’d be fun!” Jiwoo chirps.

“I’d rather actually be able to sleep tonight, thanks.” you disagree, shifting to stand next to Haechan.

“Well, how about we just split up and see what we want?” Jihyo suggests, and you shrug, looking over at Haechan.

“Wanna see a romcom or something?” you ask him, and the corner of his lips quirks up into a smile.

“Sure thing.” he replies, and Renjun gags.

“Can we go get the tickets now?” he half-requests, half-pleads. “I can’t bear witness to whatever these two have going on for much longer.”

“You dramatic ass whiny baby.” you scoff, and Renjun glowers at you.

“You call me a whiny baby, but when Haechan goes on his whiny baby tirade, it’s all ‘poor Haechan,’ and ‘poor baby;’ what about me?!” he complains, and you raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“Renjun, if you want me to baby you, you could just ask.”

“No, you can’t,” Haechan cuts in, taking your hand and pulling you towards the ticket booth.

“Wh—Haechan!” you laugh incredulously.

“I’m the only one you can dote on,” he huffs petulantly at you before turning his attention to the attendant at the ticket booth. “Good evening; could we get two tickets to, uh…” he looks over at you and you roll your eyes with a smile before scanning the movie listings briefly.

“We Live In Time,” you finish, and he nods resolutely.

“We Live In Time,” he echoes, and the attendant smiles and nods, typing something into the computer.

“That’ll be $20,” she says, and Haechan reaches into his back pocket and pulls his phone out, tapping it to the card reader.

“Ooh, and you paid? What a gentleman,” you pretend to fawn over him, and he chuckles.

“You know I’ve got you, baby.” he remarks casually, and his sincerity stops you in your tracks.

Why was that so attractive?

The attendant prints out two tickets and hands them to Haechan, who takes them with a smile and a “thank you” before looping his fingers with yours once more and leading you further into the movie theater.

You want a snack from the concession stand?” Haechan asks as you two walk by it, and you look over at him.

“Maybe? Why; are you buying?” you half-laugh, not expecting him to agree.

“Yeah, come on.” he urges, leading you over to the snacks. “What do you want?”

“Sour Patch Kids,” you answer, pointing at the box. “The strawberry ones.”

“Good choice,” he remarks, amused as he takes the box from the display and hands it to the guy behind the counter. “Can we also get a large popcorn?” He turns back to look at you. “You want something to drink?”

Taken aback by but admittedly attracted to this energy from him, you nod—obediently, even. “Sprite, please—no ice.”

“Large Sprite, no ice, and a large Mountain Dew, please?” he finishes the order and you step forward to stand beside him, trying your best not to look at him with hearts in your eyes.

When you two get to the theater where they’re showing your movie, Haechan gestures for you to lead the way, so you do, picking a spot close to the back of the theater and sitting down.

He sits down next to you, setting the popcorn between your seats, and drapes an arm over the back of your chair.

“How smooth,” you drawl sarcastically, and he grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“You know you like it.” he replies confidently, and you try to hide your smile as you focus your attention on the screen as the trailers start to play.

It’s about thirty minutes into the movie, and paying attention is harder than you thought, considering Haechan’s doing everything in his power to make you focus on him instead.

At one point, you reach for popcorn, startling yourself when instead of feeling a buttery popcorn kernel, you feel the warmth of Haechan’s fingers.

“It was fate,” he coos sweetly at you, and you narrow your eyes at him playfully.

“Move your hand or I’ll throw popcorn at you.” you threaten, and he laughs, tipping his head back in mirth.

“You’re so cute,” he sighs in delight, eyes twinkling as he watches you fondly. “Fine, I’ll move my hand—”

“Great.”

“But you have to feed me a piece of popcorn.” he says with a smirk, and you blink at him incredulously.

“You’re really something, you know that?” you chuckle, picking up a piece of popcorn and bringing it to his lips. “Open.”

He obliges, sticking his tongue out flat, and you place the fluffy popped kernel on his tongue, trying the whole time not to think about how nice his tongue looks, glistening in the light from the movie screen.

“Thank you,” he hums, chewing happily, and you snap out of it, clearing your throat and returning your attention to the movie. “What a coincidence that it’s just the two of us,” Haechan remarks quietly, and you turn your head to look at him. “Are you sure you didn’t just want a chance to be alone with me?”

You sigh. “Haechan, this movie was my idea. You followed me in here.”

“Watch that cute little mouth of yours before I revoke your snack privileges.”

“You touch my snacks and I’ll make you wish you were at the mercy of that Texas Chain Saw Massacre killer.” you promise him, and he exhales quietly through his nose in amusement.

“Don’t worry, baby; I wouldn’t actually dream of getting between your snacks and your little sweet tooth.”

“Good.”

“Actually,” Haechan muses, and you turn to look at him again. “That’s probably why you and I get along so well.”

It’s your turn to exhale through your nose in a quiet laugh. “Why, because you have a sweet tooth, too?”

“Because I’m sweet.” he answers plainly, like it was obvious, and your snort of amusement is loud enough that someone else in the theater shushes you.

“Is that what your mom tells you?” you tease, and he glowers at you.

“Hey! I’m a delight!”

“Didn’t say you weren’t,” you reply with a smile, and he matches it, leaning a little closer as his eyes drop to your lips.

“Wanna see how sweet I can be?” he asks softly, and you find your breath hitching as he leans even closer.

His lids drop slightly in preparation for the kiss, but you press a Sour Patch Kid treat to his lips instead, smiling innocently when he opens his eyes with a slow flutter.

“What was that for?” he whines slightly, and you raise your eyebrows.

“You seemed like you wanted to taste something sweet.” you hum, and he frowns handsomely at you.

“You know what I wanted.” he huffs, and you shrug, returning your attention to the movie.

“Pay attention to the movie.”

“I’d rather pay attention to you.”

“And as much as I love attention, I’m trying to pay attention to the movie, which I am struggling to do with your repeated attempts to put the moves on me.”

“Oh? I’m distracting you?” he murmurs, a smug smile audible in his voice. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay, baby,” you say as he pops a piece of popcorn in his mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath, promptly choking on the piece of popcorn and making you whip your head around to look at him in alarm.

He glowers at you as he recovers, your eyes bright with amusement once you’ve assessed that he’s in no real danger. “That was evil.”

“I’m evil.”

“That’s hot.”

“Haechan?”

“Yes, baby?”

You roll your eyes with a chuckle. “Pay attention.”

“Maybe I could if you weren’t flirting with me.”

“Get real, Haechan.” you snort.

“Baby, there’s no one realer than me.”

“Baby,” you say, stressing the pet name, “pay attention and stop flirting with me before I stuff more popcorn down your throat.”

“Damn, that’s kinda hot.”

“Haechan!” you whisper loudly, laughing in surprise and incredulity, and several voices shush you from around the theater.

“Can’t help it; you’re kinda hot when you’re bossing me around.” he defends himself, and you roll your eyes.

“Get a hold of yourself.” you huff, and he frowns.

“I’d rather get a hold of you instead.”

“I’m sure. Too bad.”

“God, you’re a tease.” he sighs dreamily, and you shoot him a funny look out of the corner of your eye.

“Sure, if that’s what’ll make you shut up.”

“I kinda love it.”

“Shut up before you get us kicked out!” you whisper insistently, your cheeks warming at his incessant flirting.

“Mm, yes, ma’am.” he groans, the sound so suggestive you whip your head around to look at him in surprise, scandalized. “I like when you’re bossy.”

“I’m ignoring you now.”

“You can try.”

“I will succeed.”

“You’re already failing,” he points out with a grin, and you scowl at him, pointedly looking forward at the screen without another word.

Even with the music filling the room and the numerous bodies in between you two, Haechan’s staring is getting harder and harder to ignore. His eyes bore into you from all the way across the room where he stands talking to Jeno and Mark, and it’s so intense it’s almost palpable, prompting you to meet his gaze with a raise of your eyebrows.

He grins, flicking his eyebrows upwards, and you chuckle, turning your attention back to Renjun’s rant about his neighbor.

“...and then he had the nerve to tell me to ‘keep my music down’ as if he’s not up at the asscrack of dawn doing construction in his apartment!”

“What a hypocrite,” you say with a grimace, and Renjun nods vigorously, relief written all over his face.

“I’m surprised you even heard any of that,” Jihyo remarks, raising an eyebrow at you as she sips at the straw sticking out of her drink.

You shoot her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“Well, with all the eye-fucking you and Haechan keep doing, I figured you were a little preoccupied.” she comments, and you narrow your eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie, turning your nose up with a sniff.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t lie to me.” she says with a playfully stern look. “Now, what’s going on with you and Haechan?”

“Yeah, what is going on with you and Haechan?” Renjun asks curiously, leaning forward in anticipation to hear you better.

“Nothing!” you say defensively, and Jihyo arches an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah? Then why is he coming over here?” she asks with a knowing smile that only grows when you subconsciously fix your hair as, sure enough, Haechan approaches, eyes on you the whole time. “Hi, Haechan.”

“Hey,” he replies distractedly, tilting his head to the side as he regards you. “Hi,” he says to you, his lips quirking up into a smile.

“Hi,” you answer, mirroring his expression.

There’s a beat of silence before Renjun speaks. “‘Hi, Renjun. How was your day? I totally see you standing to my right, and I’m definitely not ignoring you like a piece of lint—’”

“Hi, Renjun.” Haechan says with a laugh, and Renjun glowers at him, muttering something under his breath about going where he’s appreciated before stalking off, presumably to subject another one of your friends to his tirade about his neighbor. “You having fun?” he asks you, and you nod, prompting him to smile widely and puff out his chest slightly before saying, “More now that I’m here, right?”

“Sure, Haechan,” you reply with a small laugh, and Jihyo just raises her brows at both of you.

“I’m gonna go find Jiwoo,” she says, shooting you in particular a secretive smile before disappearing into the crowd of people.

Haechan immediately steps into the space she occupied, now much closer to you, and his smile widens even more before he speaks, murmuring, “I like your top. You look so good tonight, but I’m sure you knew that.”

“I did,” you confirm, and he snorts. “But thank you. You look good, too.”

“Oh, yeah? We’re kind of matching.” he points out, gesturing to your black lace up top and his dark gray Nirvana t-shirt.

“Are we? That’s gray.” you reply with a growing smile.

“Dark gray and black are practically the same color.”

“But are they actually the same color? No.”

“Why are you being difficult?” he says with narrowed eyes, and you shrug.

“It’s my specialty.” you answer with a beguiling smile, and he rolls his eyes, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips even as he feigns exasperation.

“Anyway,” he stresses the word, shifting the conversation. “Do you wanna get some fresh air with me?”

“Mm, not really; it’s kinda cold outside.” you say with a small pout.

“You can wear my jacket,” he offers, and you pause, thinking about it.

“Maybe later. For now, do you wanna come with me to the kitchen? I want a snack.” you ask, and he smiles at the invitation before nodding.

“Lead the way, baby.” he coos, and you roll your eyes with a smile as you do just that, reaching back to link pinkies with him.

“So we don’t get separated,” you explain.

He beams. “Good idea.”

You two make your way through the throng of bodies and into the kitchen, where you promptly start raiding the cabinets.

“I love Jeno and Jaemin to death, but their snack selection is shit.” you huff in disappointment, turning back to Haechan to see that he’s propped himself up against the kitchen counter, watching you with amusement and intrigue.

“Jeno went on a snack purge the other day,” he reminds you. “Said something about overly processed foods and saturated fats.”

“Well, sorry if I like my foods overly processed and my fats saturated.” you gripe, and Haechan laughs, pushing off the counter to walk over to you.

“I think they have fruit in the fridge,” he says, leaning into your space to open the refrigerator door. He pauses before he pulls back, eyes trained on your lips and his own lips part in a soft sigh, tongue poking out to wet them.

“The snacks?” you remind him with a growing smile, unable to resist glancing at his very tempting mouth.

“I’m looking at one,” he breathes, and you burst out laughing, pushing him back gently.

“That was very cheesy.” you giggle, and he shrugs shamelessly.

“It made you laugh, so I consider it a win.” he says with a soft, fond smile.

Your cheeks flare with warmth, not used to the gentleness and sincerity in his eyes, and divert your attention to the now open fridge, picking out a container of grapes that you hope are washed as you pop one into your mouth and chew. The burst of sweetness is very welcome on your tongue, and you lean back onto the fridge, closing your eyes in bliss.

“Better?” he chuckles, and you nod.

“Want one?” you say, offering him a grape, and he nods, leaning in to eat it from your fingers. Before he pulls back, he looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his sultry gaze too much for you at the moment and making you return your attention to the container of grapes with an urgency that doesn’t go unnoticed by Haechan.

“Cute.” he murmurs softly, and you huff, trying (and failing) to hide your budding smile at the compliment.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” you say, carefully extracting yourself from the small space he’s got you cornered in.

His eyes twinkle with amusement as he raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Was that an invitation?”

“It most certainly was not.”

“Aw, man. Next time?” he asks hopefully, and you snort.

“Don’t count on it.”

You do your best to hold your breath as you make your way through the hallway, stopping by the window for a moment before sticking your head out and breathing in the fresh air gratefully. After a moment of relief, you decide to open the window wider, climbing out and sitting on the windowsill, feet carefully resting on the fire escape attached to the side of the building.

It’s quieter over here, you note, pleased with your newfound situation as you scroll through your phone. Sure enough, when you open Instagram and tap on Jeno’s story, you see two boomerangs; one of him and his friends sitting in a circle around his bong, and one of him blowing smoke out of his mouth.

You tap the heart for both posts before footsteps pull your attention away from your phone, making you turn your head to see the newcomer.

Haechan stops about a foot away from the window, leaning against the wall. “I thought I’d find you out here. Thought you said it was too cold?”

“It is, actually, but this air doesn’t reek of weed.” you explain, and he nods in understanding.

“Mind if I join you?”

You wordlessly scoot over to make room for him, and he smiles, climbing out and sitting beside you. The side of your leg presses against his as he makes himself comfortable, but you don’t really want to move it.

So you don’t, and you just silently appreciate the warmth radiating from his body as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, and he smiles at you, nodding.

“The city looks so pretty like this,” Haechan sighs, and you direct your gaze straight ahead of you, taking in all of the city lights in the nearby buildings and the bridges in the distance. “It’s almost as pretty as you,” he says, nudging you with a cheeky grin, and you exhale through your nose in amusement.

“It is pretty,” you agree. “Someone’s feeling flirtatious, I see.”

“Can you blame me? You show up tonight looking as good as you do and expect me not to want to be all over you?” he snorts, and you raise your eyebrows, slightly surprised by how forward he’s being.

“‘All over me?’” you repeat, and he nods, looking you directly in the eyes. “Like… all over me?”

“You interpret it however you want to, baby.”

“You’re gonna have to stop calling me ‘baby,’ by the way; it’s starting to confuse me.” you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“I think I kinda like it,” you confess, and his gaze drops to your lips instantly, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Oh, really?” he murmurs suggestively, running one finger around one of the rips on the thigh of your jeans, and he chuckles softly as you shiver slightly, goosebumps raising on your arms. “Cold?”

“Something like that.” you reply evasively, and he snorts, his smile widening.

“Back to what you were saying… about liking when I call you ‘baby,’” he quickly returns to the previous topic, and you roll your eyes slightly in amusement. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“Friends don’t typically call each other ‘baby.’” you point out, and he shrugs.

“Maybe we can be special friends.”

“Oh, yeah? Special how?”

“Maybe we call each other cute names… touch a little bit… kiss a little bit…” he trails off, and you look over to see that he’s watching your lips again, a small grin on his lips.

“Mm, that could get messy though.” you murmur, and he gazes at you, longing openly written all over his handsome features.

“Life is messy.” he points out.

“This doesn't have to be.” you reply, gesturing between the two of you. Haechan links his fingers with yours and sets your linked hands on top of your touching thighs, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “That feels nice,” you sigh, leaning against him slightly.

“I bet I could make you feel even nicer.” he muses suggestively, and you snicker.

“Won’t lie and say I’m not a little curious.” you admit, and he sucks in a sharp breath of surprise.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs. “I don’t particularly feel like holding back right now.”

“Oh, is that what you usually do?” you reply, speaking as soft and low as he just did.

He nods. “You always tempt me, actually—I’m just not feeling like beating around the bush right now.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise and—you won’t lie—intrigue. “And what’s making you feel like that right now?”

“A number of things,” he replies. “How unbelievably good you look tonight, the way I can see the goosebumps on your skin when I touch you, and,” his voice gets even softer but carries an urgency you don’t believe you’ve heard from him before, “the way you’re looking at me.”

“And how am I looking at you?” you question, tilting your head to the side curiously.

“The same way I’m always looking at you.” he answers, and you don’t need him to elaborate.

“So if that’s all true,” you muse, regarding him carefully, “then why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

“I like what we have,” he says in reply, and you smile. “Wouldn’t want to ruin it.”

“And what if I said I kind of want you to ruin it?” Your words are quieter than ever, tentative even, but by the way the fire in Haechan’s eyes intensifies, you know he heard you all the same.

“What did I just say about tempting me?”

“It wasn’t a temptation,” you say carefully. “It was an invitation.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “You know, I’ve never been one to ignore my urges before,” he admits. “If I want something, I get it.”

“Oh, yeah?” You can’t even try to hide the arousal building in you as you watch his lips with uninhibited longing.

“Yeah.” His gaze matches yours, unbridled desire swimming in his eyes as he slowly leans in, and you find yourself mirroring him, the two of you moving painfully slowly as you get closer and closer.

“And what is it that you want right now?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“I bet you can guess,” he murmurs as his lips brush the corner of your mouth.

“Give me a hint.” you reply, and he grins, turning your face towards him gently and bringing his lips to yours.

It starts slowly, his lips gently moving with yours, before he pulls back ever so slightly, your eyes opening to see him watching you carefully.

“Good?” he murmurs.

“Good,” you confirm, and he smiles before leaning back in to close the gap between your lips. This kiss is much less tentative, his lips parting to suck gently at your bottom lip, and when you whine softly, he pushes forward, reaching up to cup your cheek as he captures your lips with his over and over again, each kiss more dizzying than the last until his mouth is moving fervently against yours, his tongue tracing along your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth with a quiet groan.

Your hand finds its way to his thigh, and as soon as it makes contact, it’s like a switch flips in Haechan, his lips leaving yours to kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek and along your jaw before finally settling comfortably on your neck, mouth kissing, sucking, and licking at your pulse point.

“Haechan,” you whimper, and he hums against your neck, but you can tell he’s not really listening. “Haechan,” you sing-song softly in another attempt to get his attention, but he just slips his hand under your thigh farthest from him, scooping your legs up and moving them to drape over his lap. “Haechan,” you whine urgently, and his kisses finally falter, the male pausing but not moving away from you as he waits for you to speak. “Can we go somewhere more private and… less chilly?”

He pulls back, lips deliciously puffy from kissing, and nods with a dazed look in his eyes. “Jaemin’s room?”

You don’t even have it in you to be considerate of your friend, the lust clouding your mind and doing away with your judgment as you nod. He grins and ducks back into the apartment, helping you do the same before leading you to Jaemin’s room, never once letting go of your hand.

When you two get to Jaemin’s room, you’ve barely cleared the doorway before Haechan shuts the door and pushes you up against it, kissing you ardently and clutching your waist to drag you closer to him. He nips at your bottom lip briefly before kissing down your neck and sliding his hands up to cup your breasts, squeezing them and looping his finger in the string tying your top together.

“Why don’t we take this off, hm?” he murmurs, slowly pulling the string with a growing grin as the bow—the one Jiwoo so carefully tied for you earlier this evening—comes undone, leaving no resistance when Haechan pulls your top over your head.

He eagerly returns to kissing you, hands groping at your chest as he traces circles around your slowly hardening nipples. He pulls back from the kiss slightly and moves like he’s about to kiss down your neck, only to whine and bring you back in for another kiss, panting against your lips, “I wish I had more mouths.”

“You what?” you say, bursting into giggles so strong that you can barely manage to kiss him back, and he joins you in your laughter.

“Stop, I’m being serious!”

“I know—I think that’s why it’s so funny,” you say through your laughter, and he growls in lighthearted frustration before whirling you around and all but shoving you onto the bed. You squeal in surprise, giggling still as you bounce on the bed, and he rolls his eyes, climbing on top of you. “What kind of eldritch horror are you thinking of becoming? Like how many mouths and where?”

“Can we just—forget I said that?” Haechan whines, and you shake your head with a gleeful giggle.

“I don’t wanna,” you say with a pout, wrapping your legs around his waist, and he groans in exasperation. “I’m kind of a monsterfucker, so you saying that really got me going.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” you ask, looking up at him, and he slowly shakes his head—whether it’s in disagreement or in disbelief, you’re not sure, but when his lips start trailing down to your collarbone, you’re not entirely sure it matters anymore.

“I’d want mouths on the palms of my hands,” he grunts, cupping your breasts again through your bra, “so I can kiss you and suck your tits at the same time.” Before you can respond, his wet, swollen lips fall to your chest, tongue trailing all over your exposed skin before he’s tugging the cup of your bra down and taking your nipple into his mouth.

A whimper escapes you, spurring Haechan on further, and he wraps one arm around you, pressing between your shoulder blades to bring your chest closer to his mouth. His tongue is warm and wet as it flicks at your nipple, Haechan groaning as he swirls it around and around your stiffened bud.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he mumbles around his mouthful of your breast, and his other hand trails down your body to settle between your legs, Haechan delivering two gentle pats to your inner thighs in a wordless request for you to spread them. When you oblige, he smiles around your nipple before wetly licking and sucking his way from one breast to the other. His fingers quickly and deftly unbutton your jeans, barely yanking them down before his hand slips into your pants, stroking along the seat of your underwear, pressing down harder when you whine.

“Haechan, please,” you moan, running your fingers through his hair and tugging gently when you reach the ends.

“Mm, what is it, pretty? What do you want?” he teases with a quiet laugh, looking up at you as he pushes your underwear aside and trails two fingers up your slick folds, hissing in delight. “Is this what you want?” he asks, dipping his fingers into your entrance slightly and relishing the groan of frustration you let out.

“Yes,” you moan, tugging his hair a bit harder in retaliation for his teasing.

Finally giving into your demands, he pushes his middle and ring finger into your core, lapping at your nipple as you whimper loudly in relief. “Shh, shh, shh—I know, baby, I know.” he soothes you in a hushed murmur, slowly starting to pull his fingers out before pushing them in deeper.

“Feels good,” you exhale shakily, and he coos in understanding.

“It’ll feel even better in a second,” he promises, starting to move his fingers in and out of you. “Just gotta open you up first.” He releases your nipple, giving it one last lick before moving back up to hover above your face, gazing down at your pleasure-filled expression in wonder before he’s leaning down to kiss you, silencing your cries of pleasure as he starts to twist and scissor his fingers inside of you. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet. All this for me? Hm?”

“No, it’s for Renjun,” you huff sarcastically, breaking the kiss momentarily to glower at him. “Of course it’s for you, dummy.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “There is a time and place for your sass, and it’s not when my fingers are literally inside of you. Besides,” he says, curling his fingers inside of you and making you gasp in pleasure, “why would you be mean when I’m making you feel so good, hm?”

“S-Sorry,” you stammer as his curled fingers massage at your inner walls in search of your g-spot, which he finds quickly, eliciting a sharp whimper from you as you clench around his fingers. “It’s all for you,” you confirm breathlessly, and he grins before kissing you again.

“Good girl. You’re gonna have to make it up to me, though.” he murmurs against your lips, and you pout, prompting him to coo fondly and kiss you again. “Even with that cute little pout.”

“I said sorry,” you complain, and he shrugs, fingers quickening their pace inside of you.

“I’m sensitive.” he replies simply, kissing down to your neck and sucking and biting at various spots until you’re sure there are marks blooming all over your skin. “It’s okay, though—I know how you can make it up to me.”

“H–How?” you ask warily, voice catching as the pleasure builds inside of you, his repeated stimulation of your g-spot bringing you closer and closer to climax as your insides tighten in anticipation.

“Cum for me?” he grunts, and you can’t tell if it’s a request or a stated demand, but you nod, breath hitching and your cries escalating in pitch as you start to do just that, your climax washing over you as your abdomen tenses repeatedly, your body curling in on itself as much as possible given that Haechan’s practically pinning you in place.

“That’s it, baby,” he purrs, coaxing more of your climax out as he keeps fucking you with his fingers, milking your orgasm for everything he can get, your entrance drooling clear evidence of your arousal all over his fingers and into the seat of your underwear. “Making such a pretty little mess for me,” he breathes, kissing you again as his fingers urge the last convulsions of your climax out of you.

You’ve barely recovered before your hands reach for his pants, fingers clumsily unbuckling his belt, undoing his button, and yanking down his zipper. He chuckles fondly and pushes them down to his knees, your eyes locking in on the imprint of his length in his boxers as he palms himself through his underwear.

“You like what you see?” he teases, and you furrow your brows.

“Your underwear’s in the way.” you grouch, and his eyes brighten with amusement, thumbs hooking into his boxers and pulling down until his length springs free. “Much better,” you hum, pleased as you rest your head down on Jaemin’s pillow.

“Look so pretty laying like that.” he grunts as he slowly fucks his fist. “Wish I could take a picture and keep it forever.”

“I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully.” you say, and he raises a brow expectantly. “Please fuck me.”

The brightness in his eyes remains, but now there’s a heavier, darker edge to his gaze as he leans over you, lips teasing yours apart.

“Did you just beg for me?” he coos tauntingly, and you sigh.

“I did not beg. I asked nicely.”

“Sure, baby. I’ll give you what you want,” he promises, lining the head of his cock up with your entrance and slowly pushing into you, making your breath catch in your throat. He exhales deeply and dips his head down to your neck, latching onto your skin and sucking as he starts to drag his length out and back in, building a teasingly slow rhythm.

“So full,” you gasp, and he chuckles, kissing up your neck to your lips.

“You feel so good, pretty girl. Tight little pussy keeps sucking my cock back in; you like this that much?” he coos, one hand groping your breast.

“Don’t tease me,” you huff, and he grins widely.

“How are you gonna stop me?” he counters smugly, choosing that moment to speed up the movements of his hips until the sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, each thrust punctuated by a whimper from you. “You’re not going to do anything about it; you’re just gonna lay here and take this dick nice and deep in your little pussy until you cum all over it.”

“Fuck, Haechan—” you mumble, dazed by his thrusts and even more by his filthy language.

“You love it, don’t you?” he teases, capturing your lips in a filthy kiss where he plays with your tongue almost lazily.

“Uh-huh,” you can barely manage to get out, and he hums in satisfaction.

“Show me how much you love it.” he urges, rolling his hips against yours sensually. When you start to move your hips against his, rocking up into his every thrust into you, he rewards you by sucking on your bottom lip and flicking your nipple back and forth with his thumb. “Fuck, that feels so good, pretty girl, keep doing that.”

You fuck him back to the best of your ability, that familiar tightening sensation in your stomach alerting you to your impending climax. “Haechan, think I’m gonna cum—” you warn him, and he nods, pinching your nipple just enough to make you squeal.

“Cum, baby; wanna feel you clench around my cock.” he purrs, and your climax hits a moment later, a cry slipping from your lips as your back arches, your hand clutching his arm for something to ground yourself as your body curls in on itself involuntarily. “That’s it, pretty girl—doing such a good job—squeezing my cock so tight, baby, fuck—”

By the time your climax has passed, you’re still trembling slightly as aftershocks of pleasure travel through you with every thrust from Haechan, and you’re so wet you can hear his length moving in and out of you, hear your pussy sucking him back in as it hugs his length tightly, and heat rises to your face.

“My turn, baby; think you can take my load?” he grunts, and you nod instantly, clenching around his length every time he bottoms out in you. “That’s my good girl,” he coos fondly, his brows knitting together as he starts to release into you. “Milking me dry, baby, fuck—” he hisses, and you smile in satisfaction as he shudders, lowering himself to kiss you as he fucks the last bit of his cum into you.

Finally, when his length stops throbbing inside of you, he pulls out and lies down next to you, both of you breathing heavily.

“Hey,” he says, turning his head to face you.

“Hi,” you reply with a smile, and his lips curl into a matching smile.

“You okay?” he asks gently, and you nod.

“Better than okay.” you assure him, and he sighs, relieved. A thought comes to your mind and you nudge his leg with your knee. “Hey.”

“Hi?” he answers curiously, and you roll onto your side, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“If you had multiple mouths—”

“Please let it go, it was silly—” he interjects with a half-chuckle, half-groan.

“I like silly!” you counter, and he looks over at you skeptically, his features relaxing when he reads the sincerity in your face. “If you had multiple mouths, would you have them anywhere besides your hands?”

He thinks about it for a moment before he nods. “I’d have one on each thigh… so while I’m kissing you, I can grope your tits with my hand-mouths and have you sit on my thigh so I can eat you out, too.”

You shudder slightly, and he raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I got a little excited.”

“You’re joking… damn, you’re kinkier than I thought. That’s hot,” he grunts appreciatively.

“I think we should get up before Jaemin comes in here and chops our heads off.” you say suddenly as the reminder that this is not somewhere you want to be caught fucking dawns on you.

“You’re so right,” he agrees, sitting up and helping you off of the bed. You both hurriedly redress, Haechan stumbling as he pulls his pants up and making you both giggle. “Ready?” he says finally, fully redressed.

You ruffle his hair, messing with it until it’s back in place, and hold the strings to your top out to Haechan. “Tie it for me?”

He smiles fondly and steps closer, tying a cute bow into your top and leaning back to inspect his handiwork. “You’re good, baby.”

“Thanks,” you say sincerely, opening the door and heading back to the party. You two give each other a knowing look before you enter the living room and go your separate ways, Haechan heading for Jeno and Renjun while you head for Jiwoo and Jihyo. “Boo!” you say from behind them, and Jiwoo whirls around, clutching her chest.

“Shit!” she exclaims. “Don’t do that!”

“Sorry,” you reply without a hint of remorse.

“Where’d you go?” Jihyo asks curiously.

“I was on the fire escape,” you explain, deciding to tell a half-truth. “I didn’t want to smell Jeno’s weed.”

“Ah, fair.” she answers with a nod.

“Hey, your bow is different.” Jiwoo points out, pointing at the bow on your shirt that Haechan tied. “Did you take your top off or something?” she snorts, amused with her little joke, but Jihyo looks over at you carefully, shrewd gaze scanning your body for anything else out of place.

“No, I just had to re-tie it because one of the strings got caught on one of the screws on the fire escape and it looked all wonky,” you lie, and Jiwoo nods in understanding.

“Copy that. Well, I’m hungry; wanna go raid their fridge?” she offers, and you start to nod, but you freeze when you feel something drip out of your core.

“I am totally in, but I have to use the bathroom first.” you say, clasping your hands together in a pleading gesture. “Wait for me?”

Jihyo’s still staring at you like she’s silently interrogating you, and you won’t lie and say you’re not unnerved. “Earth to Jihyo?”

She blinks slowly before focusing her gaze on you once more, eyes now softer and less scrutinizing. “Sorry, I was just… thinking. Yeah, we’ll wait for you.”

“Cool,” you say, relieved, before making your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up. You make quick work of peeing and sorting yourself out, washing your hands and drying them before heading back to the living room where Jihyo and Jiwoo and, to your surprise, Haechan stand. “I’m back!” you chirp before looking over at Haechan. “You weren’t here a minute ago.”

“Jeno and Renjun started bickering about something, so I left.” he replies with a shrug. “You don’t mind if I join you guys, right?” he shoots you a knowing look with a secretive smile, and it takes everything in you not to start giggling like a schoolgirl.

“I guess you can,” you say nonchalantly, and he beams at you.

“Great! Where are we going?” he asks curiously, and you point towards the kitchen.

“To find snacks!” Jiwoo says eagerly, and you all walk to the kitchen, you and Haechan starting to fall to the back of the line until he’s side by side with you.

“You already said their snack selection was garbage,” he remarks, confused, and you shush him.

“Yeah, but I’m not getting a snack; Jiwoo is. So we’ll let her figure that out for herself,” you explain, and he nods in understanding.

“I see,” he hums thoughtfully. “Well… did you tell them? About earlier—”

“No,” you answer, and he sighs in relief. “Don’t worry, it’s our little secret.”

“Copy that,” he chuckles, fingers brushing against yours before they intertwine and he squeezes your fingers gently. When you look down at your linked hands and back up at him, he smiles cheekily. “So we don’t get separated,” he says with an upwards flick of his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes but pull him forward, finally entering the kitchen in time to see a cranky Jiwoo.

“Their snack selection is ass. What am I, a rabbit?” she laments, and you smile in amusement.

“They’re great at house parties, bad at refreshments.” Haechan says, and Jihyo looks over at you two before her gaze drops down to your linked hands, an eyebrow raising in suspicion.

You carefully and casually let go of Haechan’s hand by running your fingers through your hair, and Haechan fixes his mouth to complain before he looks in Jihyo’s direction and seems to understand, relaxing slightly.

Between Haechan’s need for attention, your inexplicably magnetic attraction to each other, and Jihyo’s deeply suspicious and perceptive gaze, you know you have quite a night ahead of you.

The following morning finds you back at home sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through your phone and checking your engagement before a text banner notification drops down from the top of your screen.

haechan [10:08am] good morning 😌 did you miss me? you [10:10am] sorry……who’s this? haechan [10:11am] you’ve GOT to be joking 😟 you [10:13am] i very much am 💖 good morning haechan ☀️ haechan [10:15am] don’t play with me like that i almost crashed out haechan [10:15am] can i come over? i have a question for you you [10:16am] haechan what are we doing rn haechan [10:17am] ….talking? you [10:17am] right… and would you consider talking a synonym for ‘having a conversation’ or no? haechan [10:18am] ……….yes……….. is this a trick question you [10:20am] so if we’re already having a conversation, by your definition….. why, pray tell, can’t you just ask me NOW 🤨 haechan [10:22am] *Message sent with Invisible Ink* maybe i just wanted a reason to see you ☹️ you [10:24am] oh… well that’s cute actually haechan liked your message “oh… well that’s cute actually” haechan [10:25am] awesome…… so can i come over? 😁 you [10:26am] ofc you can 💖 haechan [10:27am] great can you let me in 😁

You tilt your head, confused by his message, but a knock on your door makes you practically jump out of your seat. You make your way to the front door and look through the peephole, barking out an abrupt laugh when you see Haechan sporting a cheesy grin on the other side of the door.

“You are insane,” you laugh as you open the door for him, inviting him inside. He enters, still sporting the playful smile, and shuts the door behind himself.

“In, like, a cute, hot, sexy way, though, right?” he asks hopefully, and you roll your eyes with a smile before shrugging and nodding, watching as relief floods his features.

“Your question?” you ask, getting straight to the point, and he visibly balks, the normally shameless Haechan becoming quiet and shifty. “Haechan?” you call his name with a tinge of worry in your voice.

“Did you have a good time last night?” he asks, and you raise your eyebrows.

“That’s your question?” you question, in disbelief.

“I’m building to it,” he explains. “Now: did you have a good time last night?” he repeats, and you blink at him impassively before sighing in slight defeat.

“I did,” you answer, not sure if he meant the party or… well, the sex… but you had a good time regardless of which he meant. “Did you?”

“I had an amazing time.” he says sincerely.

“Great,” you reply, just as sincerely. A small silence passes before your impatience gets ahold of you. “Haechan…”

“Yes?” he responds, nervousness creeping into his voice.

“Your question?”

“Right,” he mutters, clearing his throat as he prepares to speak. Meanwhile, you move to sit back down in your chair, swiveling around in the seat as you wait for his question. “Um—look—I really enjoyed last night. It was amazing, actually, and—I’m talking about the sex, by the way.” he stammers, his sudden clarification at the end making you giggle, regarding him fondly.

“I figured, yes.” you assure him, and he nods, somewhat relieved. “Go on,” you urge him gently, and he swallows visibly.

“I would love to, um… do that again… but I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship right now. I’m still getting used to juggling my job and my social life, and I really don’t want to fuck up our friendship—”

“And you want to be friends with benefits,” you finish for him, and he pauses, body tense as he rapidly tries to read your reaction.

“...Yes?”

“Okay,” you agree, and he just about crumples with relief, leaning against the kitchen island for support. “I’m down. But if we don’t want it to ruin our friendship or the friend group, maybe we shouldn’t tell them?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he sighs, significantly more relaxed than he was a moment ago. “Plus, it could be kinda fun, y’know? Us… sneaking around… together…” he says, gesturing between the two of you with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.

“I couldn’t agree more.” you say sweetly, and he beams at you, all traces of his earlier nerves gone. “Do you think we should have some ground rules? So we don’t complicate things?”

“Sure, yeah,” he agrees instantly, and you smile, patting the chair next to you invitingly as you pull up the Notes app on your phone.

“So we want sex with virtually no emotional connection, right?” you clarify, and he nods, his reaction a second too late to process as casual. Ignoring it politely, you continue on. “So, maybe ‘no cuddling’ should be a rule.”

“No cuddling?” he laments, and you nod resolutely.

“Cuddling encourages emotional intimacy.”

“Fine,” he sighs, frowning slightly. “Can I still hug you?”

“Hugging and cuddling are… not the same thing, so yes.” you answer with a laugh as you type the first rule, and he smiles, chuckling lightheartedly.

“Maybe… we shouldn’t spend the night after we have sex?” he suggests, and you nod, typing it into the note you’ve made.

“Is this, like, exclusive?” you ask, gesturing between the two of you, and he tilts his head thoughtfully.

“I guess not…” he says, an air of reluctance to his words that makes you pause and look at him carefully.

“Haechan, speak now or forever hold your peace.” you warn him, and he nods firmly.

“We don’t have to be exclusive if you don’t want to be. It’s up to you.”

“How about we leave that part open-ended for now, but make the next rule ‘no jealousy?’” you offer as you type in the next rule.

“Okay, that sounds good.” he says, nodding slowly in agreement. “Next rule?”

“Um, no romantic gestures? Like, no buying each other special gifts you wouldn’t buy for another friend, no flowers, no making each other romantic playlists—stuff like that.” you say, and he looks off into the distance pensively.

“What about pet names?” he asks warily, and you half-sigh, half-laugh.

“Haechan, I think you would pop a blood vessel if you had to restrain yourself from calling me pet names.” you state, and, eyes wide, he nods vigorously in agreement, making you laugh.

“It’s true!” he insists, and your laughter grows.

“I know! That’s why I said it,” you giggle as you type in the next rule, and he starts to chuckle before joining in on your laughter. “So pet names are fine, but—”

“But?” he asks hesitantly.

“‘No PDA’ should definitely be a rule.” you suggest. “It’d definitely blow our cover.”

“Okay… agreed.” Haechan says slowly, his subsequent nod more confident than his words.

You type in the new rule and sit back, regarding the list carefully. Haechan peers over your shoulder at your phone screen, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Does this look good to you? Do you think we’re missing anything?”

“No, I think it’s perfect,” he says, sounding sure of himself, and that’s enough to comfort you.

“Well, great!” you say, taking a screenshot of the list and texting it to him. His phone pings on the kitchen table with your incoming text, and he looks at it briefly before tucking it into his pocket. You rise to your feet, Haechan straightening back up as you stand, and turn to face him, extending your hand. “Wanna shake on it?”

He takes your hand with a small smile, lips quirked up in amusement before he looks up at you and tugs gently, pulling you against his chest. “Honestly? I’d rather kiss on it.”

You blink twice, stunned slightly by the sudden intimacy, but you nod. “We can do that.”

He grins, tilting his head and nudging your nose with his gently. “Good,” he breathes before he kisses you. It doesn’t take long for his hands to move, one hand cupping your jaw and the side of your neck while his other arm wraps itself around you, resting on the small of your back as he pulls you in close. His lips mold with yours so smoothly that it’s like you’ve been doing this for a lifetime, but every nip and suck from him winds you up even more than you thought possible, making for a beautiful combination: all of the comfort, no stilted awkwardness, with all of the excitement.

When you two finally break apart, it’s for air, your hand gently resting on his chest, still clutching his shirt—you don’t even know when you started doing that—as you both attempt to catch your breath.

“Good talk,” you pant, and he grins.

“Great talk.” he agrees breathlessly. “I actually have to go home to work on a code for this new program we’re building, but I’ll see you? Hopefully before our trip to Fire Island with everyone else, but if not, then I’ll text you?”

“It’s kind of criminal that you have to do work on a Sunday when you have actual work days to work on stuff.” you say with a pout, releasing his shirt and gently smoothing out the small wrinkles you caused. “Yeah, I’ll see you for the Fire Island trip.”

“I know.” he agrees with a frown. “Alas—not all of us can make it in life by being cute and likable.” he teases, and you shoot him an empty glare, making him laugh. “But I’ll see you soon, pretty girl.” he says, thumb carefully brushing your cheek.

“Okay,” you hum, trying your best to avoid leaning into his touch and closing your eyes.

“Later,” he says, reluctantly releasing you and walking backwards to your front door until he bumps into the corner he has to go around, a sheepish chuckle escaping him as he waves once, turning and exiting your apartment after you wave back.

Now alone, you look at the list you two compiled, carefully reading over each word.

1. No cuddling. 2. No sleepovers after sex. 3. No jealousy. 4. No romantic gestures. 5. No PDA.

They seem like simple enough rules to follow; straightforward and to the point, carefully designed so you don’t blur the lines too much between platonic and romantic.

But, given the way he embraced you earlier and the way you so badly wanted him to stay longer, you can’t help but wonder if the lines were already blurred to begin with.

tada!!! i hope you enjoyed, and stay tuned for part two, coming out on wednesday, december 11th!

DON’T WANNA WAIT? parts two and three are currently posted on my patreon here :)

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