#so now i sit in my room all day and watch

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC My Brother in the Mirror

Damian doesn't like mirrors.

He never mentioned the fact to other members of the family, but they are detectives and vigilantes, it's their job to be observant. Which, after so many years, becomes a habit.

Damian doesn't actively avoid the mirrors - he has a mirror in his bathroom, he didn't express any discomfort over going into a mirror labyrinth at some carnival they've attended (he expressed disgust over taking part in something so stupid, in his words, but that's a whole another story), and he actually spent a few minutes in front of the funhouse mirrors when no one was looking, watching his own reflection distort in various ways. He also has no problems with his self-image - he doesn't mind pictures of him taken at any time (unless it's Tim, but that's, again, a whole another story), he's drawn a few self-portraits that were rather accurate and he liked them.

He just doesn't like mirrors. For some reason.

His family, both close and extended, never questioned it. They did some gentle research to see if the dislike was caused by some kind of problem Damian was experiencing without telling anyone, but when they found no proof of that, they've just decided it was some quirk of his. Everyone has quirks. Dick doesn't like eating cereal like a normal person, Tim despises sleep, Steph is at war with any color other than purple.

That is, until one day, Tim witnesses Damian sitting in front of a mirror.

He is not even aware of it - the whole family is having a game night, and through some arguments and rearrangements on the couch, Damian ends up sitting on the left side of it, where his back is turned to one of the three mirrors in the room. Tim, who's lost the last round, is slumping in an armchair nearby, pointedly looking away from the screen where Damian and Jason are enthusiastically competing over the first place in Mario Cart. Of course, Tim can't just not watch it since he needs to know their strategies. But turning back around would also be admitting defeat.

The solution? Easy, watch the screen through the mirror.

Which is when he notices it.

Damian in the mirror doesn't act the same as Damian in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see the real Damian moving around, shoving Jason with his elbow, fully concentrated on the game, and yelling something. Damian-in-the-mirror is sitting unnaturally still, the back of his head over the couch unmoving.

Tim forgets all about the game when Damian's reflection starts to turn around. Slowly and carefully, eerie in the way the horror movies are, the boy in the mirror turns his head around like an owl, his neck twisting inhumanely.

His eyes are green. Green like the toxic waste, like Jason's madness, like acid in cartoons, like the Waters of Lazarus.

Damian in the mirror smiles, his unblinking, gliwing eyes fixed on Tim, and his teeth are sharp and pointy, and there are too many of them, humans can't smile this wide.

"-im? Tim!" A hand nudges him in the shoulder, and Tim looks away from the mirror, finding Dick standing over him. The noise of the game room returns all at once, and, wait, when did it become quiet for Tim?.. He must have a strange expression on his face because Dick's easy smile falls slightly, and he frowns, "Is everything okay?"

Tim looks back to the mirror, but the green-eyed boy in the mirror is gone, and the mirror only reflects Damian as he is: sitting on the couch.

"Yeah," Tim shakes his head and forces a smile on his lips, "I just zoned out."

"Okay," Dick pats him on the shoulder and gives him the controller, "It's your turn now."

Tim takes the controller and turns around, facing the screen. Tim throws a quick glance at Damian, who had slid down on the couch so his head would not be in the reflection anymore. Tim sees the cold, warning hint to his eye, a clear do not speak of it message.

Tim doesn't like that the mirror is now behind him.

[writerdownbookworder]

Katie flung the door open and ushered the young king inside quickly, apologizing profusely.

King Dominick rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m inside now. Thank you.”

Katie stared for a moment as he took off his coat and hat and hung them by the door. 

“Uh, what can I do for you, Your Highness?” she asked awkwardly, gesturing for him to sit down.

The king sighed. “Truthfully, I just need a place to wait out the storm until some of my men can find me. Stupid storm came out of nowhere and my horse…couldn’t make it through. Stepped in a hole.”

Katie winced. “Is he…still out there?” 

King Dominick shrugged. “Couldn’t let him suffer out there for who knows how long.”

The wind howled outside, startling them both. Katie walked over the window and looked out. 

She turned back to the king slowly. “I hate to have to tell you this, Your Highness, but you might be stuck here longer than you thought. Snow storms especially are pretty bad here in the valley. Could last for a few days. And if no one knows where you are…” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

He sighed, his head dropping into his hands. “Call me Dominick. If I’m going to be here for a while, we might as well dispense with the formalities. And your name is?”

“Katie,” she mumbled, slightly shocked. She shook herself out of her stupor and rushed into the kitchen, bringing back a bowl of soup for each of them. 

“Glad I made extra,” she joked with a half-smile.

They didn’t speak as they picked at their food. Neither of them said much as Katie showed Dominick to her guest room for the night.

They weren’t sure how it happened. One day, they were barely speaking, their relationship strained from proximity and difference in social class. Then the next day, they were laughing together like old friends.

It took two days for the snow to stop. Another two days for it to melt enough to travel. By then, Dominick was all too happy to wait for someone to find him, praying they would take their time.

Almost a week after the snow melted, the dreaded moment finally came with a pound on the front door of Katie’s cottage.

The two looked at each other, their eyes wide with a mixture of relief, fear, and sadness. 

Katie slowly rose and trudged over to open the door without a word, reverting back to the beginning when they barely spoke.

Dominick lunged and grabbed Katie’s wrist. “Wait,” he said desperately.

She looked at him, taking a deep breath and redrawing the lines they had slowly torn down. “Yes, Your Highness?”

Dominick winced. “Wait,” he said again.

The pounding on the door resumed, startling them.

Katie moved toward the door again. “We’re out of time. You need to go back to your life and I need to go back to mine.” She gently pulled her hand away, turning so he couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes.

Dominick reached for her again, but Katie pulled the door open, and the guards on the other side erupted in cheers.

They were all so busy thanking Katie and bundling Dominick onto a horse, that every guard missed the look Dominick was giving her.

Katie ignored the burning in her eyes as she watched them ride away.

A week later, a letter arrived for Katie. She burned it. For the next several months, letters kept arriving, sometimes, days apart, sometimes a week, but all from Dominick.

Katie burned every single one.

"who's this?" "it's the fucking king of England, that's who it is. Now open up, I'm drenched and I'm cold" answered a voice from the outside. "really funny sir. And original, I haven't heard this one since… Oh I'm sorry your highness"

[fxstpace]

the very first night

summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers!au, roommates!au word count: 19.7k

↳ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ↳ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.

ONE

You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.

Karmic retribution, if you will.

Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.

“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.

When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.

“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”

“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)

You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.

Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”

“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.

It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.

“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”

You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.

Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.

In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.

No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either. 

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”

Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all. 

“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.

Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.

This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that. 

You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.

You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.

You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require. 

You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.

Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee. 

(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?

(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.

You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.

TWO

It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.

Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.

It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.

In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.

You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”

You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)

“Something on your mind?”

Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”

He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”

“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”

“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”

His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought. 

Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.

“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”

“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”

He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”

“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”

“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.

Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.

You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.

He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”

His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”

“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”

“Really?”

Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”

“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“You think so?” 

You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.

Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.

“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?” 

You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.

“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”

“I…” You pause and consider. 

Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.

What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn. 

You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn. 

What a pair, you think drily.

You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots. 

Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”

The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.

“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”

Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.

When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.

It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag. 

“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”

Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.

It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines. 

“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.

“Yeah?” 

“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”

You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”

For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”

You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.

When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. 

“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.

“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”

He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”

That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.

“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.

While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.

“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.

But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”

Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.

Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?

You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.

“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.

He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.

Well, almost.

It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.

“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”

Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”

He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.

“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”

A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”

“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”

“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”

“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.

Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.

Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.

Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.

Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :) 

Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.

Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.

Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily. 

“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”

“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”

Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him. 

He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.

It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is. 

But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap. 

Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.

“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.

You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”

“How about one of everything?”

You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”

“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”

You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”

“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”

“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”

Oh.

Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.

FIVE

It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.

Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.

How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.

Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea. 

Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths. 

But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago. 

Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.

You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own. 

His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.

Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.

“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”

“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”

Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.” 

You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”

“The more you know…”

You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones. 

Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.

You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him. 

“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.

“Y/N,” is all he says. 

You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?

Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.

You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.

SIX

Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”

She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.

“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.

Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”

“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”

Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”

You guffaw. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”

“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”

“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”

You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.

“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”

She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”

Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?” 

You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused. 

“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.

Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.

Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.

Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.

You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.

SEVEN

Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.

Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.

It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.

He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.

So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.

“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again. 

The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.

When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”

“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”

Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”

Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”

His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”

You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.

“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.

“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”

“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”

“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well. 

“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.

It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)

“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”

“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.

“When is this event?” 

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.

“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”

EIGHT

Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”

You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”

Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.

He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.

It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. 

His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

One of them is Mingyu.

The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.

He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead. 

You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.

You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.

The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.

Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.

You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.

Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants. 

You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)

Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.

You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway. 

Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.

(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :) 

Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest. 

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.

And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.

You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”

“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”

“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.

“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”

He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.

Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.

Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.

The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.

“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.

“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”

Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”

“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.

“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.

“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”

“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”

It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.

“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.

Mingyu nods. “Good.”

You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”

“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”

“You too.”

It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.

Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.

He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”

Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”

“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.

“You’re… Lee Seokmin.” 

The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence. 

Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.

You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”

Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours. 

He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils. 

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”

“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”

“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”

“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.

You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”

“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching. 

Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him. 

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”

You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”

“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.

Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.

TEN 

Jihyo is back.

Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.

She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.

“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”

“Ah.”

Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.

She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.

A situation that she knows nothing about.

You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil. 

You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”

“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory. 

“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.

Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”

You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”

Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”

“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back. 

You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.

Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.

You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well. 

You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.

This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.

This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.

You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.

His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him. 

Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.

A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.

He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit. 

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”

He’s lying. 

He remembers. 

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.

“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”

You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.

“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”

“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”

Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”

“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”

“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”

You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”

Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”

Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”

“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.

You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.

When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly. 

“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want? 

“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.

She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.

You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”

“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”

“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”

“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.

But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.

Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.

“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.

You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?” 

Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”

You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”

He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”

“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.

He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin. 

“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.

For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”

“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”

You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”

“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects. 

You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”

“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”

“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm. 

Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.

Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves. 

This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)

Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.

Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.

You would like to think you’re a good actor.

Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.

Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.

Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.

What do you want?

As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.

“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.

“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.

“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”

He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”

Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.

THIRTEEN

The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired. 

“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow. 

Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.

It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.

“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.

“No thanks.”

Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”

“...Yes.”

You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”

Silence.

You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.

His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.

For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 

“How does it matter to you?”

Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”

You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.

Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”

“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts. 

“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”

You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”

“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.

You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.

“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again. 

You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.

You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.

God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon. 

His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat. 

Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.

All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin. 

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity. 

Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”

Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.

He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table. 

You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”

Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.

He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane. 

“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.

Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit. 

You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”

This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.

With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him. 

With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.

You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?

“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

“Do you… do you want anything? Water?” 

You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone. 

He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.

It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?

You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.

That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly. 

Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.

SIXTEEN

You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.

Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)

Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.

You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.

You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.

Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.

You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.

If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”

He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.

You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.

Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.

It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you okay?”

You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into. 

“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”

“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”

“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship. 

Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”

He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”

He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”

“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.

This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.

SEVENTEEN

“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.

“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”

Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.

“Give it up,” he advises.

“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”

“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”

“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.

“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”

“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”

“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.

“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.

“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.

Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”

He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.

You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.

“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”

You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”

A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan. 

He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.

“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”

“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth. 

“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”

Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”

(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)

EIGHTEEN

Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips. 

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.

He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily. 

Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.

You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.

He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”

Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.

You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.

Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.

“Call me that again,” he orders. 

“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.

He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”

“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.

Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.

He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name. 

Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.

He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed. 

Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause. 

You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching. 

“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.

You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu. 

You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.

NINETEEN

“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.

Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”

“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”

From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.

“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”

“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.

He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”

You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.

“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”

“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.

You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.

The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.

You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that. 

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au mlist) - smut; f!reader; short drabble only!

yea i bet youre all tired of hearing hockey come out of my mouth but thinking about—

hockey player simon receiving a text from you after a game.

they defeated their opponent in a shutout—price carrying the team on enemy ice, with garrick coming in with solid defences, allowing mactavish and simon to sink a shot after another.

it was an electrifying game; even now as he’s stuffed in his cubicle, simon feels like he’s on top of the world. like the cup is so close to his reach—just a few more rally and he’s bringing it home.

the locker room is buzzed, congratulations getting passed from one to another while their coach awards the disk to price for the shutout. the media is still taping this whole interaction so the team remains conscious, guarded, until, finally, everything is wrapped up.

the others clamber to the showers but simon digs for his phone, desperate to talk to you. to tell you that he’s won—he doesn’t know if you’ve watched the game, not with how packed your schedule’s gotten—so if you haven’t, he wishes to at least be the first to let you know.

he wants you to hear it from him; hear from him how they dominated tonight’s game.

(6-0 for the specgru. in the playoffs.)

but there’s already a message from you, sitting atop the strings of notification filling up his phone screen. he ignores the emails from brands reaching out for brand deals or fans sending in messages to his public socials, and taps on your name.

his eyes grow wide, his breath hitching, because—

> 2 goals tonight, baby. almost a hatty.

> have i told you how your hockey makes me hot? almost makes me want to fly there to give you a reward

the start of a whimper builds in the base of his throat, scratching at his trachea.

jesus.

the last time you’ve rewarded him for his performance—a hatty, one of which was an empty net goal—simon had to grit through the horror of seeing you have a difficulty in sitting down the next few days. until now, he swears that he tried holding back, to take it easy despite his needs, but then you crawled to his lap and sang praises in his ears, and simon was gone.

you were so needy for him. for his skate and his play and his victory. and how could simon control himself then?

so this—your messages that are lidded with a tease—is torture. the flight won’t even be until tomorrow morning so you’ve just left him extremely pent-up, buzzing, with his desires poorly-leashed.

all he could do is send a weak,

when i’m back, can you give it then? <

you’ve only liked his message as a reply and simon knows it for what it is—a deliberate hooking; filling him up with tension. with unbridled energy, all uncontainable, so he can fuck all of that into you.

shit. now he’s all hard underneath his cup.

the quick rub in the shower stalls was not enough so he races to their hotel, locking himself in his room and proceeds to fuck his fist as he swipes at the album he’s locked away in his gallery. it’s the gallery that only you and simon know about.

it’s full of pictures. of videos and audios.

it’s full of you fingering your sensitive pussy, and of simon finally getting his hands on your cunt and dragging you up to his mouth for a taste, and of simon fucking you at every surface—on the island, in the living room, against the window, in front of the mirror.

in some of them, he’s still wearing his jersey. in most of them, you’re the one who has it on.

simon cums once. then rubs another one before the flight because he makes the mistake of rereading your previous message. the release isn’t euphoric; sure, it’s enough to stop the fever, but it was almost too clinical.

you’re still in your gym clothes when simon’s clumsily making his way home. you shriek at the way he just covers you with his bulk, before giggling at the ticklish feeling of his scruff rubbing against your cheek.

“missed you,” he says.

you whine, nodding, before pushing him back just enough that you can finally jump into his arms. simon soaks up the attention, like it’s sticky liquorice, and the nuzzled kisses.

even the words pressed on his lips, he devours but there’s one thing simon needs more, and he’s almost shaking when you finally noticed.

you laugh, poking his cheek, before giving him what he wants.

“your hockey’s so hot, si,” you trill. “fuck me?”

“please,” simon croaks out because that is all he could truly say.

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

guess who has to be studying for another exam but instead she needs to catch up on this fic? (this girl) little annotations below ⬇️

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

manifest it girlypop

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

i eat up any scenes where she wants nothing to do with him and he barges into her life and finds out all the things he's been missing out? the angst of not being able to go backward in time no matter how much you regret it

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

i would burst out in tears

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

i was like why r we bringing up topper's bitch ass here and then i realized it to put in a frame of reference that she couldn't possibly know topper's birth bc he moved to kildare later. i just thought reader needed to put in a quick jab about topper 😭

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

i love the spiral of madness. i'm reading (and analyzing) it and i'm so so amazed by how ur structure descends. it flows so smoothly - from one topic to the next - all at a great pace and with a lot of internal turmoil. it builds up to me feeling everything reader feels.

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

ugh, i love the parallels between her being (potentially) pregnant and the idea that she has to wrap her life around this foundation for children.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

i love her i feel like she inches closer to insanity every day and i, too, feel the same

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

like i said

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

BABES 😭 YOU'RE CARRYING HIS CHILD oh this is too good, the idea that she wants to erase him from her life and leave no space for him (mind), but her body is accommodating spacefor his child, making her reserve a permanent space for him in her life

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

i fear i would crash out if i am currently stressed with the idea of being pregnant and remembering my ex bf and remembering my lost parents

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.You were going to do this without him.

my boss baby!!!

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

topper, in the words of reader, a bitching BACKSTABBER

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

ugh i love ur dialogues sosososo much

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

so fuck his parents then ig

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

apparently me

There it was.

+

💌 — aaaaaaaaaa, i'm so glad i waited until after my exam to read this and truly experience the gift of ur writing. i love the juxtaposition and parallels in this scene! especially with her deleting rafe from the gala's list, erasing space from him in her life, but having his child grow inside of her. i love love how she has to have a gala for children—and crippling over the current dilemma of whether she has a child herself. and i love that she's very isolated in a sense, because it amplifies how this child can truly make or break her. topper was so enjoyable—especially their conversation. u always write dialogues so smoothly!! honestly, i thought this scene would end with rafe showing up unannounced at the gala, haha but ig we'll see in next chapter

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amout of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[authorhjk1]

Idk if you saw but Yuri of SNSD posted a bikini pic, hoping we can get a sunbae series out of that or just a quickie one shot? She’s driving me nuts lol.

Shore leave

(Kwon Yuri X Julie X Belle X Natty X Haneul X Male Reader)

"Captain!"

You tear your eyes off the controls and turn around. Your XO is standing behind you.

"We've just reported back that our mission was a success. We will enter Honolulu Harbor within twenty minutes."

"Prepare to surface the boat."

"Aye, captain."

Jackson turns to his left.

"Chief of the Watch, blow main ballast tanks!"

The chief of Watch replies.

"Blow main ballast tanks, aye. Blowing main ballast tanks."

You start to walk towards the captain's cabin to finish your report. There is no need for you to be standing around the control room. The thirty man crew can do this while asleep.

"All ahead one-third, surface!"

"Raising the planes!"

"Clear the baffles!"

Opening the door, you look back into the control room. Jackson is standing at its center, overlooking everyone's actions.

"Periscope raised."

The man behind him, Miller, is making sure that it's free to surface.

"Surface is clear!"

You step inside and close the door behind you.

"Surface! Surface! Surface!"

Jackson's command is the last you hear as your submarine is about to see daylight once more.

Stepping foot on land feels odd after forty days underwater. You try to walk as normal as possible, while your crew follows you off the boat. A group of soldiers walk in your direction.

"Captain."

The man salutes you and you do the same.

"Major."

He extends his hand for you to shake.

"Happy birthday, old man."

"Thank you."

You laugh, happy to see him again for the first time in years.

"You and your crew deserve some rest while you're here."

He hands you a couple black cards, which look like key cards to hotel rooms.

"You should stay at a fancier place than the barracks. Order from the lieutenant colonel."

"I appreciate it. Please give him my thanks."

"I will. Now get out of here."

The two of you pat each other's shoulder, before you keep walking.

"Skipper."

You acknowledge lieutenant Kang's presence. The young man is barely 22 years old, but his career has been impressive so far. The worst thing about him? He found out that you used to listen to kpop.

"Have you talked to the major yet, sir?"

"I did."

The two of you walk in silence, while the crew walks after you, until Kang can't hold it in anymore.

"Did he give me permission to-"

"He did. But you have to behave yourself, lieutenant. No drinking, no fights, or any other way to get yourself into trouble."

You know that he has a short temper. But you trust him not abuse your trust.

"Everyone is on leave. And you're allowed to go to their concert."

"Thank you, sir."

You sigh as you reach the car that the major has left for you. Most of your men will head to the barracks. You, Jackson and Miller all got a room at a hotel, being the highest ranking officers on board. And you're letting the young lieutenant tag along.

After checking in, you decided to head to the hotel's pool. Being trapped in a steel cage several miles underwater with thirty men can get on your nerves. And since it's your birthday, you're more than happy to relax and clean your body. Although the number one reason to why you're not in your room, taking a well deserved nap, are the women. You don't remember the last time you talked with a woman for over ten minutes within almost a year. Living in your barracks, training younger soldiers and going on missions that take more than a month, don't leave you with a lot of free time. And the last months had been stressful and draining.

You realize that there aren't many empty deck chairs left as you make your way through the rather crowded area around the pool.

"Skipper!"

You turn your head to see Jackson, who is already sitting on one of the chairs. Miller is sitting to his left, while one on the right still seems to be empty. Skipper is usually not the term captains are addressed with, and some would tell them to shut the hell up, but you're easygoing. At least on land, when you're not on a mission. As long as your men know that you're in charge, you don't really care what they call you.

"Well, you guys came out here really quick."

"Forty days. I need some sun, sir."

You smirk at Miller's complaint, before getting comfortable on the empty chair.

"Do you know how long we have, until we get going again?"

You shake your head at Jackson's question.

"I don't. But I know what our next mission is about."

The two men don't ask for more information, knowing full well that you're not gonna tell them in a public area like this one.

"Let's hope we can relax a little longer than last time."

"Agreed."

You close your eyes, while you listen to the two men chatting.

"I like it here. The weather is nice."

"Just the weather?"

When you open your eyes again, you realize that you've fallen asleep. Quickly looking to your left, you don't see Miller or Jackson.

"Bastards."

You mumble, knowing what they're up to. The three of you have been become good friends over the years. It would surprise you, if they weren't out and about right now, looking for a bar to take you to later today.

"Excuse me?"

You turn to your right, only now realizing that someone is sitting there.

Her face is hidden by her bucket hat and her sunglasses. But it's not her face you're focused on right now anyway. Your eyes quickly scan her barely clothed body. Her white bikini matches the bucket hat. Even without seeing her face, you can tell how beautiful she is.

"I apologize. I wasn't talking to you. I just realized that my friends ran off without me."

"Those are some great friends you have."

"Well, I can't blame them. I already overheard them talking about a party this morning."

"Oh a party? What's to celebrate?"

"It's my birthday today."

"Congratulations. I hope you have a great year."

"Thank you. It would already improve my year quite a lot, if I knew your name."

You see her chuckle at your attempt to flirt with her. She hesitates for a moment, before she answers.

"Yuri. Kwon Yuri."

"Nice to meet you."

You reach out your hand and she shakes it as you tell her your name.

Hers does sounds familiar, but you can't really tell.

"Are you here on vacation as well?"

You shake your head at her question.

"Not exactly. Me and my crew are just having a shore leave, while we wait for our next mission."

"Oh, you're in the military?"

"I am. Navy."

"Oh, that's so cool. Do you work on one of those big ships that are lying in the harbor nearby? I walked past them yesterday."

"No, I'm the captain of a submarine. We only got here a couple hours ago."

"Submarine? You don't hear that everyday."

You try to steer the conversation in another direction. There isn't much to talk about when it comes to your job anyways. At least not something you're allowed to talk about.

"So you're here on vacation?"

You haven't had the pleasure of sleeping with a woman for way too long. And you have to admit it's getting harder to restrain yourself. If your lucky and Yuri is down for something more than just talking...

"I am. I've been working a lot recently and thought I would take a break, now that my project is done."

"Your project?"

"I'm an actress."

"I'm actually not surprised to hear that. It would be a shame if someone beautiful like you didn't show her face on TV."

You bite your lip, knowing that you're going a little fast here. But if this the opportunity you were hoping for, you're definitely going to take it.

"Thank you. Although I like to think that I got this far because of my skills. Not because I'm pretty."

You nod in understanding.

"That's true. Have I seen you in anything? Or have you just started acting?"

"I've been doing this for a while, but I doubt you've seen me before."

"Okay, then. What genre do you usually do? Action? Romance?"

"I played a love interest of the male lead for my last project."

"Damn. Now I'm jealous of the guy who played him."

Yuri laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

"You can't keep complementing me like this."

"Why not? I haven't seen a woman in over a month. I have to get everything out of my system at some point."

"Well, there are a lot of beautiful women here. I think you're being a little unjust by only giving me your attention."

Her smile tells you that she doesn't really mind at all. You make a point of looking around the area and the pool.

"Nope. I think I'm talking with the most beautiful woman here, right now."

"You can't stop, can you?"

Her amused smile makes you smile too.

"Like I said, I need someone to let this all out on."

You didn't expect Yuri to slightly bite her lip at your words. And then you realize that one could take your words in a different way.

"You really seem to be in need of some.... release."

You clear your throat.

"But you can keep going of course."

Yuri takes off her sunglasses and now smiles at you with her eyes as well. You already knew she was beautiful, but this is on another level. At the same time, you do feel like you've seen her before. Maybe in a movie?

"It's not like I don't like it..."

"I need more."

Yuri gives you a happy and proud smile, before you capture her lips once more. You pin her against your hotel room's door. The two of you engage in another kiss. It's filled with passion and lust. You've been waiting for this for months. You don't know the last time Yuri got off. But judging from how hard she is kissing you back, you guess that it has been a while for her too. Or she's just turned on as hell.

Your hands leave her waist and start to explore her exposed skin. Yuri yanks off her bucket hat and throws it behind you. Her hair is a little more messy now as her own hands roam your body. While one of yours trails along the strings of her bikini towards the knots on her back, one of hers uses a finger and slowly travels down your spine, giving you goosebumps. Your second hand is lazily drawing circles on her flat midriff before it playfully tugs at the strings right beneath her chest. Her other hand mirrors your circles, but on your chest. You can feel her paying extra attention to your large tattoo, which she looked at earlier a little too long.

While you keep your lips locked with hers, you start to slowly undo Yuri's knots on her back. She draws along the lines of your tattoo. A big anchor. An equally sized dragon is winding itself around it.

Once you are finished with the first knot, you feel Yuri's breath shake a little as you both give each other a second to breathe. But soon, you're back at it again. Her hand, previously on your back, is now on your hip as she plays with the waistband of your trunks. Another knot follows the first.

You are getting bolder, now that she allowed you to undo her bikini. You let your hands travel along her waist and up to her chest. Yuri breaks the kiss as she feels your hands over her top. You give her tits a squeeze, making Yuri let out a moan. She has a smile on her face again, her arms now loosely placed on your shoulders. Her head slowly rolls back as you keep kneading her soft mounds.

"Your hands feel great. I love it."

Yuri now lets her own travel down your figure, until they're reach your trunks once more. You reach behind her and finally undo her top, before slowly taking it off her. Taking in the sight of her tits, you stay in place for a moment. But then you feel Yuri undo the tie on the front of your boxers agonizingly slow. You finally look into her eyes. She stares back at you as her fingers do their work.

Once she is done, you feel her thumbs glide between your skin and the waistband. Slowly she pulls them down. Around halfway past your hips, your trunks fall to the floor on their own. Yuri has a satisfied smile on her face as she looks down on you.

After you'd taken off her bottoms too, there wasn't much time or need for foreplay. You led Yuri to your bed, where you lied down and had her lie on top of you. Now you're enjoying yourself, tasting her delicious pussy, while you feel her soft lips glide up and down on your shaft. The position enables you to freely do with her lower half what you want to. You knead her full cheeks and pull them apart occasionally, while you let your tongue glide along her labia, before sucking on her clit. Yuri's moans are almost silenced by your dick in her mouth, which sends shivers up your spine. You feel her hands on your thighs and as she picks up the pace, it almost seems like she is fucking her face onto your cock. Just the thought of that makes you put in even more effort.

Soon, they both of you have made a mess of each other. You can't help but groan into her pussy, whenever Yuri takes you as deep as she can. And Yuri moans and sometimes let's her fingernails glide over your thighs, whenever you let your tongue flick against her clit.

When you both feel the increasing need to finally be as intimate as possible, Yuri momentarily gets off you, before turning around. Her face gets closer to yours once more as she sinks herself down on you. Her soft mounds press against your chest, you feel her nipples rub against your skin. But that's not the best part. The best part is the way Yuri's tight snatch slowly takes you inside. It leaves you breathing a little faster, her wet lips wrapping themselves around your shaft as tight as possible. A satisfied smile lingers on Yuri's lips as she leans down to kiss yours. She is now lying flat on top of you. Her hands are playing with your hair, while yours rest on her lower back, occasionally darting out to give one of her cheeks a playful squeeze.

The two of you take it slow, enjoying each other's warmth and closeness. You were afraid you wouldn't last long at first, but the slow love making enables you to go longer than you expected. Yuri barely moves on top of you, slightly circling her hips, making your cock move inside of her. The two of you share one kiss after another. Her fingers comb through your hair. And she gives it a slight tug, whenever you hit the right spot inside of her. Yuri's breasts are pressed against your chest, her nipples rubbing against your skin.

Having your hands on her cheeks, you carefully start to move her back and forth. It brings more motion into the two of you. Yuri's lips find yours once more, while she lets out a moan, feeling her pussy glide along your cock. The more you make her move, the better it feels for the both of you. Your fingers begin to dig into her flesh and Yuri leaves a bite on your skin here and there. Looking up at her, you see her eyes are only half open, her eyelids heavy with pleasure.

"Oh my god."

Yuri lets out a loud sigh into your neck. It's the first time she spoke, since she took you inside. You feel her moving on her own now, so you let your hands travel along her back. Her hair is covering the both of you right now, serving as a makeshift curtain as it blocks out the sunlight.

Closing your eyes, you just enjoy the moment. How Yuri moves herself along your body on top of you. How her pussy glides along your shaft, her wet walls squeezing every inch. How her nipples move over your skin. How her moans reach your ear, whenever she doesn't lock her lips with yours.

"Yuri..."

You took too long. Focusing on the moment, feeling this gorgeous woman on top of you. You realize there is no turning back, the moment you open your eyes. Yuri bites her lower lip, looking down on you. She nods, giving you permission to finish what the two of you started.

You quickly reach down her back, your arms wrapping around her lower back, right above her ass. Instinctively, you let your legs slip out from underneath her and raise them, burying your heels into the mattress.

"Oh wow."

Yuri lets out a gasp. To her it feels like you just gained another inch. You start to fuck her now. A little faster than she moved before. Her arms now lying next to your shoulders, supporting her weight as she pushes her upper body higher. You can't stop yourself. Taking in the sight of her beautiful tits right in front of you, you fuck Yuri harder. She can't help but smile down on you, flattered by the way you seem to love every single part of her body.

"Yuri..."

You sigh her name once more. Yuri let's out a moan herself a moment later. She feels your cock twitching inside of her. You raise your hips a little higher, which makes you lift hers too. More and more of your cum invades Yuri's tight cavern, making her head sink onto yours once more.

The two of you stay in place, even after both of you have calmed down. Yuri is still lying on top of you. She has moved a little further down though to be able to comfortably place her head on your chest. Her toned midriff is pressed against your cock. You feel her fingers trace over your tattoo once more.

"You know...."

Yuri starts to talk after a while.

"My room is two floors higher. 5003. Just in case you..."

You crack a smile, your hand slowly stroking her hair.

"I will keep that in mind."

"Are you telling me that everyone is coming?"

You sigh, already knowing that this night will not end well. You expected the three guys to throw you a low profile party at a bar. Just the four of you.

"Yes, everyone. Plus, everyone else who is at the barracks and gets to go out tonight."

"Oh that's just great. How many men is that?"

Miller shrugs his shoulders.

"Fifty?"

You give him a disapproving glare. Now you wish you'd have stayed longer in bed with Yuri.

"Oh come on. They all love you. You know you have a reputation, right? No failed mission? Highest success rate?"

"So?"

Miller leads you down a long street which is taking you further to the beach.

"That doesn't mean I have to like that you invited fifty people."

"Relax, skipper."

He gives you a pat on the shoulder as you two reach the bar the three of them found earlier today. Looking to your right, you see the sunset. The sea is coloured in a beautiful orange. You'd have loved to take a moment and take in the view. You haven't seen a sunset in over a month. But Miller destroys your plan by opening the door. Music and shouts invade your ears. You walk inside, followed by Jackson, Miller and Kang. Most of the tables, around 10, are filled by men in uniforms, while two are occupied by other guests. One group looks like tourists, while the other makes you look at four gorgeous faces. Even after you were able to have sex with Yuri, you can't help but glance at the four girls a second longer. They all look significantly younger than you, with the girl on the far right looking like she just got fresh out of high school.

"Captain!"

One of the men spotted you and is now standing up. The laughter and chatter dies down. The other soldiers follow his example. You wait until everyone is standing. You hear Miller's voice behind you.

"Told you. Reputation."

You sigh as you look around. It seems like some of the men already had a couple of drinks.

"At ease."

As everyone sits back down, you notice how the group of tourists and the four girls all look very surprised by what's going on.

Suddenly, you hear Jackson groan in annoyance and you quickly realize why. There aren't any empty seats. Or rather, the only empty seats left are the ones at the table of the four girls. You see Miller stepping towards the nearest table, probably to get you a place to sit, but you grab his shoulder.

"It's fine. I was hoping for a relaxed night anyway."

The four of you walk through the bar and past some of the tables. Some of the men greet you individually, raising their glasses, or congratulating you.

"Hi. Are these empty, or are you waiting for someone?"

"No, they're empty. Please."

One of the girls spoke and is now gesturing towards the empty seats. You walk around the table and sit against the wall, next to the girl who looks the youngest. Jackson joins you on the bench, while the other two sit opposite from you.

You take one more look around the table. You can tell the girls are a little shy to restart their conversation now. The girl next to the youngest tugs her short black hair behind her ear, before taking a sip of her drink.

The girl across from her is the one who invited the four of you to sit down. You can't help but stare at her lips for a moment as she finally says something to the girl next to her. You can't understand it, but it sounds like Korean.

The girl she is speaking to is sitting next to Miller. She looks cute. Not as cute as the girl next you, but still kinda adorable. She seems to answer the other girl, before she takes out her phone.

When the waitress reaches your table, the four of you order. The girls seem to have picked up their conversation. At one point it looks like the girl next to you asked a question. A question none of them seems to have the answer too. You're surprised when Kang suddenly says something in Korean. You've noticed that he has been unusually quiet this entire time. You can't blame him. The four girls are stunning. But somehow it seems like something else has held him back so far.

The girls are surprised by Kangs answer. They probably didn't expect him to understand them.

Haneul's cheeks burn red with embarrassment. Why is he only saying now that he knows Korean? Her worried face glances at the man next to her. The man who seems to be in charge. She didn't expect anyone to understand her, apart from her members, when she admitted she found him hot, barely four minutes ago.

She was already afraid that he had caught her glancing at him from time to time. But now, she has to worry that his friend will tell him what she said. Haneul bows her head and thanks the man who spoke Korean, hoping he won't say anything. The other girls already teased her enough about her confession.

When the waitress comes back and placed the drinks in front of the soldiers, Haneul can feel how the man next to her relaxes further. He spreads his legs wider to get more comfortable. Now hers touch his. She can't help but bit her lip at the seemingly innocent connection. She isn't as bold as Julie or Natty, who would've placed their hands on his thigh and flirted with him. She hates herself for that. Haneul knows she needs to at least practice. Talking to her fans is easy. So why can't she do that with strangers as well?

"I'm surprised you know Korean."

Haneul looks up at Julie's words, which were directed at the man who answered her question.

"My parents are Korean. It's like my first language."

"Ah, that's cool."

"I have to admit, I'm a fan of you, girls. I'm going to the concert tomorrow."

"Oh, that's amazing."

Natty seems genuinely happy. While the three girls deepen the conversation with their fan, Haneul glances at the man next to her once more.

"Oh, fuck!"

Her inner self screams when he suddenly locks eyes with her. Haneul doesn't know if she should look away or not. But he smiles at her. And turns a little towards her.

"What's your name?"

"I'm Haneul."

Haneul gives you one of the cutest smiles you've ever seen. And the words slip out of your mouth, before you can think about them.

"You have a beautiful smile."

As the night deepens, you step outside, feeling the cold night air on your face. Haneul is walking out behind you. After her come Jackson, Miller and Kang and the other girls. It was one of them, Julie if you remember correctly, who suggested all of you should go for a walk on the beach.

You got to know all four girls quite well, who seem to be in a kpop group called kiss of life. They are all charming and beautiful, but it seems like you and Haneul have hit it off very well.

The two of you continue to talk as you walk past the palm trees and finally reach the sand.

"This is so beautiful."

Haneul can't fight the urge to take a couple of pictures of the star glazed night sky.

"It is."

You look at her and Haneul seems to catch on as she lowers her phone and turns to you. Her shy smile makes you chuckle, before you focus back on the stars.

"Haneul... Your name means sky, right?"

She looks at you in surprise.

"You speak Korean?"

"A little."

"Oh, you should've told me earlier."

You see her biting her lip and her cheeks slightly becoming darker. Is she embarrassed about something?

You hear laughter behind you. The two of you turn around. You roll your eyes as you watch Miller kissing one of the girls.

Haneul lets out a gasp as she sees Julie and one of the soldiers exchange a kiss. His hands are on her waist and Julie's are on his shoulders. Haneul is embarrassed, but at the same time, she is glancing at you, wondering how it would feel like to kiss you. Then she sees Natty and your other friend laugh together, arms locked. She watches how he slowly leans down, capturing the Thai girl's lips with his own.

You can tell Haneul has gotten more nervous over the last ten seconds.

"We don't need to do what they're doing, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Huh?"

Haneul turns to you, her eyes wide open. You hesitate, but it seems like she does want you to kiss her. You place a hand on her shoulder and eventually lower it a little. Further and further, until you reach her small waist. Haneul's eyes are glued to yours the whole time. But you catch them darting down to your lips from time to time.

Once your hand is on her waist, you pull her closer. You press her body against your own and you can feel her perky tits rub against your body, right underneath your chest. Leaning down, you see Haneul closing her eyes.

She seems so different from Yuri. Maybe it's her age or inexperience. But it doesn't make her any less attractive.

Your lips meet and you have to admit that Haneul's lips feel softer than you thought they would. You let your hand slowly wander over her back as you deepen the kiss. Haneul melts into you, her own hands pulling slightly at your shirt.

"Look at those two lovebirds."

Your kiss is interrupted by Julie's cheeky remark. You realize that you and Haneul have been standing like this more than a couple of seconds. For you, it felt like a short moment. But the other six are all looking at you.

"We are waiting for your answer, skipper."

"For what?"

You seem to have missed the question. A proud but shy smile appears on Haneul's face.

"Are you okay with all of us heading to the nearest hotel?"

You wonder why they're asking. They could just take off. It's not like they're on duty or something. But then you catch how Natty is casually leaning against Jackson, while her hand seems to be placed on Miller's back. While Kang, despite having his hands on Belle's waist, seems to exchange a knowing smile with Julie.

Their plan quickly dawns on you and you look down at Haneul. By now, you're pretty sure that Haneul wouldn't oppose to a night together. But, even if you have to share, the idea of being able to be with all four of them almost makes your head spin.

"What do you say?"

Despite the darkness, Haneul's cheek are laced with a darker red than ever before.

"I-I wouldn't mind."

The way to the hotel room was uneventful. You could tell Haneul was still nervous, but you managed to calm her down by taking her hand in yours while you walked. The receptionist raised an eyebrow when you told her all eight of you would share a room for the night. But she didn't say anything and just gave you the key card to a slightly bigger room.

Now you sit on the edge of the bed, looking down on Haneul. She is fumbling around with your belt. Miller is sitting on your left with Julie kneeling in front of him. The other four are on the other side of the bed behind you.

You can't help but watch as Julie opens her mouth and takes Miller's cock into her mouth. She is definitely more experienced than Haneul, who only got your pants off now. You catch her hesitating, but a moment later, she pulls your boxers down as well. Her wide open eyes are focused on your cock. She slowly opens her mouth as well. Reaching out, you take her cheek in your hand, encouraging her. Haneul's eyes smile up at you as her pretty lips close around your tip.

Your head rolls back as you feel her tongue moving around. You're so glad you and Yuri had fun earlier today. Otherwise, Haneul's cute face would've made you cum right there.

She lets her tongue dance around for a moment, before pressing it underneath your cock. You feel her taking more of you inside her mouth. On instinct, your hand moves up to the top of her head. You can't help but stroke her hair as Haneul does her best to pleasure you.

"Good girl."

You groan, when you feel her sucking on your cock properly. You expected her to have no experience at all. But it seems like Haneul does know just enough.

You glance to your left once more as you hear someone choking. Julie has placed her hands flat on Miller's thighs and is almost face fucking herself onto his cock.

Haneul can feel that you got harder by looking at those two. She takes a deep breath and then lets her lips glide further down your shaft. The younger girl can't compete with Julie, but you're more than happy with what she is doing. You reach behind her to hold her hair back, focusing only on Haneul.

"You're doing great."

You can't help but praise her. She looks so cute, while she sucks you off.

Haneul places her hands on your thighs as well and looks up at you. Almost as if she's asking for permission. You nod, curious to see what she's going to do.

"Damn."

You groan when you feel her throat tighten around you as she pushes her head down further. She quickly begins to cough and choke. Haneul's spit starts to leave her mouth. It gets all over your cock, your lap, her shirt and her thighs. But she tries to keep going, bobbing her head up and down.

"Don't close your mouth, open it wide."

You almost jump when you hear Julie's voice right next to you. She is kneeling next to Haneul, her arm stretched out as she keeps jerking off Miller's wet cock.

Haneul retreats, letting your own cock fall out of her mouth.

"Relax your throat when you first take all of it. It makes it easier."

Haneul listens closely to Julie's words.

"Like this."

Your hands dig into the sheets as Julie suddenly decides to deepthroat you. You can feel how she is forcing her jaw open wide enough to take all of you inside. Haneul watches in awe as the other girl bobs her head up and down. Julie doesn't even choke this time, her throat relaxed enough to take it all.

You notice how she still doesn't stop stroking Miller's cock. From behind you, you hear Jackson groan something.

You have to distract yourself like this, not wanting to cum early. Julie is doing an amazing job and now backs away to give Haneul another chance.

The younger girl tries to imitate Julie and takes most of your cock inside her mouth at once. You feel how she is able to take more now, her throat almost greedily sucking on your cock.

"That's it."

Julie smiles at her, before letting go of Miller's cock. She spits into her hand and wraps it around his length once more, making sure her saliva is all over shaft.

Haneul has now lifted her once more, letting her lips glide along your length.

"You're doing great."

Julie pats the back of Haneul's head. When she looks up at you, the older girl gives you a seductive wink. Before you can react, Julie pushes Haneul's head down, deep into your lap.

"Take it all, baby."

Her voice is still sweet and carrying, but her hand on Haneul's back makes the younger girl choke and gag.

And then, Julie uses Haneul's mouth to jerk you off. She lifts her head up and down, making her lips glide along your cock.

You barely notice that Miller is now standing next to Julie. She's sucking him off once more, but making sure she is fucking Haneul's face onto your cock at a steady pace.

You feel bad for Haneul. But at the same time, you can barely hold it together. Her tight throat just feels so damn amazing. The way her whole mouth almost takes in all your cock. The way her saliva gets everywhere. The way she gags whenever your tip hits the back of her throat.

You sigh in relief when Julie lets go off Haneul's head and focuses back on Miller. Haneul takes you in deep a couple of times more, before she finally backs away. Her big eyes and the strings of her saliva connecting her lips with your cock make her look so cute but sexy at the same time.

You reach out and wipe the spit off her lips. To your surprise, Haneul sucks on your thumb in return.

"Get on the bed."

You guide her to her feet and make her lie on her back. She watches you as you now undo her shorts. Glancing behind her, you can see how Natty is giving Jackson a titjob, while Belle is giving Kang head too.

But you focus back on Haneul as you pull her pants off of her.

You push the small piece of fabric that is covering her pussy to the side, exposing her snatch.

Haneul gasps when she feels your lips touch her thighs. She expected you to head straight for her core, but you tease first. It only takes you a couple of kisses, before her eyes silently beg for you to pay attention to her pussy.

You take both her thighs in your hands, spreading them apart so you have enough room. You kiss her right next to her lower lips, making her sigh in frustration. When you finally do let your tongue glide along her lips, Haneul's head rolls back. Her eyes close and her hands grab the sheets as you begin to eat her out.

The young girl's moans echo through the room. She occasionally lets out a small squeal or sigh whenever you suck on her clit. By now, one hand has moved to your head as she is slightly pulling at your hair, trying to get your tongue deeper inside of her. The other covers her mouth as Haneul tries to reduce the volume of her moans. She doesn't want to be the loudest in the room. Embarrassment is still colouring her cheeks.

But she doesn't have to worry much, when she hears Julie moaning shamelessly next to her. Miller is lying next to Haneul on his back, while Julie is riding his face. The older girl throws her head back and grinds against him, while his hands hold her waist.

Haneul almost jumps when Natty's face suddenly appears above her head. Jackson made her get on all fours on the bed and is now eating her out from behind. Natty basically moans into Haneul's face. The younger girl can't help herself. The Thai girl just looks so amazingly hot like that. She reaches upward with her free hand. Natty gladly follows Haneul's guidance and lowers her head. The two girls share one deep kiss after another.

As they both loose themselves in the sea of pleasure, Natty's limps grow weak. She gets lower and lower as they break their kiss. Finally, Natty is almost lying on top of Haneul. The younger girl's face meets Jackson's. She hesitates, but eventually she captures his lips with her own. She can taste Natty's juices.

You do the same with the Thai girl. You share a deep kiss with her, while she slowly inserts a finger into Haneul's pussy. The younger girl moans louder now, but you pull away and stand up. Natty follows your movements and invitingly opens her mouth. You push your cock past her lips.

Looking past her, you see that Jackson is doing the same with Haneul. While the two girls lie on top of each other, they give the two of you head.

"Damn."

You groan, acknowledging how skilled Natty is. She definitely did this more often than Haneul. You feel her tongue doing all kinds of tricks as she keeps her lips sealed around your length. You place a hand on top of her head and give her mouth shallow thrusts.

As you use Natty's mouth, you watch Julie, who keeps riding Miller's face. Seems like she got a hold of the lieutenant as well. Kang is standing on the bed, right in front of her. One of Julie's hands is wrapped around his length, while her lips are sealed around his shaft as well. Her other hand is entangled in Miller's hair.

Wait, where is Belle?

She catches your eye as she slowly crawls over the bed towards you. Just when she's about to reach you, you reach for her face, pulling her up by her chin. Belle smiles at you, before the two of you share a kiss. It doesn't last long, because Belle now reaches down to have a taste of your cock as well.

Natty starts to moan all over your cock when Jackson slowly pushes his cock inside of her. You watch her eyes roll as she suddenly finds herself trapped between the two of you. When Jackson pushes forward, he basically makes her take you down her throat. Belle makes sure that even your base is cared for, while Natty becomes helpless.

Belle suddenly gasps in surprise when Miller reaches around her waist and pulls her body towards him. Julie is already an all fours while Kang fucks her from behind. The older man now puts Belle into the same position. But instead of fucking her, you catch how he starts to eat her ass. The younger girl quickly turns into a moaning mess. Her and Julie both exchange one kiss after another.

Looking down on yourself again, you notice how Natty is starting to drool all over Haneul's beautiful pussy. It now looks so wet and so good, you can't help yourself. You almost have to push Natty's head off your cock for her to leave you alone. Now her moans are louder. You reach down and place two fingers on Haneul's clit. You feel her jump at the sudden touch, but when you start playing with her, you hear her moan as well.

"Damn, Natty. Haneul is such a tight girl."

"Yeah, she is. Such a tight cunt."

You make Natty watch as you slowly penetrate Haneul's glistening folds. The older girl keeps drooling all over the younger girl's pussy, coating your cock in her saliva as well.

"Does she feel good for you? Is she being a-"

A particularly hard thrust leaves Natty speechless for a moment.

"Is-Is she being a good little girl for you?"

"Yes, she is."

You take a hold of Natty's chin and make her look up at you.

"You like it when your friend is a slut?"

She eagerly nods, another moan leaving her mouth.

"Do you want to see how I use her tight pussy like a fleshlight?"

You talk a little louder, making sure Haneul can mentally prepare herself.

"Yes, yes, yes. Fuck her like the slut she is."

As Natty talks, you feel Haneul's legs close around you in conformation. It seems like the younger girl has lost all of her shyness by now.

You properly take a hold of her thighs and start to fuck Haneul's pussy. A moment later, you hear a string of moans and whines leave her lips. You watch how Jackson momentarily pulls out of Natty and thrusts down into Haneul's wide open mouth. You doubt the young girl has ever had two cocks inside of her at once. The two of you alternate between both of their mouths and pussies, turning the two of them into begging messes.

"Are you really going to-Oh god!"

You glance to your right as you hear a loud yelp. Belle is now on top of Miller, who is sitting on the bed. Her feet are planted on his thighs, her hands are holding onto his wrists. His own hands are on her waist.

"You're so big, oh god!"

He makes Belle take his cock into her ass. Slowly at first, before he starts to pick up the pace a little. You can't help but notice how good her pussy looks as well. Not as good as Haneul's to be honest though.

You don't really remember how you ended up in this position. After Haneul, you do remember being inside of Julie and the Belle. Now, you're lying on the bed and Haneul is on top of you. She's facing you, her hands on your chest, supporting her weight. To your left, the other three couples have gotten into the same position. The three guys and you are all lying down, while the four girls are each riding someone. At some point, the four of them all got into the same rhythm. They all lift themselves upwards and then impale themselves on their partner below at the same time.

"I-I think I'm gonna...."

Haneul's voice gets cut off when your cock is finally too much for her. You could tell she's kept it in for a while now, just to be on the same level as the other three. But now she finally becomes undone, shaking on top of you. Her snug pussy twitching around your cock. You hold onto her waist, making sure she doesn't fall down.

The next one to go is Belle. She is riding Jackson, who's lying next to you. With a loud gasp, she joins Haneul in her orgasmic state. When Haneul finally calms down, she looks at you.

"I-I need a break."

You nod, noticing that she really is out of breath. You help her with climbing off of you. As Haneul lies down, you get up. The fact that she just came on top of you has you longing for more. And the way Belle has started to pick up her pace once more, indicates she can take more as well.

Now kneeling behind her, you reach around her body and cup her breasts. Her bounces slow down and you move a little closer. Jackson reaches behind her and pulls Belle's cheeks apart.

"Why are you-"

She gets the answer a second later as she feels your tip push pass the tight ring of her ass.

"Oh! Oh, god! I've never taken this much before!"

You thrust inside of her, making Belle almost fall forward.

Jackson and you start to work together. Whenever you push inside Belle, his hands on her ass push her upwards as well. It makes her take even more of you, while her pussy glides along his shaft. And then you almost pull out of her as you pull her down with you, impaling her on his cock.

"Oh, yes! Ruin me!"

Belle quickly gets into it, the feeling of having two holes filled overwhelming her.

"Fuck, that's so hot."

Julie sighs on your right, who is riding Kang's cock. Next to her is Natty doing the same with Miller. The two guys exchange a look.

"Hey, wait!"

Natty complains, but Miller ignores her. He pushes her off of him and kneels behind Julie. The oldest has a mischievous grin on her face.

"Oh, yes. Give it to me, boys."

She moans loudly when the two of them start to fuck her ass and pussy as well. She doesn't seem to care at all that Natty just lost her own opportunity to feel good.

You motion her to come closer and Natty quickly crawls towards you. After she lies on her back, you hold Belle with only one hand and insert two fingers of your other one into Natty's wet pussy.

All three girls are now moaning together again, while Haneul is still lying on the side. Still recovering.

"Fuck."

You groan into Belle's ear, desperately trying to fight the urge to bite into her naked shoulder. Her ass is just so tight. It feels so good. That tight ring of her muscles keeps squeezing the life out of you, while you feel can feel Jackson's cock inside of her as well.

"Oh my god."

Belle sighs and moans. By now, she has become dead weight. It's up to you and Jackson to move her up and down, while you use her holes. Eventually, her strength leaves Belle's whole body. She collapses on top of Jackson. He's still inside her pussy and now you start to fuck Belle's ass a little faster. You make her body rock back and forth on top of him.

Natty seizes that opportunity and quickly climbs on top of Belle. You hear Jackson groan, you can't tell if it's their combined bodies on top of him, or just Belle's snatch. Either way, you're now able to switch between the two girls.

You pull out of Belle's snug ass and push inside Natty's pussy.

"Oh, yes. Fuck me hard."

The older girl sighs, backing her ass up a little bit more.

"Oh, that's it. You're gonna give us your cum?"

Julie's words push you towards the edge as you feel her hand quickly stroking your cock. The four girls are all kneeling on the floor in a circle, their backs up against each other. The four of you each stand in front of one of them.

Kang is the first to finish. With a loud groan, he cums all over Natty. Her face and her tits are painted waited after only a couple of seconds. Belle is the second one to get hit. Miller unloads all over her face as well, some of his cum hits her hair and Haneul as well.

Julie puts your cock into her mouth as well, urging you on to not leave her hanging. At the same time, Jackson orgasms too, painting Haneul's face. The youngest gasps at the rather unfamiliar feeling. But before she can say anything, Belle already captures her lips with her own. The two girls engage in a messy, cum filled make out session.

You suddenly feel a second pair of lips on your cock. Natty's painted face greats you as she eagerly lets her lips wander along your length.

"Fuck."

You groan, the two girls quickly getting you to the point of no return.

When they realize you're about to cum, they both lean back. They use their hands to push their tits together. Mouths wide open and tongues out. Natty closes her eyes, while Julie looks straight up at you.

You finally finish, painting both of their faces and tits. The sight in front of you almost makes you hard again already as you see the two girls sharing your cum.

You thought your birthday would've already been the highlight of your shore leave. But you're proven wrong, when you wake up the next day to a snap from your new friend.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Unhinged

Jason Todd x Reader

MDNI wc: 0.7K summary: your roommate finds your messages you send your friend about him. warnings: suggestive themes, no y/n used, actually kind of cringe a/n: my dear friend accidently gave me this idea while spamming me with delicious Red Hood edits (@dollyure), evidence will be shared at the end. enjoy!!

You never thought this could happen. You were so careful to leave your own thoughts to yourself and never let Jason see the things you tell your friend. But of course, nothing really goes your way for some reason.

It took one thing for you to end up in this situation. One thing. And that was leaving your phone unattented on the sofa for a minute. Unlocked.

It was a typical evening as any other, just getting to relax and wind down at the end of the week on your favourite spot at the couch with your roommate. Jason was always pretty quiet but respectful of the shared space, a good friend if you want to wind down together. You rarely get to see him in the evenings but on days like this, when he stays in, it feels like a small reward for you.

Of course he doesn‘t know about any of this. Doesn‘t know anything about what your silly texts between you and your friends. You keep it a secret pretty well, so he won‘t think you are a complete weirdo.

Well, until that evening. Setting your phone quickly aside to get to your boiling tea kettle, you forgot to lock it. Jason sits at the other end of the fluffy couch and watches how you scurry away to get the boiling water to a stop. With an amused grin he gets back to his book but keeps getting distracted by the bright phonescreen just a little away from him. Glancing over, he sees the outlines of text bubbles but he can‘t see what‘s written in there yet.

He isn‘t trying to pry or get into your privacy, but the way the other person spams you non-stop is making him more curious. Whatever this conversation is about, he wants to know if it‘s a conflict or some sort of gossip.

Jason checks if you are still in the kitchen and sees you preparing your tea and some sweets. He technically has enough time to snatch your phone while it‘s still open and gets to have a look over the texts. Who knows, maybe he will find out some interesting things on there. So, with these weak excuses, he grabs your phone and starts reading through them.

UNTIL YOUR TONGUE FADES COLOUR??? I mean every word I say. Wow. Just…

His brows furrow. What does this even mean? Are tongues even capable of fading colour? With a quick glance to the kitchen, he scrolls up, reading through the older messages.

From the couch, to the shower, to the bed, from the wall to the floor from missionary to cowgirl, straddled on top JUST LET ME HITTT

His jaw drops. Jason quickly composes himself and sits up, clearing his throat. He is sure he will need extra therapy after this. Ignoring the unfamiliar, warm feeling in his lower abdomen, he continues to read through them. Unsurprisingly, he finds a picture of himself in the chat. His profile picture, some random pictures he didn‘t even you had in the first place.

Until my throat memorises every vein.

That‘s the last message he sees from you before you appear in his sight again. Tea in hand, some cookies in the other. But most importantly, your flushed cheeks and regretful expression. His hand drops your phone and his cheeks also flush.

You can‘t look into his eyes anymore. This is the next worst thing that‘s ever happened to you so far. There is no way you can talk yourself out of this situation at all. He knows basically everything now. From the fact that you crush on him to the fact that you literally want to devour him whole.

Silently, he sets your phone back to its original spot and gets off the couch to stand up. Again, he clears his throat and speaks up first.

»I‘m gonna pretend I didn‘t see all this...«

And before you could apologise or say something to your defense, he is gone, retreating himself into his own room. Maybe even for the better, you can‘t imagine how awkward it would‘ve been if you were to sit next to him for the next few hours.

here is the so called evidence ( from my friends perspective)

and this was the final message that made me do this:

hope you enjoyed it somehow(★‿★)

←MASTERLIST

[chheolie]

dad seokmin forgot to keep his promise

seokmin was having one of those days where he planned to spend the entire afternoon entertaining his son with the most outlandish games he could think of. full of enthusiasm, he turned on the toy fire truck, which started zooming across the floor with its lights flashing and siren echoing throughout the room.

"look at this, buddy!" he exclaimed, excitedly, calling his little one over to watch the toy in action.

but to his surprise, his son, sitting on the floor with a surprisingly firm look, just crossed his arms and put on an expression that looked way too serious for a three-year-old. his little lips pushed out into a dramatic pout, as if he was experiencing the worst day of his life.

seokmin raised an eyebrow, confused, trying to decipher the unexpected reaction.

“is he mad about something? or maybe he just doesn’t like fire trucks anymore?” he thought, watching his son curiously.

determined to keep trying, he brought the truck closer and attempted to get him excited again.

"let’s put out the fire, son!" he said in an upbeat tone, waving the toy from side to side, trying to make it as fun as possible.

to his complete shock, the little boy, still with his pout intact, kicked the truck with his chubby foot, sending it sliding across the rug until it bumped against the couch leg. the kid’s angry face only grew, and the pout? somehow, it looked even bigger.

seokmin had to try really hard not to laugh. he felt his lips tremble with the urge to let out a chuckle, but he held it back. he didn’t want to make his little one any more upset.

"okay, my love… you don’t want to play with the fire truck," seokmin said in a softer, more paternal tone. "how about we go for a walk outside?" he suggested, smiling as if it was the most amazing idea ever.

the boy looked at his dad with a mix of disapproval and stubbornness, then turned his face away, crossing his arms even tighter.

seokmin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling clueless. he tried everything he could think of – he even offered to go outside and watch the “big trucks” his son usually loved to see, but nothing worked. feeling at a loss and a little desperate, he finally picked up his phone to call for help from the real expert: his wife.

with quick fingers, he typed a message, and soon his phone buzzed with a reply.

seokmin: babe, help.

he saw the typing bubbles pop up and then the message appeared.

seokmin: i think i just became our son’s number one enemy. 😩😩

y/n: 🤨 really? why?

seokmin: he won’t talk to me. won’t play with his favorite fire truck, doesn’t even want to go outside…

y/n: did you ask him why? maybe it’s something important

seokmin: babe… he’s only three. how’s he supposed to know how to explain what he’s feeling? 🥺

y/n: 🙄 ASK HIM, seokmin.

seokmin was ready to finally fix the situation, but he couldn’t resist asking his son one more time, now that the little boy seemed a bit less upset.

"son, did daddy do something wrong? why are you so upset?" he gently held his son’s tiny shoulders. "is there anything daddy can do to make you not be mad anymore?"

the little boy looked at him, still pouting, and said in a slightly teary voice, "you… you pwomised… stwawbewwy ice cweam… and you fowgot!"

seokmin had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter. of course, it was about food! and he vaguely remembered mentioning something about ice cream the night before, but with all the excitement and games, he’d completely forgotten.

"oh, son… i’m really sorry! daddy forgot about the ice cream!"

seokmin quickly grabbed his phone and texted his wife, almost as if he needed her to witness what he’d just discovered.

seokmin: babe, he said it

seokmin: i promised him strawberry ice cream after lunch, can you believe it? 😩😩

almost immediately, her reply came in.

y/n: really? i’m a witness.

seokmin: i forgot i’d promised that 😳

seokmin: but… how could he remember that? he’s just a baby!

y/n: he’s your son, seokmin. your legacy: selective memory for sweets and pizza.

seokmin: 😅😅😅😅😅

y/n: give him his ice cream before he packs his bag to run away from home.

laughing at the thought of his son packing a bag and searching for a new home that took ice cream promises seriously, seokmin headed to the kitchen to prepare the long-awaited treat. he grabbed a small bowl, added a few scoops of strawberry ice cream, and went all out: strawberry syrup, colorful sprinkles, and of course, a cherry on top. he carried the bowl back to the living room like it was a trophy, still imagining which uncle his son might ask for refuge with. maybe vernon? surely he wouldn’t forget a promise.

"here it is, buddy! your strawberry ice cream, with everything you deserve!"

the little boy, now with bright eyes, immediately dropped his pout and grabbed the bowl with both tiny hands, amazed by what he saw.

"yummy!" he said, fully focused on the ice cream and visibly happy.

seokmin crouched down beside him and asked hopefully, "so… do you forgive me for forgetting?"

the child nodded, but he was so engrossed in the ice cream that seokmin wasn’t sure if the forgiveness was genuine or just temporary. the ice cream was clearly priority number one.

he quickly sent another message to y/n.

seokmin: he forgave me…

seokmin: but i’m not sure we’re totally okay yet… i think his heart’s still divided between the ice cream and the grudge.

y/n: hahaha, i’m glad for you, babe.

seokmin watched as his son enjoyed the ice cream, and with each spoonful, the little boy let out a happy “mmm!” while seokmin watched, relieved to have made things right.

when his little one finished, he held up the empty bowl and grinned.

"was it good?" seokmin asked, smiling back at him.

"good, good!" he replied with his sweet little voice and eyes shining with joy.

suddenly, the boy got up, handed the bowl back to seokmin without much ceremony, and ran over to the fire truck still sitting on the floor.

"wooo woo woo woo!" he started imitating the fire truck siren with excitement, waving his dad over to join the game.

seokmin wasted no time. he ran to the kitchen to put the bowl down and, in seconds, was back in the living room, ready for the new mission to save the world. he pretended to put on an invisible firefighter helmet and gave his son a salute.

"firefighter seokmin reporting for duty!" he announced with a determined, goofy expression. "what’s the emergency, chief?"

his son held onto the toy truck, looking at him with serious little eyes.

"fire! big fire! daddy, come!" he shouted, running around the room with the truck while seokmin followed, pretending to turn on a siren.

the house transformed into a "fire station," and the two of them spent the next several minutes saving stuffed animals from the imaginary blaze.

seokmin: babe, we’re friends again

seokmin: we’re playing firefighters

y/n: alright, mr. firefighter, don’t make promises you won’t remember to keep

seokmin: 🫡🫡🫡

[sugawhaaa]

SAN X READER

⚝₊ ⊹˚Scented feelings⚝₊ ⊹˚

Warnings:: mentions of SA and harassment, suggestive at the end

Genre:: friends to lovers

Pairing:: gym bro!San x fem!reader

A/N:: I've been cooking this up for a long time so I am PRAYINNN to the gods above this does well 🙏

San was a somewhat new friend but the two of you clicked like magic and nothing was too embarrassing to admit between the two of you. You met at the gym when you first started working out frequently and he gave you some tips. One thing led to another and now you work out together multiple times a week. He's always so encouraging, helpful and understanding.

If you explain to him that you're having kind of a rough day or not feeling well he won't try to push you like he normally does and he will respect the fact you want to keep it chill. All in all he is the best gym bro you could've asked for.

Today you came in a bit earlier than usual and started warming up with your regular stretches and light weight exercise to get your blood moving. As you did that you noticed two guys looking at you quite frequently and occasionally talking to each other. You chose to ignore them and listen to some music until San arrived. It wasn't too long after that you noticed San come in through the door with his bag and massive water bottle in hand. He smiled when he locked eyes with you and came over to you.

“You got here early today,” San smiles as he looks down slightly to meet your height.

“Yeah my schedule was clear and I just felt like coming by early,” you shrug and San nods. The two of you then get to work, following your usual routine. However you noticed the men from earlier were getting bolder and were much less obvious than before. You sigh softly as you go back to lifting some weights and Sans brows furrow. He hadn't noticed the men yet so he decided to ask what had been bothering you.

“You seem…frustrated?” San says as he comes closer to you, talking softer than usual.

“Yeah it's just those guys over there. They've been looking at me since I got here,” you tilt your head over to where the men were standing and talking. Sans brows furrow again as he looks at them.

“Want me to talk to them?” He offers but you shake your head.

“Nah I don't want to make a scene,” you set the weights down again and stretch out your arms above your head. San watches you carefully as you stretch before looking back at the men. He seemed to be more conscious of them than you were.

“I'm gonna go talk to them,” he said as he started to storm over to them. You put your hand over his chest.

“Don't, they're not worth it. Let's just keep going,” you smile at him and he sighs.

“Alright, but if they keep annoying you I'll talk to them. Formally,” he smiles innocently, too innocently. You continued working out and ignored the men and they seemed to stop staring at you…finally. However once you finished your workout San gave you a fist bump and I little sit hug while patting your shoulder. “You did good today,” he smiles, his eyes momentarily invisible, and you headed over to the girls change room. Upon approaching the door you were interrupted by the two guys from earlier. One blocked the door, it wasn't very deliberate but it was obvious, while the other stood more to the side talking to you.

“Could I get your number?” He asked straight up and you blush, not because you felt butterflies in your tummy like he probably thought, but more because you were so confused and embarrassed.

“Oh I uhm,” you shake your head and chuckle awkwardly. “I'm not interested,” you smile, still wanting to he polite because what if they really did have good intentions? It was doubtful but still. When you refused the man's face contorted with anger and what was this other emotion you could see in his eyes? You couldn't put your finger on it before he started getting mad.

“Oh come on just give me a chance baby,” he started getting closer to you and your body froze up. You weren't quite sure what to do in this situation; the man was much bigger and taller than you and you didn't want to cause a scene but you needed to find a way to get out of this situation.

“What's going on here?” San steps up next to you and puts an arm around you, smiling warmly to the man.

“Just friendly conversation, you know what I mean,” the man chuckled and San arched a brow at him, not very amused by his excuse.

“I see, well me and my girlfriend have some plans for the rest of the day so we'll be off then,” San pats your shoulder before kissing the top of your head. You felt your heart skip about a thousand beats.

The way his body pressed against yours, every inch of his muscles pressed against yours, including his arm muscles that were quite literally the size of your head and the kiss was so gentle and…sincere?

“Haha, have a good day you two,” The man chuckles awkwardly and backs up as the two of you turn to leave. San brings his hand down to your hand, interlocking your fingers, as he picks up your bags and leaves the gym. As you walked down the sidewalk you glanced back at the gym then at San.

“You can let go now,” you say as you look up at him, his cap hat shading in his eyes.

“We gotta sell the act or they may make a scene,” he leans down to whisper to you and your heart skips again. He was so close to you, so close to the point you could feel his body heat radiating onto you, and it got you excited. You thought you just thought San was you know a good looking guy, no romantic feelings, you just appreciate his beauty but after that insanity back there? The way he whispered to you made you freeze up to the point your jaw clenched to hold in all the things you were feeling.

San turned the corner, dragging your frozen presence along, and let go of your head. “They're way out of sight now, we're good to go,” he pats your back and you blush softly with a smile.

“Y-Yeah, we're good,”

“I'll take you back to my place so you can shower, in peace this time,” he laughs softly. “But in all seriousness I had to hold myself back from clocking those guys. No woman should have to deal with disrespect as much as they do these days,” he huffs as he crosses his arms, walking steadily with you. “Like God forbid a woman tries to get fit or take a shower,” he sighs while shaking his head, looking like a disappointed father. “Do you deal with that behavior often?”

“Uhm…not overly,” you shrug and he nods.

“If you ever find yourself in danger call me okay? I couldn't think of a better use for these muscles other than to clock a bastard bothering you,” he says as he pretends to box the air. You chuckle softly but nod.

“Thanks San, I'll call you,” a brief moment of silence fell upon the two of you when you realized you weren't sure where you were going, you were just following San's lead. “Where are we headed?” You ask as you trot along beside you.

“My place, so you can shower in peace,” he chuckles and you find yourself blushing. You had been at his house a few times before but showering in someone else's house feels like the next step in a friendship. When you get to his place you take your gym bag to the bathroom and San shows you how to use his shower just in case you didn't know. “This is temperature obviously and on the shower head there are four settings, the further you go to the right the higher the pressure goes and stuff,” he shows you before setting the showerhead back on its little perch. “You good?” He gives you a little thumbs up and you nod.

“Yes, thank you Sannie,” you smile and he blushes softly at the nickname.

“Sannie,” he repeats and laughs softly before leaving the bathroom. You sigh softly and begin to undress but just as you start San comes back in. “Sorry, here's a new towel and you can set your clothes on the counter here,” he hands you the towel and takes the old one off the rail. You thank him as he leaves you alone.

You undress and turn on the shower, making sure it's the right temperature before hopping in. You take your shower relatively quickly but as you water down your body you notice his body wash…he wouldn't mind you borrowing just a little bit right? Maybe? What's the worst he could do? Get mad at you for using it but meh he'll get over it. Unless he thinks you're a weirdo or creep for him. But that's way too far, he probably won't even notice unless he's sniffing you which would make him a creep and without thinking any further you grab the pale blue bottle and squirt a little bit of the soap into your hand, since there were no clothes nearby you had to result to just your hands which is fine, but as soon as you squirted out the soap Sans scent filled the room.

Whenever he'd spot you or help you get into good positions he'd get close enough to you that you could smell him and this is exactly what he smelt like…obviously. But it made your heart flutter. The scent was so indescribable. Coconut mixed with vanilla and maybe a hint of that fresh air smell. Oh, it was so good. You lathered the soap over yourself as you watched the suds bubble up before washing off of your body. Before you could even think you were smelling all of his soaps, like a fucking weirdo. But he'd never know so what's the harm? His shampoo was overwhelmingly strong. It had a very fruity smell, like a deep cherry or strawberry. He wouldn't mind if you borrowed it right? Either way you used just a little bit before getting out and drying yourself off.

The towel was nice and warm and very freshly scented. His laundry detergent was also very pleasantly scented, smelt like fresh air, and filled your head with images of clouds in a blue sky. You finished drying off and threw on your dry clothes before brushing down your damp hair. You put everything back the way you had found it and went to go find San.

You found him out in the living room on his couch and he turned to look at you. "Hey," he smiles as he looks you up and down very quickly. "Have a nice shower?" He asks to distract himself from your body.

"Very nice," you laugh softly before sitting next to him. When you sat down he got a whiff of his bodywash. He was surprised, the shock showing on his face for a split second, but he didn't mention it.

"So...are you gonna stick around or carry on with your schedule?" San asked very light-heartedly, he wouldn't be offended if you wanted to leave.

"I'll stay for a bit but I need to run some errands today," you say as you check your phone and San nods. The two of you hang out for a bit before you continue on with your day. That evening you get home and realize you left your bag at San's place. Your hairbrush, deodorant, pads, chapstick, and much more were in there. You decided to text him about it and he instantly found it in the bathroom.

You• would it be okay if I swing by after dinner to get it?

⛰️• ofc, I'll be here 👍

You• thank you 😭

After texting him you began to cook dinner before, of course, eating it. You then went down to San's apartment again and you couldn't help but feel excited to see him again. Even though it had only been a few hours you always craved to be near him...in a friendly way of course. When you came by he had your bag ready for you by the door and you wanted to ask if you could hang out for a bit but...you couldn't.

"I think everything's in there," San says as he hands it to you. You take the bag and smile, thanking him, but San could see you were thinking about something. "Y/N, you okay? You seem...distracted," he leans against the doorframe and you feel your heart stop at your face heating up.

"W-Well there was a complication with some of the pipes in my apartment and we were told to leave but I haven't found anywhere I can crash for the night," you make up a lie to stay at his place and he looks surprised.

"Oh well you can stay here for as long as you need. It gets lonely here by myself and my cat," he smiles, his dimples showing and you look at him surprised.

"You have a cat?" You chuckle softly and San laughs. He takes you into his apartment again and goes to his bedroom, encouraging you to follow. He then picks up a big long haired white cat.

"This is Muffin," he holds the cat up in his arms and encourages you to pet her. She's extremely fluffy and doesn't seem to mind being pet, she kinda just sits there. San also shows you his spare room. "There's not a lot here, not even a bed, so you might wanna sleep on the couch instead,"

"Thank you so much for letting me stay over," you smile at him, feeling a tinge of guilt but it was buried down by your excitement to spend the night with him. San shrugs.

"No problem, you hungry?" He pushes himself off the doorframe and walks out to the kitchen. You follow after him, Muffin following you as well, to the kitchen.

"Not overly, ate before getting here,"

"Right," San nods but makes you have a snack with him anyway. He sticks on a movie to entertain you but you end up talking to each other the whole time, the movie now out of question. The two of you got to talk on a deeper level than usual, things like relationship struggles and internal battles you've fought growing up. San always looked up at you so sincerely. His eyes were filled with sincerity and interest, he didn't just hear your words he listened to them, a trait many men fail to hinder. But something about his gaze so focused on you made you feel...excited. You felt like you were gonna flutter away at any given moment.

The two of you then go quiet, staring into each other's eyes, San then clears his throat. "Would you like a blanket?" He offers you a blanket and throws one on for himself. You snuggle up into the blankets and are overtaken with his scent again. You go back to watching the movie and then...you feel a sex scene approaching. Your body tenses as the girl on screen seduces the man and you chuckle softly but San remains focused on the show.

Eventually the two characters get down and dirty and you for some reason feel the need to turn away. Just a second ago you had so much to talk about but now...

"What a nice...ceiling you have," you chuckle and San laughs.

"If it's too tense for you we can skip this scene," San tilts his head at you but his words made your mind flicker for a moment. It was different from him saying "we can skip this scene" he said "if it's too tense," you thought of how to respond.

══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══

"Why don't we just pause it?" You suggest and San nods with a little shrug before pausing the movie mid-moan. You turned your body to look at him and he did the same, slightly man-spreading as he lifted a leg on the couch and held his arms open on the head of the couch. That's when you noticed the tent in his pants. You were excited at the sight but disappointed in the fact you weren't the cause of his arousal.

"Do you...have a boyfriend?" He asks softly and you look at him shocked. "Or girlfriend," he chuckles, breaking the ice a little. "I don't judge," he confirms and you think for a moment.

"N-No, I'm single," you smile. "But you surely must have someone in your sights," you giggle and San smirks slightly, chuckling under his breath.

"You could say that," he tilts his head up before looking you up and down. "What about pets? Got any furry or scaly friends at home?" He smiles light heartedly.

"I do actually. I have a fish and a cat, kinda ironic isn't it?" You laugh softly and San smirks.

"So where are they staying tonight?"

You freeze at his words.

"W-What do you mean?" You laugh but you knew you weren't getting through to him. Your face starts to turn red as you realized you've been caught lying.

"Well you have to stay here tonight because your apartment is having "complications" right? So, where are your pets?"

"They're at my...they didn't have to..." you try to make an excuse but your mind goes blank as you become flustered. San then leans forward.

"I don't mind you staying the night but if you wanted to spend time with me you could've just asked baby,"

To be continued...

[trashytracktales]

Fade to nothing | CL¹⁶

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none of my works are available for reposting on other platforms.

© trashy track tales, 2024

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𐙚 summary ──── Maybe the summer break on the French Riviera fried their brain cells, because they've finally decided to simply not care anymore if someone sees them together. But when she catches the wrong stares, she starts spiraling. Now, Charles has to switch her focus back on him.

𐙚 pairing ──── Charles Leclerc x she/her reader

𐙚 rating ──── explicit

𐙚 category ──── F/M

𐙚 warnings ──── +18, secret relationship going public, fluff & smut, overusing French terms of endearment, descriptive language, mature/sexual content, unprotected sex, swearing, established relationship, lots of teasing, reader dealing with insecurities.

𐙚 word count ──── 5.5k

𐙚 date ──── Nov. 10, 2024

𐙚 a/n ──── Foaming at the mouth, because I find it so very offensive that I don't have my own personal Charles Leclerc. Anyway 😤. As Daniel Ricciardo said, enjoy the filth. Wait, no. That's me 🤍🎀

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﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

THEIR DAY ON the French Riviera begun in a golden haze. Hand in hand, they strolled through picturesque streets, enjoying every moment together. In public. For the first time.

They walked across the town like they were the only two people left on Earth, passing by quiet art galleries and stylish boutiques. For the most part, all she focused on was the pure excitement of being with him, holding his hand had, taking pictures and making memories. But as the day went on, her awareness of the curious looks she caught grew stronger.

The sun is now slowly setting, painting the horizon in a warm orange glow just as they return to Charles' boat. As though nothing could possibly bother them here, Charles puts his arm around her and guides her on board. Then, he offers her a gentle smile, his gaze full of warmth while telling her he's heading over to make some drinks.

The girl watches him for a moment, allowing herself to take in the serene comfort he exudes, and wishing she could absorb even a small portion of it. She always feels it when she looks at him, and this time around, nothing is different. On the contrary, somehow, it's as if everything she feels for him comes together in a tiny, small point, a singularity so powerful that it makes her feelings collapse on top of each other.

She rushes to the cabin to change, but her hands start to shake halfway through, and she can feel the doubts weighing her down. She keeps thinking about the subtle judgment she saw in their eyes, which serves as a reminder that many people might believe they jumped into this too soon and that she is only a fling — a stand-in for his previous relationship.

Even though she tries to push the thought away, the sadness comes too quickly, and tears start to well up in her eyes. Suddenly, she feels small, so out of place, as though she’s a visitor in his life rather than someone who belongs beside him.

Which sucks, because she really, really likes him.

She was always confident; she thinks that was one of the reasons why Charles noticed her in the first place. But now, it is as if all her confidence has evaporated under the gaze of some random people she doesn't even know.

They both agreed to keep the relationship a secret in the beginning, just as they both agreed that today they won’t care if anyone sees them. They've stayed hidden from the world for far too long, but now she wonders if they should have waited just a little bit longer because, all of a sudden, she starts feeling too unprepared for the wave that is about to hit, which sends her spiraling.

Because it takes her too long to return, Charles comes to check on her, finding her in the cabin, sitting on the edge of the bed, half naked and clutching one of his shirts to her chest. Usually, he's not the type to intrude, but the soft sound of her quiet sobs fills the small room, piercing through him like a sharp, unexpected ache.

Without a second thought, Charles sprints over, kneeling down in front of her, his gaze steady, filled with raw concern, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She feels his hand on her thigh, which brings her back to the present moment, way too fast. Her breath is slightly shaky while her hands try to instinctively pull away from his gentle grip to wipe her cheeks, in order to hide any trace of her tears.

Looking down at him, she manages to let out a choked word that holds so much weight for her right now, “Us.”

“Us?” Charles raises an eyebrow. “What about us, mon cœur?”

She smiles, pressing the shirt closer to her chest, wiping the tears again with the back of her hand.

“I want you to have it all,” she admits, “And I'm starting to think that, maybe, I won't be able to give you what you need.”

He wants to immediately deny her statement, because in the four months they've been together, she gave him everything and more.

“What? What do you think you don't give me?” he asks, taking the same hand she wiped her tears in his palm.

She shrugs, “I just think… I sometimes think you deserve better.”

Better. The idea twists in his mind, disbelief and frustration tightening around his heart like a claw. He lets out a small scoff — not to mock her, but because it's hard for him to believe that she's doesn't think she's enough for him. It breaks his heart, because she cannot be further away from the truth.

“Where is this coming from?” asks Charles in a quiet, but firm tone.

She shakes her head, wishing she would've never opened her big mouth, “I was just thinking,” the girl repeats, letting out a dry chuckle. “It's nothing, really.”

Charles’ eyes travel across her face, taking in every micro expression, “You're crying, mon amour, so it's not nothing. Where is this coming from?” he asks again, “How much ‘better’ do you think I deserve?”

Her fingers start fidgeting in his grasp, eyes fixed somewhere over his shoulder, “Everyone loves you, especially your fans. You deserve someone who matches that, someone who belongs in your world, without feeling so small next to you.” She pauses for a moment, the words weighing her down, “I saw people staring today,” she explains, “I know we’ve both agreed to not care about what they think or if someone gives a fuck about seeing us together, but I realized how out of place I must look beside you. That’s all.”

Charles needs superhuman powers to ignore the frustration that’s slowly creeping around his shoulders. His eyes are intent, fixed on her, desperate for her to see what he does. He knows that her feelings are valid and very real to her, but that doesn't mean that they tell her the whole truth. At the same time, he doesn't want to make it worse by explaining why people's opinions shouldn't affect her the way they do. Instead, he gently grabs her hips, pulling her down to sit on his lap, so she's now straddling him, their faces inches apart.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low, “You see me, beyond everything everyone else sees, and that’s why you are more than enough. You are the realest thing that has ever happened to me, do you understand? You're not just a phase, and I'm so sorry I didn't show you enough how important you are to me. Because you are, bébé.”

She bites her tongue in order to stop herself from contradicting her boyfriend. Deep down, she knows she’s flawed in ways she can’t easily mend, no matter how much Charles wants to reassure her. A part of her wants to believe him, but even now, wrapped in his warmth, she knows the doubts will find their way back.

Charles’ hands drop on her waist, resting there while holding her close on his lap. He feels her doubt, understanding that she's struggling with more than what she lets him to see — another dagger to his heart.

“I'm with you, love,” he adds, rubbing his thumbs in small circles on her bare skin, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Not if I have any say in it, is that clear?”

His voice sounds far too bossy, which makes her flinch a little, recognizing too late that he is far too blunt for the situation they both find themselves in.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

“No, don't apologize,” Charles rushes to say, pressing her head against his chest. “I’m glad you told me, but I want you to care about what I say, and not what people might say.”

He envelops her completely in his arms, and it’s like he’s just now realizing how small she feels against him, her body fitting perfectly against his. She feels that, too — the warmth and steadiness of his arms around her, the way he grounds her, making her feel safe.

“I never doubted you, you know,” she clarifies, “I was just thinking that, if I can't handle pressure, I don't think we should…”

He tightens his grip around her waist, refusing to let her finish her thought, his heart screaming in agony as she tries to move away. “Don’t go there, please,” he almost implores her.

“Why not?” she whispers.

“Because it’s not the case, I promise.”

“But—”

“Because you'd be so wrong. Because I love you,” he continues, as if it's the most casual thing ever. Like it is as obvious as tomorrow. As easy as breathing. As automatic as blinking. As if it's not the first time he ever says it to her face.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words are ricocheting against her skull like he just put a spell on her. Of course Charles loves her. He showed her this through every little gesture along the way, and she knows he means it, because for the first time since they got back, she realizes she doesn’t want to run from this, from him.

She was so blind, but the next time she looks at him, her fingers tracing his cheek, she simply knows. Charles lets out a small sigh, leaning into her touch, then taking her hand back in his, pressing a gentle kiss on top of her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Tell me you see it,” says Charles, exhaling a heavy breath.

His gesture makes her feel warm inside, “See what?”

“That you are everything to me,” he answers softly, caressing her hand with his thumb. “That I want you exactly as you are.”

For a moment, understanding dawns in her eyes — the realization that they are real, in spite of what she might think — like a light that is breaking through the doubts that had clouded her mind for so long.

“You are mine and I am yours, and I won't have it any other way.”

She exhales slowly, nodding in his direction. Even though he's able to see the relief washing over her face, he still needs a confirmation, so he can anchor himself to it.

“Say you understand.”

“I understand,” she parrots, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.

He sees the hesitation, closing his eyes for a moment. “You understand, but you don't believe me,” Charles concludes, his voice full of wonder. He sucks in a breath while freeing her lip, brushing his thumb against it. His eyes lock on hers, “You really think there is someone else out there who makes me feel the way you do, hm? Who else is going to be this responsive, baby?”

To show her what he means by that, he pushes his thumb inside her mouth, Charles' soft voice sending shivers down her spine. She opens up more, instantly, gazing back at him, realizing how right he is. Meanwhile, Charles is slowly pushing his thumb further, watching her lips closing around it.

His mouth curls up into a smile, “That's it, mon amour. Oui, see that? I don't think there is anyone else out there who can be this good for me, so eager to submit to everything I do,” he laughs, “Hell, I don't even have to tell you what to do, you just know, baby.”

She closes her eyes for a split second, sucking on Charles’ thumb, her hands gripping tightly on his forearm. It makes him feel in control more than usual, which awakens something primal in him. He ends up caressing the side of her face with his fingers as he pushes his thumb deeper, pulling it out with a soft pop, before shoving it back in.

“So fucking good for me, and you think I deserve better? What’s better than this, mon cœur?”

As a response, she moans slowly around his deliberate, slow movement. He finds it so satisfying to see how easily she listens, understanding exactly what she needs from him in return — patience, kindness, reassurance, and trust.

Charles pumps his thumb one more time before pulling out, using it to leave a wet trace down her neck. His hand tightens around it for a brief moment, bringing her back to him. She opens her eyes, still under the spell he put on her earlier with just three little words. Her eyes are dark as she looks up at him through her eyelashes, the desire in her eyes sparking like fireworks.

“You need this, don't you?” he asks curiously.

She nods, which makes Charles smirk. It’s easy to notice the subtle shift in her energy — the way she presses her body closer to his, and the way her breathing deepens. Charles sees the vulnerability in the way she looks at him, but he knows is different now; she’s not hesitating anymore.

Something flickers inside of him as her hand lightly but purposefully caresses his chest; she wants him to take the lead. She isn't seeking power or domination, but asking him to guide them both through this. And Charles understands she’s giving him the space to be the one to move them forward, because this is more than just a physical need. It's about how she decides, here and now, that she trusts him completely.

They stand inches apart, the air between them heated and taut with silent yearning. Every part of their bodies is tuned to each other in a way that feels so delicate yet urgent, and Charles can feel her heartbeat synchronize with his, both of them pounding in anticipation. Her lips are slightly parted as her eyes glide up to his, a silent invitation he cannot refuse. The outside world seems so far away, as if all that remains is this common understanding that neither of them is willing to let go of.

The kiss begins shyly and slowly. At first, his lips are gentle against hers, a slight touch that seems to carry the weight of all they have been resisting. She reacts swiftly, her hand slipping into his hair, drawing him in and intensifying the kiss.

Then everything changes — the pressure grows desperate, almost vital as the intensity increases. She melts into him, pressing every inch of her body against his as if she can't get close enough. It drives him wild, forcing him to tighten his grip on her. 

Slowly but surely, their make out session turns into a silent cry for something more profound, as her fingers tighten in his hair to pull him closer. Their chests heave and their foreheads rest against one another until they eventually split apart, panting for one more breath of air.

“Forgive me, mon amour,” says Charles, trying his hardest to regain his composure.

“Forgive you?”

“Because I made you doubt us. Doubt me, and how I feel about you,” he clarifies, breathing wetly above her skin. “Will you let me show you how sure I am about this?”

She nods again, smiling, her hands still resting on his chest.

He gets up to lay her carefully on the bed, positioning himself between her legs as he unbuttons his white shirt. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes glide over her bare chest and the way her wavy hair spills over the pillows, making her look like an angel.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he leans over to kiss her neck, then going further down, sucking bruises all over her chest on his way to her stomach, claiming his girl with every flick of his tongue against her skin. He cups her breast in his palm, squeezing her enough to feel him all over her body, his lips reaching over her panties. “In case I wasn't dead fucking clear already,” Charles adds softly, almost like a promise, hooking his fingers on the lace material before pulling it down her legs, “I only want us. Like this. Always.”

She moans softly, anticipating his fingers to send her to another realm, far from any doubt. And her world does, indeed, change completely the moment she feels his tongue at her entrance instead. So hot and soft and warm against her, that her fingers curl instantly into his hair while his tongue slips between her folds, as if that is its rightful home.

“Charles,” his name comes out of her mouth in the form of a whine, sending little jolts towards his already hardened cock.

“Putain,” he chokes out, raising his head to look at her, “Nobody tastes like you do, baby. So sweet and wet for me.”

“Charles,” she whines again, her chest rising and falling with burning intensity. “Please…”

“Patience, bébé,” Charles chuckles, his voice vibrating hotly above her, “Let me worship you, so you won’t question me ever again, yes?”

He would have heard her agreeing with him, if Charles hadn't slipped his hands under her until his palms gripped her ass to pull her closer to his mouth. As a result, he hears her moan louder than before, smiling as he connects his lips back on her pussy, sucking on her clit with a newfound thirst.

His grip on her is so strong that even if she wants to push her hips further, she can't move an inch. Which drives her crazy, because his tongue works her with such frivolous movements, bringing her so close to the edge, but she still needs more.

“Baby,” she moans painfully, getting too agitated that it makes her get up, proppting herself on her elbows to watch him. “Fuck, Charles,” she adds, admiring how beautiful he looks between her legs, lapping at her with one goal in mind.

She tries to rock her hips back against the pressure again, which just reminds Charles of how good he makes her feel. The thought drives him mad and, even though it’s all about her right now, he can’t stop fucking his hips down so he can rub his aching cock against the bed, searching for any sort of friction.

“I feel you, baby. Don’t hold back,” says Charles, his voice sounding muffled between her legs.

His tongue is enough to make her come all over his face, he knows that, but he can't deprive her of his fingers when she needs him the most. So, he uses his hand to split her further under his mouth, making sure he touches her sweet spot again and again. And again, until a wave of pleasure hits her like a tsunami, shaking her to the core as she cums involuntarily. She tries to pull him out of her legs, because she knows how messy it gets when she comes that hard, but Charles drops his mouth back on her, driving her through her orgasm as his tongue finally stops at her entrance to catch the rest of her release. Then, he swallows her sweetness, letting his forehead drop on her thigh.

Their breathing is the only thing that can be heard in the entire cabin for a while, her palm resting on his cheek to caress him gently as they both recover slowly.

“So fucking hot, mon cœur.”

She sighs, still too sensitive from the pleasure that reverberates throughout her body, “Come up here,” says the girl, patting Charles’ head.

He pushes himself up, still half dressed and very much hard in his boxers. Charles lays his weight on her, exhausted, like he's came ten times by now. Gently, he rests his head on her chest while her arm wraps around him and his palm curves around her breast, pinching her nipple lazily between his fingers.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, enjoying the way she gets covered in goosebumps under his breath. “So perfect and so mine.”

She can't say anything to him without her voice shaking, so she gently grabs his chin, bringing Charles on top of her to kiss him. She feels her own taste as their tongues collide, causing her to moan softly into his mouth. Even if this kiss is much, much tamed than the previous one, just the thought that he was between her legs makes her pussy tighten, as if she's been set on fire from the inside out.

“Can I return the favor?” she finally asks in a breathy voice once their lips part.

Charles hums at the mental image of her mouth around his cock, but decides to push the thought deep into his mind, “Who said I’m done with you, mon amour?”

Charles' hand travels to her pussy once again, his middle finger gliding lightly over her wetness. Her eyes close in pleasure, while her arms wrap around his neck, before she realizes what he's actually doing. Her eyes snap at him as he reaches the letter 'R', Charles grinning proudly from above her.

Their faces are so close she can see the twinkle in his eyes, and their breaths blend together in a sweet warmth.

She laughs, “Did you just spell your name on my clit?”

His expression instantly lights up when he hears her. “Planned to do it with my tongue, but I didn't expect you to come that hard,” he admits, joining her in laughter.

She blushes at his statement, remembering how true it is. It's impossible for Charles not to notice that, but he loves it when her cheeks and chest become so rosy as a result. He also loves the sounds she makes when she's turned on, so he's not wasting any more time before teasing her wet entrance with his finger, pumping it slowly, until he feels her clenching around it. Just to make her forget the shyness, of course.

His flemish gaze sweeps over her entire body and, seeing her so vulnerable and willing beneath him, makes him want to run his tongue over every inch of her, to cover her in kisses and love marks until it's too much, so that he can come all over her pretty nipples just at the sight of her.

“Fuck, if you could see yourself right now,” says Charles, exhaling sharply. “You make me lose my mind, you know that? I almost forgot I still have to show you how mine you are. You want that, baby, don't you?”

“Yes,” she returns to whining, because apparently that's all she knows recently.

And she does it again, when his fingers pull out of her way too soon for her liking. She follows Charles, getting rid — fucking finally — of his shorts and boxers with a quick movement, poising himself again in his place, right between her legs.

She swallows hard at the sight of him, her mouth drying up in record time. She remembers the first time she saw Charles naked and how it didn't even occur to her that they would even fit. Of course, he made it work, because that's what a man with a huge cock does — it makes it fit.

The girl follows Charles as he wraps his dominant hand around the base, then runs his hand along its length, massaging the tip to spread the pre-cum. He made her feel so good, she didn't even take into consideration how torturous it must have been for him. But the little hums he lets out as he positions himself at her entrance are enough of a signal for her to push her hips against him.

Unfortunately, the man meant every word when he said he wasn't done, so he won't simply let her have it, just because she’s so willing to take him. She has to understand, once and for all, that this is it — she is it for him.

Slowly, Charles taps the head of his cock at her entrance, teasing mercilessly. It's almost like a punishment for thinking so low of herself, for doubting him, his feelings for her and what they've built together so far.

A lot can change in four months, especially feelings.

He lets out a shaky breath as he parts her folds with his tip, but instead of pushing inside, he fucks his cock up between the lips of her cunt. Once. Twice. Three times, until he's leaking on her clit, coated in her wetness. It is a sinful feeling that makes them both moan in unison, an ecstatic duet between two souls who found each other at the right time, no matter what people would say about it.

Fuck people. All of them.

She throbs against him, the feeling of skin on skin settings her atoms on fire. His hardness feels so good between her folds that she needs to anchor herself to something, and the sheets are far too fragile for her grip.

“Yeah, you feel that, ma vie?” asks Charles rhetorically when he sees her losing herself. “Of course you do. The question is, did you feel it before?”

“Charles…” she whimpers, pushing her hips against his length in order to find the sweet friction she craves. “Need you. Please.”

Her eyes are watering as she feels the knot in her stomach, waiting for a release that seems so far away — he’s not even inside, fuck's sake.

“So pretty,” hums Charles, ignoring her pleading. “You're gonna look so pretty taking me, ma belle. You always do.”

She raises her head only to let her eyes wander down Charles’ body, from his flushed face to his toned abs, down to where his cock rests hardened between her pussy lips. His eyes are locked on where they're making contact, the image so intimate and powerful it makes him want to scream. She realizes that this is a punishment for him as much as it is for her, but he enjoys it more since he's the one in charge.

She gasps in surprise when Charles grabs her thighs, her head falling back down on the pillows. He pulls her closer as he leans over to seal his lips with hers, having no intent to be soft this time, the passion that burns between them pushing him so close to the edge.

Charles’ tongue tastes her in a rush as he pushes forward, his cock pressing deliciously on her clit, making her break the kiss with a pathetic whine.

So predictable.

“Can you, please, fuck me already?” she says, frustration evident in every word she utters.

Her pleas are so close to get him, wanting nothing more than to bury himself so deep inside her, until he feels her coming on his cock all over again. But Charles groans loudly, hovering above her chest to take one of her nipples in his mouth, biting her gently.

At that, her frustration only grows bigger, forcing her back to arch against him.

“Charles,” her tone is demanding now, motivated to make him understand she's done playing.

“Don't worry, I’ll fuck you so good, baby. Turn over for me,” he replies, anticipation tugging at the edge of his patience.

She does as instructed without saying another word, feeling his hands grabbing at her waist to pull her against him. Then, Charles pushes his palm gently between her shoulder blades until her face is buried between the silky pillows. She lets a muffled moan while his knees are pressing down into the mattress on either side of her thighs, his cock resting hard against her ass.

“Did I mention how pretty you are?” he asks, not expecting an answer in return, while he finally guides himself toward her needy cunt. He pushes in, slowly at first. Deliberate and calculated, as if their initial contact is meant to gather as much data as possible, so he can choose the perfect setup for what's about to come — the position, the angle, the pace. “Such a pretty girl,” he adds with a tamed moan, “Opening right up for me. Every single time, baby. Taking me so well.”

She tries to get up by doing a weak push-up, but her head drops heavy between her shoulders as she fucks back against Charles' length, the pleasure overwhelming her.

The feeling of having him like this makes her squeal, failing to find a single thing worth more in this world than Charles thrusting from behind.

“Oui, have my cock, baby, like that,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss on her shoulder, managing to hit her deeper from this angle.

Charles' touch is still gentle, though, like he's testing the grip, desperately wanting to find the perfect balance as he eases into a rhythm made just for them. He takes every gasp and every shiver of her body as signals, relearning what makes her pulse race and using everything in their favor.

She turns her head to the side when Charles leans over to clasp the edge of the mattress, his knuckles whitening with the force he's putting into it. The veins on the back of his hand look like they're about to pop at any moment, bulging from his skin and snaking up his forearm, finally out of her view as they reach his elbow.

He's so hot and she is so turned on that she could come again just by looking at his arms.

Charles' pace begins to build, the intensity in his breathing growing more labored with every thrust of his hips. Each one is bolder than the last one, like he's reaching the apex of a corner, pressing into her just enough to feel the thrill without losing control. As a response to his movements, she starts breathing in short spasms, the world around them becoming a blur.

“That's it, bébé. You're so fucking good for me, I'm not… fuck,” his voice almost gives out, feeling how close he is to cum from fucking her like this, so he decides to pull out completely in order to prolong the feeling.

Charles learned from an early age that every race is unpredictable, so he has to adapt to any condition.

It makes her cry at the emptiness, her pussy clenching wetly around nothing while he looks down, curious too see how bad she needs him.

Her head falls back between the pillows for the hundred time, too exhausted to scold Charles any more. So, she guides her hand between her legs, firmly massaging her clit, feeling her thighs start to shake. However, the pressure is not nearly as good, which makes Charles chuckle at her weak attempts.

Patiently, he grabs both of her wrists to keep them pinned to her lower back as he uses his free hand to rub the head of his cock against her throbbing hole.

“Chaaarles,” she whines loudly, pressing her cheek deeper into the silky fabric under her, mind too numb to protest further more.

He buries himself back in with a strong thrust, making her gasp at the fullness. Somehow, it feels so much better than before, her body so sensitive in all the places they make contact.

With every shift in pressure and pace, Charles reads her reactions as if they are telemetry data on his steering wheel.

“Please don't... Don't stop again, please,” she lets out another cry, feeling her walls clenching so sweetly around him. “You feel so good, fuck, I… I'm so close.”

He knows that. That's why he stopped in the first place. But now he's ready to give her exactly what she needs, freeing her wrists as he watch them fall next to her body as if they're lifeless. Charles then grabs her waist with both hands, thrusting into her so hard that the sound of their bodies slapping together drowns out both of their moans.

“Want to fuck you for the rest of my life, amour. Please, let me fuck you for the rest of my life,” he implores, panting aggressively.

“Oh, yes,” she agrees, squeezing her eyes in pleasure.

Charles pulls out again, making her grunt at the loss. But before she gets the chance to protest, he flips her over, shoving his cock back in while searching for her eyes, a smug smile hanging from the corner of his mouth.

She moans in relief, pulling him closer, wrapping her hands around his neck to bury her fingers in his messy hair.

“I almost started barking at you,” she admits, rolling her hips with his.

“I know, baby. Just wanted to see your face,” he explains, finding his pace once more.

“Oh, yes. Yes, feels so good,” she begins to moan uncontrollably under his weight, just as Charles leans down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I know, I know. I've got you, my love,” he kisses her again but it doesn't last this time.

Their mouths remain parted, breathing heavily against each other as she comes around his cock, gazing into each other's eyes as if they could see what shape their soul have. Seeing her face changing in pleasure, makes Charles fucking into her faster, following so closely after her.

His moans sound so melodious in her ears while he rides their orgasms, that she starts believing honey is dripping from his lips, because he cannot be real.

Charles is about to pull out when she stops him with a hand on his lower back.

“I only want us, too. Like this. Always,” she repeats his words from earlier, more determined than ever. “And I think I love you a tiny bit more,” she continues, running her hand up his spine. “That's why I was so scared.”

Charles shivers under her gentle touch, “You still scared?”

“Terrified,” she replies, giggling, pulling him in to capture his lips in a loving kiss.

The kind that makes the rest of the world fade to nothing.

thank you for reading!

reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack – gojo satoru chapter 9: donuts

contents: gojo satoru x reader, really bad flirting attempts, swearing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, gojo calls you babe, forced proximity summary: after returning from kyoto, gojo asks you to sneak out with him to get late night donuts. after he gives you a thoughtful gift, you can't help but admit that he makes you happy wc: 7.7k

he tsks impatiently. “just say it!” he stomps his foot irritatedly, leaning closer to you. “s’okay, i know you’re shy. here, here – i’ll start – i missed you when i was away, babe.” he says ruffling the back of his hair, the white strands picking up the artificial fluorescence of the street lights above. it looked as if he were glowing. “thanks.” “no! that’s not what you’re supposed to say!!!” throwing his hands up exasperatedly, deflating entirely at your words. “you’re so bad at this, babe,” he groans, his arm settling around your shoulders.

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gojo groans as he stretches out on the too small shinkansen seat, his bored blue eyes failing to take in the rapidly moving landscape through the window. as he antsily bounces his leg up and down he couldn’t help but exhale dramatically. gojo just wanted to be in his room – to him nothing seemed like more of a punishment than being bored. after being forced to come back to kyoto to help plan for the “future of the gojo clan," his fuse was running dangerously short. tsking, he knew should have listened to himself and snuck out a few days earlier like he had planned to, but they kept him on a tight leash — unfortunately some things never change. though gojo had to give himself some credit, having endured two painfully boring days into his week-long stay before causing any trouble. he was lucky to escape when he did but just he wished he could've saved himself the trouble of having to sit in those stupid meetings listening to dull clan politics and old people waffle on about outdated ideals and nonsense standards.. the final straw was the lengthy discussion of the importance of the colour of this year’s ceremonial plates – after that meeting he knew he had to get out of there at any cost. taking his glasses off, he rubbed his eyes irritatingly – after everything he's been through, his terrible mood was warranted. but what added to his bad mood was the lack of a text from a certain someone. he sighs, irritation slowly melting away the closer he got to tokyo – the further away from the gojo estate the better.  looking at the darkening grey skies through the windows of the shinkansen, he closes his eyes to ease the pounding of his head. but a vibration in his pocket instantly puts a smile on his face and soothes the ache in his messy mind. hoping that it was you, he quickly grabs his phone to check his messages.

♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: gojo (8:33pm) gojo: yes my grumpy girl? ♡♡♡♡♡ (8:34pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: where are you? (8:39pm)

gojo smiles hopefully, was it getting hot in here or something? 

did you miss him? were you thinking about him while he was away? he hoped you did. placing his glasses back on his face, dark lenses hiding the growing hearts in his eyes. 

gojo: (,,♡ᵕ♡,,) OH WHY B DO YOU MISS ME I MISS U TOO IM ON THE (8:44pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: no (8:44pm) gojo: VERGE OF TEARS ALL THE TIME (8:45pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: stop it (8:45pm) gojo: DW IM ON MY WAY HOME (8:46pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: where are you? (8:47pm) gojo: ILL SEE U RIGHT AWAY WHEN I GET BACK PROMISE ( • ̀ω•́ )✧ (8:49pm) 

gojo watches as you type and stop, chuckling to himself. he suspects that you’ve either thrown your phone in embarrassment at his antics or was struggling to figure out what to say – most likely both. he could just imagine the cute way that you would flush, your defiant eyes juxtaposing the sweetness you tried to bury. were you hanging out with suguru and shoko in the common room right now? perhaps it was movie night, shoko would’ve probably chosen some sort of murder mystery or rom com, but he knew you preferred sci-fi. or maybe you were in your room at your desk, probably reading some novel that suguru recommended, too engrossed in the novel to turn on more lights. 

 ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: omg dude where are you? (8:52pm) gojo: just left kyoto, clan shit i got you a souvenir (8:54pm ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: its ok, dw abt me (8:55pm) gojo: I already bought it ur gonna luv it b ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) (8:56pm

satisfied, he shuts his flip phone. adjusting his body to comfortably slump in his seat, he wondered how something so simple could drastically change his mood. taking a look at the time, he grins as he counts down the hours it takes for him to see you again. 

lying in bed you melt deeper into your covers as the night wanes on. the quiet of your room is only disturbed by you gently turning the page of the novel that suguru had lent you. you had chosen to go to bed early and you were surprised that your plans had for once come to fruition – it really was the perfect evening, quiet and relaxing. perhaps that was due to gojo’s absence –  it was almost too quiet when he went away. the lonely silence keeping you company in his place. you were growing accustomed to gojo’s larger than life presence, his laugher decorating your life with light. his once irritating and crude words morphing into fun and playful comments that would make you unexpectedly laugh. gojo had a tendency to conjure something more colourful and silly out of you – qualities that you thought you no longer had the capacity of, losing them the day that your sister died. but with him around, things just seemed more amusing, their corners less sharp and painful, his bright laugh cushioning you from the harshness of the world. and you hated to admit it. 

the vibration of your phone on your bedside table pulls you from your disgusting thoughts

but maybe that was him.. did he get bac - wait why did that matter? ughhh.

moving to hastily mark your place in your book, you roll over with curiosity to grab your phone. 

gojo: u up? (12:48am) you: you did not just send me a u up text (1:05am) gojo: not like that b! ( ˵ •̀ □ •́ ˵ ) ur already up anyway (1:07am) you: no im not (1:13am)

you jump as you suddenly hear your bedroom door handle jiggle impatiently, your phone on your bed vibrating with a vengeance. 

is he fucking serious right now? the audacity of this guy, it was past midnight – 

gojo: BABE! (1:14am)

you groan softly, you were in bed already. comfy. cozy. ignoring the disturbance, you turn to lie on your side, your back facing the door you shrug your comforter over your head. 

gojo: IF U DON’T ANSWER IM GONNA SCREM (1:16am)

the glow from your phone illuminates your face under the blankets as you snicker softly at his messages. there’s no way that gojo would scream – he didn’t have the balls. you decide to call his bluff and settle deeper into your comfortable pillow, empty hands searching for bun bun beside you, ignoring your constantly vibrating phone.

gojo: AND WAKE EVERYONE UP RN RN BABE!!!!!! (1:18am)

you reach for bun bun, playing with his long soft ears absentmindedly, mildly aware of your impatient phone or the rattling of your doorknob – gojo could wait, bun bun was too cute to ignore. 

gojo: FINE OK U ASKED FOR THIS (1:20am)

suddenly you hear the beginning of gojo screeching, hastily you run to your door, immediately grabbing him by the collar of his uniform, you slap your hand roughly against his too loud mouth. you bite your lip to prevent a satisfied smile from creeping on your face as you successfully muffle the obnoxious intruder. “what to fuck is wrong with you?!!” you shout whisper as you shove his chest with your other hand, his long legs stumbling deeper into your dim room. “you’re gonna get us in detention!” you berate him taking in his disheveled appearance, his eyes wide as saucers, his glasses askew on his face. “do you not fucking hear how loud you were?!” you whisper angrily to him, giving him a death glare while hesitantly removing your hand off his soft lips. gojo’s eyebrows twitch in amusement, only adding fuel to the fire in yours. “see! look what you did! you woke up bun bun!” you gesture to your pink stuffie, jostled in the rush to answer the door, his little legs dangling pathetically in the air. gojo flops into your bed with a strange familiarity that oddly makes your chest feel too tight. with a sheepish look he makes to grab the stuffed animal, “i’m sorry, buddy,” he whispers too sincerely as he rights the pink bunny, “i didn’t know you were sleepin’ – that was uncalled for." he tucks bun bun back into your bed gently, grabbing your beige comforter and patting his head comfortingly attempting to lull him back to sleep, stopping for a moment playing with his long floppy ears. you pull a face. “why are you so nice to him and not to me?” you pout, hoping your heated gaze burns a hole in the side of his head. gojo looks up at you with an obnoxious frown, “i’m actually really nice to you, babe,” he says seriously, still patting bun bun’s soft head. “oh, so disturbing me at like 1 in the morning is being nice?” you say sinking onto your bed, folding your legs underneath you. “i literally just got back and you were already up. n’ i told ya i’d see you. i tried getting back sooner, but y’know – shit happens.” he says simply, taking a seat next to you while playing with the edge of your plush comforter. “shit happens.” you repeat rolling your eyes, debating on whether you should just try to get back into bed and kick him out of your room or ask him about his trip in kyoto. undecided, you rip your soft comforter from his grasp and throw on the comforter over your legs to ease your decision making. still dressed in a warm coat over his uniform, past his usually bright eyes and toothy smile, you noticed that gojo almost looked deflated, his shoulders still tense with something you didn’t understand. you frown. “c’mon let’s getting donuts,” he offers, knocking his knee playfully against yours before you move away from him in a huff. conscious about your stale silence, he started to worry that he underestimated your annoyance with his admittedly unorthodox methods at getting your attention. but he couldn’t help it, he was excited to be home – excited to see you. ­­­­­­ “we can get ones ya like…” he tests, leaning closer towards you, noting that you didn’t shy away from him this time. he boldly pokes your stiff shoulder, subtly trying to get you to look at him or for you to give him a more obvious sign that you weren’t totally upset at him. 

“...y’know  that place in chiyoda?” gojo tries, fist against his leaning cheek, unaffecting his triumphant smile as he sees your ears perk up, knowing he got your attention. you turn your head considering your options. normal donuts were always good, but donuts in chiyoda? those were your absolute favourite. you remembered when you received an earful when suguru bought a half dozen after his mission nearby and you ate 4 of them before suguru could even have one. whoops, ya snooze ya lose, sugu. gojo had a good laugh at suguru scolding you, probably amused at someone other than himself being the focus of an infamous suguru scolding. in apology, you went to to get him another half dozen, not telling him that you had actually gotten him a full dozen but had eaten six donuts on the train ride back. suguru could tell by the sugar on your sleeves, but he appreciated it all the same and he understood, those donuts were delicious. 

you recognized that gojo was playing dirty.. but donuts are any anytime food, perhaps it wouldn’t – wait. shaking your head, you had to think logically. 

you noticed that being around satoru gojo made you make more… irrational decisions,  choices that you wouldn’t normally make. gojo had that effect on people, lowering their IQ by many points just being in the vicinity – that was a fact. 

“how, dude? curfew happened hours ago, if yaga finds out.. .i mean i’ll be fine but you?" you sneer, "you’re getting a shaved head and suguru will make fun of you so badly you’ll cry. i'm not dealing with boohoo-ing gojo, you’re already annoying when you’re happy.” gojo groans at your comment, his nose scrunching up in annoyance. 

“pff as if suguru could make me cry!” he scoffs, “yaga won’t find out.” you cross your arms across your chest, giving him an exasperated look at gojo’s ego on full display. 

“yeah, uh huh,” you mutter disbelief oozing from your body language. 

“you forget who you’re talking to babe,” he smirks cockily as you roll your eyes at him. 

“then what do you suggest, oh honoured one?” you spit sarcastically, not missing the way he sticks his tongue out at you, as you mirror him in response.

pff he was so childish. 

“i could teleport us there,”  shooting you a proud look.

“..what?! when did you manage that!?”  

he smiles cockily, “earlier this week, when you were in nagoya!” he puffs his chest out, pleased with your impressed stare.

you knew that he was working hard to perfect his teleportation. more than a few times gojo would saunter in pompously during the middle of your sparring sessions with suguru, somehow always annoyingly interrupting when you were on top of suguru just on the verge of pining him. you and geto even started making a bet at the beginning of each sparring session as to what time gojo would make his appearance. you’d laugh in victory when you would win, making the groaning geto buy your favourite chips at the corner store. or on the rare occasion when he’d win, you’d buy his favourite seaweed rice crackers. 

gojo would loudly insist that you and suguru keep him company while he was training, complaining that he needed the distraction so that he would be able to easily teleport during  chaotic missions. he’d even make you stay after geto had retreated for the night, insisting that he still needed your help. begrudgingly you often found yourself sitting crossed legged on the gym mats, watching him with equal parts curiosity and exasperation. his usually blue buggy eyes closed in concentration. his brows furrowed, his shoulder still, his usual chaotic energy cloaked in an almost eerie silence. gojo was undoubtedly hardworking and persistent  – most likely the results of strict training implemented when he was young. you were glad that he accomplished his goals albeit admittedly  a bit annoyed that you weren’t there to see it first hand. 

“pleaseeeeee, let’s goooo. you’re thinking too hard about it grumps!” he turns to you dramatically, gearing up for a lengthy conversation to convince – to beg you even – to go with him. but he’s used to it.

gojo had a smart mouth, one that he cultivated during his youth. growing up he’s learned to weaponize his strengths, easily talking his way out of many things. effortlessly convincing shoko and to a lesser extent suguru to actively participate in his mischief. like that one time after a rare mission with you and suguru, he convinced his best friend that the spiciest ramen in ginza wasn’t even that big of a deal and that if anyone could do it, suguru surely could. you could still remember gojo’s manic laughter as suguru downed two cartons of milk as you patted his back while rolling your eyes. Or when shoko had told you about that infamous time last year before your arrival when gojo had convinced suguru and her to jump in the ocean with him in naha in the middle of a particularly frigid october resulting in all of them getting sick for a week – yaga was not happy.

gojo was used to getting what he wanted and never failed to resort to playing dirty if he really had to. satoru gojo always got what he wanted. although you were a harder case to crack with the right approach, an abundance of patience and a bit of luck, he could convince you. perhaps if he applied some logic to his fun, amazing, incredible adventure, you’ll surely fold, right? 

“look, i swear I can get us back in half an hour, tops. no one will notice, i’ll even – ”

“okay.”

he blinks at you. 

what? that’s it? that was easy. you were always surprising him.  

“w-what?” his trilogy of groveling disappearing instantly on his tongue at the sight of your teasing smile.

“let’s go, I wanna get that yuzu donut they have,” you say as you grin up at him, amused by his confused face. giggling at his rare silence, gojo watches you ecstatically as you stand to rustle through your dresser, quickly picking out a warm sweater and some soft pants and practically skipping into your bathroom to change.

gojo scoffs, almost disbelievingly, a hand reaching behind his head to card his hands through his hair. a soft grin creeping on his face at how you easily smiled at him. a few months ago, he’d have to almost beg you to do anything with him. hell, it took him almost two months and daily nagging to get you to sit beside him at lunch when you first arrived. nowadays, you’d let him lounge in your room or even text him first sometimes, he’d catch you grinning at him more than pouting – the thought made him giggly, a weird fluttering feeling exploding in his stomach. 

happily he tosses his body deeper into your bed to cuddle bun bun, excitedly whispering to him about his plans- luckily bun bun was a good listener.

hearing his soft baritone, you turn your head to see what he was up to. promptly turning around before he could see your creeping smile, you attempt to shooing away the warm staticky feeling that bloomed within you when you sneak a peak gojo’s warm expression. he strangely didn’t look out of place laying in your bed, easily blending into with all of your other personal belongings. you wondered when your room became the place where he was found more regularly. 

finally shutting your bathroom door, you hear his muffled laugh as you quickly change out of your pajamas. before you could wonder what he was up to, you see an alert flash on your phone: a photo from gojo. exhaling through your nose, you flip open your phone to see that he sent a photo of himself and bun bun, the stuffie’s pink little arms around gojo’s beaming face, the bunny’s cheek leaning on gojo’s. you giggle, saving the photo immediately before shrugging your head into your sweater.

“… okay? so this will be our little secret, bun – i’m serious!  i’m counting on you.” you hear him say seriously to the plushie as you shut the bathroom door, facing gojo with a raised eyebrow.

“what are you poisoning his mind with, gojo?”

“sheesh, babe. nothing! just guy talk, you wouldn’t get it.” you roll your eyes as he rises from your bed before looking back to ensure that bun bun was still tucked in comfortably.

“okay, so how does this work?” you ask him, as he grunts, distractingly stretching out his too long body, his joints popping. 

“well, the more surface area i'm in contact with while I teleport, the easier it’ll be for me –”

your eyes widen. surface area? does that  mean –

“- to get us to our destination accurately. which means, babe – c’mere.” he moves closer to you, almost chest to chest, arms reaching around you. you can feel the warmth radiating off of his body, his comforting scent close and aggressive. 

“uh – what?” you ask, surprised at the quick closeness, placing a hand on his firm chest to prevent him from moving any closer. gojo rolls his eyes sassily, his arms falling limply at his side.

“this worked the best. me and baby did some tests. i had suguru touch my shoulder, hold my hand and then hug me. naturally, the hug got the most accurate results, ‘cause ya know, surface area. but babe, like  sugu actually smells so good, m’not sure what it is but, he definitely changed his shower gel or something ‘cause he smells different but like good diff – ”

you cackle loudly. “pff – i bet suguru hated that hug. he probably showered twice to get the extra stupid off him.” you poke at him, deflecting easily hoping he doesn’t sense your nervousness.

“hey don’t be mean! that’s not the point! the point is, that’s what worked the best.”

you avoid his stare as you fidget with the buttons of your coat that you shrugged on, the low warm lighting of the room almost amplifying your nerves. 

why were you even feeling this way?

you trusted gojo, you knew that he'd get you there safely, you never questioned his abilities, you saw how hard he trained, you knew he was capable. was it the proximity?  but you were used to him sitting too close to you or poking your cheeks, but somehow lately things were different. you could no longer ignore how grossly your heart would flutter when he was near you or how you would annoyingly grin when he texted you. you couldn’t keep away from him any longer, and that annoyed you. 

he cocks his head to the side studying your strange silence, “..hey, it’s okay to be nervous.” 

“m’ not nervous…” you mumbled. sure, you'd let him believe that you were nervous just because of teleporting.

“if you’re not comfy with it you can just hold my arm or something." 

you nod shyly, avoiding looking into his eyes, too proud to see your embarrassment reflected in them. "ughhh guess i'll just have to work a little harder," he teasingly groans, hoping to make you smile. 

when you dont say anything he tries again, moving his hand to rub your shoulder, hoping to reassure you. "i got you.” he says, head turning to decipher your loaded expression. “i wont let anything happen to you, i swear." he whispers seriously.

catching your breath, you meet his unwavering gaze before slowly lowering your hand on his chest. instead you move to gently hook your arm around his right bicep. he smiles encouragingly at you, still soothingly rubbing your arm. you feel his towering stare as your cheeks heat up. his eyes twinkle, like being close this close to you was normal.

he lowers his head, "hold on tight, kay?" he whispers as you feel his arm wind around your waist. 

“gojo, you’d better get us there or else.” 

“c’mon babe! i promise! where’s the trust?” he says brightly as you scoff, shaking your head. 

“god, your ego is bigger than all of japan –”

“heh, not as big as my –”

your eye twitches in irritation. for the second that night you find your hands over gojo’s mouth, berating him of his idiotic behavior.

“ geez okay grumps” he says jerking his head back, “now let’s get those donuts!” he says enthusiastically after shrugging your hands away from his face with a smile, once again trying to ease the pout off of your face.  

you squeeze your eyes shut, increasing your grip on him, concentrating on how his soft hand felt around you. 

if you were with him, it would be fine – you trusted him before, this would be a walk in the park, right?

feeling the cool breeze on your face, accompanied by a gojo’s soft squeeze. you gently open your eyes. “see babe! we’re – oh shit heh...” 

you feel his hand on your waist, pull you closer to him. the too bright lights cause you to blink in confusion. you take a look around you, a large grand temple – wait what? sensō-ji?! that must mean you were not in chiyoda.. but in asakusa which was – 

you detach yourself from gojo’s still arm around you, crossing your arms poutily, you facing him defiantly. his eyes widen behind his glasses at your scalding expression. “hey! no, look – okay this doesn’t happen very often, trust me. i swear –” 

“this is nowhere near, chiyoda, gojo!” “it’s not that far babe, we got legs right? we can wa–” “an hour and a half away.” “i dont know why that even happened – hmm, did you feel anything funny? maybe you weren’t close enough?” “okay, this isn’t my fault!” 

“no,no, no, no –  i’m not saying it is, babe! i guess got nervous – “ “don’t blame this on performance anxiety, gojo! you have to always be prepared, what if we were on a mission! we would’ve been fucked.” 

he whines your name. “i always –” “oh my god, it doesnt fucking matter! we’re so far!” “lemme try again!” he pleads, moving closer to you, eager to please you.. but you quickly sit down on the cold ground, your legs folding underneath you stubbornly. “nope. i’m not teleporting. i’m not going anywhere.” you say firmly, your eyes giving away a streak of mischief that gojo doesn’t miss. 

gojo playful rolls his eyes and plops down next to you, leaning towards you at a dramatic angle so his shoulder touches yours. 

“one more chance.” he whines, as you stubbornly turn your back at him with a hmph. “c’mon, grumps – just one more! please?” he gently leans his head into the center of your back, repeatedly head butting your back like a stubborn little sheep. “you’re gonna teleport us further from the donuts.” you say looking up at the clear night sky, your act of being furious faltering slightly at the feeling of his head prodding you. he was ridiculous.  “no more teleporting. let’s just take the train or something.” “noooooo c’mon let’s walk then, grumps. it’ll be fun. me and you time!” 

“nope. you said you’d get us there, and you didn’t uphold your promise.” 

“i mean… technically, i promised to get us there but not the mode of transportation–” 

“i dont give a fuck about technicalities, dude.” 

“okay, okay, fine – get on.” he gets up into a crouch, a long hand gesturing for you to get on his back. “..what?” you scrunch up your nose in confusion. “get on. i’m strong enough to walk for us both, since you’re soooooooo lazy!” “you cant be serious.” you say scoffing, turning your body to face him slightly surprised by his serious face, expecting him to be joking. “why, you scared?” he asks, his glasses sliding down his slender nose. you catch his twinkling eyes. “didn’t know lil ol'grumps was scared of the most powerful, handsome, charming sorcerer of the modern age, satoru go–”  

your eyes narrow challengingly.

fuck it. if he wants to play, fine, you’ll fucking play. you had enough of his ego tonight. 

launching yourself with a burst of energy of something to prove, you practically jump on his back, your strong legs wrapping around his torso in a piggyback. “oompf!” he grunts at the abrupt contact, his bright laugh echoing through the empty street as he easily catches you, quickly reaching back grabbing your thighs. “you’re so spoiled, babe.” he says, shaking his head with a smile. 

“you’re the one who offered!” you hiss with a shove to his shoulder. 

ensuring that you were on snugly, he carefully stands up at full height. gojo laughs boisterously as he feels your arm hastily scramble to wind around his neck for balance. you never realised how tall gojo was. did he always see the world from this angle? being this high above the ground, you were slightly wary. you knew that if he dropped you it would hurt, so you had to mentally prepare for the pain when he couldn’t hold you any longer, for when he got tired of holding you up. the fall was inevitable. but feeling his soft breath on your arm, breathing in his familiar scent, a small hope bloomed in your heart when you considered that maybe, just maybe he would catch you. 

“onward! to donuts!” he playfully proclaims loudly, his steps quickening, enjoying how he feels your quiet laugh though his back, the warmth of your laughter renewing him with energy. 

draping your arms tighter around his neck you can’t help but allow your body to relax – he was unusually comfortable. you listen to gojo waffle on about the intricacies of digimon or complaining how shoko stole his conditioner the other day, “but joke’s on her, it’s actually suguru’s. i steal his all the time, that idiot hasn’t even realised yet.” 

“oh man, wait ‘til i tell suguru..” you snicker, unclasping your hands around his neck to take out your phone from your coat pocket. with a gasp, gojo jostles you obnoxiously, causing you to throw your arms around his neck again in an attempt to hold on. 

“hey! i almost dropped my phone, you ass. you’re such a baby.” you huff, making a mental note to still tell suguru as punishment for being tossed around like a sack of potatoes. 

“i have no idea what you’re going on about!” he says with a mischievous smile. 

“soooo, what were you like as a kid, babe?” he asks. “what do you mean?” you ask, caught off guard by his unusual question. “what was baby grumps like?” 

“what do you mean? me but just smaller.” you deadpan, continuing to absentmindedly stare up at the starless sky, it looked pretty from his point of view. 

“so, you’re tellin’ me that you’ve always been this grumpy, damn i feel sorry for – ouch, just a joke! i was just joking! ” he whines as you lightly tug on his hair. 

“m’ only grumpy around dumbasses.” you sarcastically smile at him. 

“pff you’re the dumbass, dumbass. okay, okay. well then what did you do to have fun with your friends?” he questions, easily carrying you through the darkening streets. “i… uh read books, and i’d cook..” 

“no, not nerd stuff, like fun stuff. did you sneak out? get up to some trouble with your friends or something?” “.. uh no. this is my first time sneaking out.” “no fucking way, babe!” he turns his head to meet yours. you blink, annoyed that your blushing face was prominent in the reflection of his dark glasses. you lean back slightly, unnerved at the sudden closeness of his face to yours, you could almost imagine the feeling of the brush of his cheek against yours or the feeling of his long eyelashes against your skin. 

“i mean… it’s kinda new that i have people to share things with...” you mumble, focusing your eyes on the button of his uniform instead of his distracting face, your twitching hands clasping tightly around his neck. 

“yeah, i get that.” he chimes in quickly, his warm hand squeezes your thigh gently, offering comfort. “but it’s fun though, even when it’s a little scary isn’t it?”

you nodded. maybe you weren’t so different, you and gojo. you were starting to see the cracks in his mask, or maybe you just knew him better or he was letting you see him – either way, you decided that knowing satoru wasn’t all that bad. 

“did you sneak out when you were a kid?” “uh,duh! no way i’d stay in that hellhole longer than I had to. everything and everyone was super traditional and boring.” 

you hum in understanding, gojo was never one for tradition often getting in trouble with the higher ups, yaga and even occasionally geto. although you understood the need for it, you did see gojo’s point – tradition did sound rather stiff and limiting. you couldnt imagine the security and pressure a child of the big three clans faced growing up, but gojo’s childhood must have been one that you couldn’t fathom. “where’d you go then?” you asked, enjoying the warmth radiating off of him, cozy and comfy as you leaned your chin on his shoulder, his soft coat against your cheek. “i’d wait til everyone was asleep and just wander around town.” 

“where’d you like to go?” 

“heian-jingu is pretty peaceful at night, i liked feeding the koi. heh, did you know, they like peas?” you giggle, “you fed them peas, gojo?” “well i tried different things! but i could sneak peas out of the kitchens the easiest and they liked them the best.” he counters, side stepping a puddle on the dark streets, “sneaking out was great until i got caught.” 

“eh? did you get in trouble?” “oh for sure, babe. but i’m the chosen one, so like, what could they do? stop me?” he jeers,  catching your grimace. “you’re such a brat.” you amusedly snort, catching his bright eyes behind his glasses. “you think im fun! im a cool brat though, right? i’m cool!” 

“mmmhm” you tease him, enjoying the little pout that threatens to grow on his face. “you must’ve been happy when you started at school, hey? must have been a big adjustment.” “god yeah, ya have no idea.” he says, “i couldn’t imagine that people lived like this all the time.” “like what?” you tilt your head. “with all this freedom.” “mhm, and… happiness.” you add softly, so quietly that you think he misses it. but when gojo turns to look at you with an expression you don’t quite understand and a slight nod, you wonder if that’s the only thing he’s heard. 

you blink in understanding as you lean down to lean your cheek against his shoulder. with the dark sky above and the silence of the streets acting as your only other companions, your mind wanders at the thought of you and gojo’s shared relief and confusion at finding a home at jujutsu tech. loneliness recognizes loneliness after all.  

and in this moment suspended in time, with your legs dangling in the cold air, thighs being held up by his strong hands, feeling his soft laughter against your chest  – you cant help but think that perhaps you might have found another home. 

gojo watches you in amusement as you happily carry your donut in a little paper bag, practically running to the bench at the park near the store. when you were happy, it was easy to tell – it radiated through your whole body, every part of you perked up in delight. 

he smiled at how happy this donut made you – these simple things. gojo was already planning to take you to other places, maybe to fancier donuts since you liked them so much. or he could teleport you to try that donut place in kumamoto or maybe to get the matcha mochi donuts ones in kyoto since you liked matcha so much, maybe he could take you to heian-jingu and find out if the koi liked donuts. he hoped they did, because that would definitely make you laugh. if you were there with him, kyoto wouldn’t be as bad even with the gojo estate being so close by. as he took his seat next to you on the bench, stretching out his long limbs, he felt his worries from earlier in the day disappear, your presence giving him new light. he grins, unwrapping his own donut. 

sighing dreamily as you take a bite out of your yuzu cream donut you softly groan in delight, finally getting what you were craving for all night. you were grateful that this place was 24 hours, this shop was your favourite ever since shoko showed it to you when you first arrived. god, you needed to thank her. “oy!” he says resting his head on your shoulder, you stare down at him with annoyance, ignoring the way his soft hair tickles your neck. 

“babe tax.”  he says simply, opening his expectant mouth. 

you sigh, shrugging him off your shoulder, you just wanted another bite and you were running out of patience. “small bite gojo – gooojoo!” you whine as you watch gojo unlatch his jaw, ready to take the rudest bite out of your donut. “– small bite!! I SAID SMALL –” “mmrphhhfff – that was a small bite!” he says with his mouth full, defending himself from your weak shove. with a defiant look, you lean down and take a rather large bite of his chocolate cream donut that he was holding as he rolls his eyes. 

“geez babe, you’re so bad at sharing.”  

“mhm, y’know that chocolate one is pretty good,” you say as you thoughtfully chew your stolen bite. 

“yeah? you wanna switch?” “nah, mine’s better.” you smile at him as he watches hypnotized by your tongue darting out to lick the chocolate cream off of your lip. 

“y’good?” you ask, catching his stare, his eyes quickly darting down to his chocolate donut. 

“ah, yeah. yeah, i am.” he recovers quickly, pink dusting the tips of his ears. 

you nod as you take another bite of your donut, too busy enjoying the contrast of the crunch of the sugar granules that lace the outside the pillowy dough of your sweet treat, the contrast of the slight tang of the yuzu pastry cream offers a refreshingly smooth and citrusy palette cleanser. 

“oh yeah! I got you something.” 

you blink owlishly as he rustles through his coat pockets, popping the rest of the chocolate donut easily into his mouth. “you didn’t have to, gojo..” you say shyly. you hated receiving gifts, you always felt awkward receiving something that you probably didn’t deserve. “close your eyes.” he says, wiping the sugar off of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“... what? why?” you ask, a fourth of your donut still in your hands. “close your eyes – it’ll be fun. trust me.” 

playfully you stuff the last bite of your donut into gojo’s surprised mouth. 

“nmmpfffff babe, really?” his annoyed tone contradicts his softening eyes as you laugh at his cocked eyebrow. he quickly chews his mouthful of your yuzu donut as you dust the sugar from your hands.

hesitantly deciding to indulge him, you close your eyes with a sigh, your twitching palms splayed out. you could practically hear gojo’s excitement as he places a small rounded container into your small hands. opening your eyes you see that it’s a beautiful metal container filled with matcha from kyoto, rendering you speechless. “i just– i thought that.. i know they’re not matcha candies.. i tried looking for them.. but –” whipping your head to his face you see a rare sight – a bashful satoru gojo. your eyes widen. you blink, heart beating in your throat. he.. remembered? “ – whenever you miss your dad, you can have some.” you exhale quickly to ease the fluttering in your stomach. something was quickly building up within you, your eyebrows crinkle at the embarrassment of your watering eyes. your fingers feel the intricate swirling pattern engraved on the matcha tin. “ you don’t have to have it if you don’t like it, babe. i dunno, the lady at the shop said it was the best one they had… don’t worry i wont be offended if yo –” 

he thought you didnt like it? he was ridiculous, he was – you throw caution to the wind. with strange ferocity you launch your betraying body into gojo, your arms finding a familiar home around his neck, your breathing evening out when you feel his warm chest against yours, your beating heart connecting with his. beating stronger now that you feel his surprised arms cage you in his scent, a silent pleased coo sprouting in him. “no. i – .. i love it…” you whisper timidly, hiding your face into his shoulder.  

“yeah?” gojo starts rubbing your side soothingly. he hoped you couldn't see his pink cheeks in the dim light. he couldnt help but notice the way your frame felt that you easily slotted against his, the perfect fit. 

“hey.. uhm.. i .. just thank you.” 

he hums as you slowly release your hold on him – too soon for his liking. “you okay?” 

you nod, focusing your attention on the tin, trying to ignore the comforting way that one of his arms was still hooked comfortably around your waist. 

“hey, no running now, grumps,” he speaks softly, looking at you with a loaded expression. “yeah, i’m okay…” you lift your gaze to his, your eyes meeting a gentle blue, a softness you hadn’t seen before from him. 

“y’sure?” you noticed the slight crease in his brow. the warmth in the way that he’d unconsciously rub your side to offer the only form of comfort that he knew from his childhood. a memory of a servant comforting the lonely future of jujutsu society when he cried all those years ago. 

he was sweet when he wanted to be.

you nod. “i just.. i’m overwhelmed, I think.” “well, that’s better than being just whelmed right?” 

“i don’t think that’s a thing, dude.” you chuckle, stepping away from his touch, still holding on to the tin of matcha, the coolness of  the tin and the raised designs distracting you from his all consuming presence. if you were any closer for any longer, you think you’d drown in him. for once you were grateful for his stupid jokes. 

“guess you got up to some fun stuff in kyoto?” you ask, attempting to overcome your embarrassment with grace, playing with a button on your jacket. 

“ughhhhhhh, i guess you could call it that – those hags kept harassing me before i could sneak out. i'm just so glad to be home.” he says running down his face irritatingly. “‘m glad you’re back.” you say softly. you close your eyes immediately, berating yourself at the unintentional admission – it just slipped out , you couldn’t help it. but it was too late to take it back. “oh you are? so ya missed me, eh, babe?” he grins widely as if nothing pleased him more. and nothing has. “no, i’m just saying that it was too quiet when you were gone.” you stubbornly say fervently. he tsks impatiently. “just say it!” he stomps his foot irritatedly, leaning closer to you. “s’okay, i know you’re shy. here, here – i’ll start – i missed you when i was away, babe.” he says ruffling the back of his hair, the white strands picking up the artificial fluorescence of the street lights above. it looked as if he were glowing. “thanks.” “no! that’s not what you’re supposed to say!!!” throwing his hands up exasperatedly, deflating entirely at your words.

“you’re so bad at this, babe,” he groans, his arm settling around your shoulders. “you’re such an idiot, gojo,” you mutter, a new warmth apparent in your tone. but nothing gets past gojo, the warmth in your tone exploding in the pit of his stomach pleasantly. “you missed this idiot. don’t worry, you dont have to say it – i know sugu and shoko can’t bother you like i can,” he says as you allow him to rock your shoulder against his, pulling your body to sit close against him. 

regardless of the truth, you didnt want  to feed his enormous ego any more so you shrug off his arm with a scalding look. as you reach into your jacket pocket to fiddle with your phone charm – a nervous habit that you’ve unconsciously developed. taking out your flip phone your eyes widen in shock. 

“shit! It’s 5AM –” as you stand up quickly, whipping your gaze to gojo. 

“eh?! no way!” gojo stands quickly, dusting his thighs off, while taking out his own phone to confirm the surprising news, he whistles lowly, “damn, 5:13 that’s crazy.” 

“i know, i guess we lost track of time…” “seems like it.. c’mon, i’ll teleport us back” without any fuss you hook your arm with his. playing with the sleeve of his jacket, you hoped that he was more accurate this time, yaga was known to get up early and you needed to get to your rooms before he noticed. sure gojo and geto often got in trouble and were used to the punishments, but you and ieri were more sneaky about your mischief, managing to get away without any reprimanding and you wanted to keep it that way. 

“i’m sure yaga’s still asleep, we’ll be fine…” he mutters, raising an eyebrow as you wind an arm around his back. “just in case,” you whisper as gojo pretends to rolls his eyes, a smile peaking through his twitching lips. 

suddenly, you feel the soft plush of your bed underneath your thighs – your blankets messy right where you left them. releasing the breath you’ve been holding in,  you take in your surroundings unconsciously squeezing gojo’s arm tighter in relief as you hear him chuckle. 

although the bed was messy just like you left it, the colour of your bed sheets and comforter was.. wrong. blinking rapidly, you notice that the room was strangely larger than yours. thick, old books on jujutsu were organized neatly on tall bookshelves where your desk was supposed to be, there were many stuffies around the room in varying sizes some that you vaguely recognized  – “oh fuck – ” he swears loudly, realization on his paling face, an incredulous laugh dancing on his lips. you aggressively drop his arm that you were clinging on to, quickly catching on.

“are you fucking serious right now??!“ you whisper shout at gojo, his tall figure cowering amidst your outburst. “you fucking teleported us right into yaga’s room you fucking idio -“

you feel the mattress shift, and then you feel a familiar cursed energy surge, a tidal wave easily drowning both of you. 

fuck.

 “and what,” yaga’s deep baritone calls, fury carefully held back, “are you two doing up at this hour?” your panicked eyes meet his glowing mischievous ones, a laugh emerging faintly on his grinning face. “babe, run. run right now-” you feel gojo push you off the mattress, as your legs make a break for it. in the distance you hear gojo’s squawking as yaga grabs him easily by the collar. you quickly run across yaga’s room, thinking that you vaguely hear gojo’s smart mouth attempting to lessen the damage with lame excuses. 

yaga yells your name just before you reach the door but you don’t hear it. you’re not sure who’s laughing louder -  you or gojo.

snackies!tags: @starmapz @ghost-buddies

a/n: hi pals, it's been a while! thank you for being patient with this chapter. aren't they sweet? i just need them to get it together! AHH! see you in the comments (,,♡ᵕ♡,,)

[ghsface]

I knew it, i know you... - Matt Sturniolo

Sumary: You return to a place in the past, where memories and guilt haunt you as you find your ex, facing what you could never let go of.

Warnings: angst, break up, insecurities (on the part of the protagonist) guilt, no happy ending, I think that's all.

A/n: This is my first time writing angst, I really enjoyed doing it so I'll probably start writing more angst, I hope you like it and tell me what you think, I was inspired by one of my favorite songs by Gracie I hope you like it. by the way I'm sorry if there's something wrong or that you don't understand, my first language is not English.

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That night, the restaurant's atmosphere was familiar and welcoming, full of memories you'd rather leave buried. You were there, surrounded by your friends, laughing, talking, and trying to forget that this was the place you always came to with Matt. From the moment you walked through the door, you tried to focus on anything but the memories, knowing full well that something as simple as a glance at the corner where you used to sit could shatter you.

You laughed, enjoyed the dessert, and pretended that the empty chair in front of you didn't remind you of him, of Matt, the love of your life. The one you'd let go because you believed you didn't deserve the happiness he gave you. You'd been so trapped in your insecurities, in doubts you didn't even know how to express, that the only escape you found was to end the relationship. "It's better this way," you told yourself. "It's the best for both of us." You kept repeating to yourself

As your friends began to gather their things and pay their bills, you knew the night was coming to an end and you couldn't help but feel a certain anxiety. They apologized for having to leave, and you smiled at them in an attempt at reassurance. "I'm fine, girls. Enjoy your night." And as soon as they left, you were left alone, wondering if you should also pay your bill and leave to avoid any chance of running into him.

But that was when you saw him. Or rather, you saw them. First it was Nick, who recognized you instantly and gave you a look that you pretended not to notice. He looked away, but you knew he had seen you. However, the illusion of being invisible crumbled when you looked up again and your eyes met Chris, who was now also watching you. You tried to concentrate on your dessert, as if you were suddenly on a mission to finish it as quickly as possible, while feeling the weight of their gazes.

Finally, it was Matt who looked at you. You knew it without even looking up. His presence was unmistakable, the same effect he had on you before, only now it was accompanied by a pang of pain and shame. His eyes were on you, but there was no such sparkle as before, that spark that once made you feel like the most important person in his world...

You sighed, putting the spoon aside and taking a break. You needed air. You calmly stood up and headed to the bathroom, forcing yourself not to turn around or look at him. As you walked, memories began to come back, and it was as if the bathroom became a portal to all those things you thought you had overcome. You closed your eyes and suddenly you were there again, on that first day.

Flashbacks...

It was summer, just another day in the park where you spent hours talking. Matt seemed anxious, and you, without knowing why, felt that nervousness reflected in you.

“I’ve been thinking…” Matt paused, staring at your intertwined hands, then looked up to meet yours. “I don’t want to think anymore. Just… will you be my girlfriend?”

A blush had crept up your face, and you were surprised by the intensity with which you had responded.

“Yeah. Of course I will, Matt.” A nervous laugh escaped your lips, and he hugged you, so tightly that it made you feel like you would never need anything else.

The memory changed, and suddenly you were in his living room, fighting in an impromptu pillow fight, laughing like never before, while Chris and Nick complained about the noise from the kitchen.

“Come on, Matt!” you yelled, throwing a pillow at him. “Is that all you got?”

“You think so? Start running babe,” he replied, his mischievous smile lighting up his face as he dodged another blow and lunged at you, trapping you in his arms. The warmth of his hands on your shoulders and the laughter you shared filled the room with an energy that only existed between the two of you.

But then, the memory quickly changed. It was him, frowning, looking at you with concern. “What’s wrong? Why are you so distant?” he asked you sweetly and with a hint of desperation. And you, instead of opening up, lowered your head and muttered a “It’s nothing” that tasted like a lie.

He asked you the same thing over and over again. “It hurts me to see you like this, but… I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell me.” He said with pain in his voice

You couldn't give him an answer, and the frustration in his eyes became unbearable. He had always tried to be there, but you were sinking into a confusion and despair that you didn't know how to explain.

"Matt..." you had murmured, looking at him without words, knowing that every second of silence hurt more than anything else you could say. He took your hands, trying to comfort you, but the weight of your own thoughts was like a barrier you couldn't cross.

Despite his attempts, his tenderness, his patience, you sank into your own insecurities, building a wall that he never managed to tear down.

The last day you saw him, the day everything broke, was engraved in your memory like an open wound. He was standing in front of you, his eyes full of pain, but you stood firm.

"I can't keep doing this to you," you had said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. He stayed silent, as if those words were a blow to his stomach.

“Really? That easy for you?” he said, and his voice was a mix of disbelief and sadness.

You distanced yourself from him, unable to bear the pain you caused, but you knew you couldn’t keep dragging him down with you. You couldn’t keep making him suffer for something you didn’t even know how to explain.

“Yes, Matt. I’m sorry, but I have to,” you said, and as he remained silent, you let him go.

Then, the inevitable. You ignored his calls, his texts, and not just his, but also those from Chris and Nick, your best friends. You didn’t want to face them, what you had done, the guilt you felt. You chose silence as a refuge, despite knowing how much it hurt them.

End of flashbacks…

You took a deep breath, opening your eyes, trying to stifle the memories. You left the bathroom and, just as you tried to go back to your table, you heard Nick’s voice calling you.

“Hey! It’s you!”

You turned around, feigning forced surprise. “Oh, Nick! Hi!”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Chris said, joining the conversation, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. But there was an intensity in his words that made you hesitate.

“Yeah, well… coincidence, I guess,” you replied, laughing nervously. You avoided looking at Matt, who was silent, staring at his glass as if it were the only thing in the world.

Nick smiled at you, approaching you with that warmth you had always appreciated in him. “How have you been?” Chris asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Fine, just… living life, I guess,” I replied, the words coming out almost without thinking.

Matt was still sitting in his chair, making no move to talk to you. You felt the weight of his indifference, and an unbearable guilt enveloped you. How could you do this to him? How could you leave without giving him a chance to understand?

You began to chat casually, as if it were a reunion between old friends and not a constant reminder of unhealed wounds. You felt the topic everyone wanted to avoid was obvious.

Matt, however, remained silent, barely looking at you. You knew he was aware of your presence, but he didn't say a word to you. Guilt weighed on your chest, every second intensifying the pain you had tried to bury.

After a while, the atmosphere began to become uncomfortable. You smiled at them and excused yourself, trying to escape from that place that seemed to collapse on you, knowing that it was time to leave. You walked to the cashier, paid your bill, and before leaving, you turned to look at them one last time.

There was Matt, with those eyes that always seemed capable of seeing beyond your words. In that look, full of sadness and nostalgia, you understood that the wound would never completely heal. Those eyes that loved you, that once were everything to you, were now filled with a sadness that you could never erase.

You knew that you would never forgive yourself for what you had done, you would never forgive yourself for what you did, but deep down, you knew that maybe you couldn't have done it any other way, you had done it for him, for yourself. Still, the pain was still there, like a constant echo. And when you left, a part of you was left behind, lost in the memory of what could have been.

You'll never be able to let Matt go. And maybe, he won't either.

You left the restaurant, taking with you the echo of their glances, the memories, and the weight of a story that, one way or another, would always remain unfinished.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly, and feel free to leave a request ✮

Tags... @matthewsroses @dominicfikeenthusiast @louipartridge @sophand4n4 @bsturnzmtt <3

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jungkook (29)⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

note: old taglist + taglist in reblog

//

“surpise!” 

the burst of familiar voices around you fills the space as jungkook gently pulls his hands away from your eyes.

the world comes into focus, and you’re met with a room full of smiling faces, balloons, and twinkling lights decorating the penthouse. 

your heart races as you take it all in—your parents and jungkook’s on the side with zion and zia in their arms, the guys with their playful grins, and even nam joon, who stands with a friendly nod.

“what’s all this?” you gasp, your voice a mix of disbelief and delight.

jungkook steps beside you, his eyes shining with excitement. 

“happy birthday, honey!” he grabs your hands, squeezing them as he beams down at you. “i wanted to do something special. we’ve got food, games, and your favorite cake… well, zion’s.” 

you can’t help but laugh, feeling overwhelmed by the love in the room. 

“this… this is—wow—thank you, honey. i love it. i love you,” you say, cupping his face with your hands. you tiptoe and kiss him softly. as you pull away, you smile. “honey, i can’t believe you did all this! i thought we were just having a quiet dinner.”

“quiet is overrated,” he teases, guiding you further into the room. “besides, you deserve to be celebrated. you know what this date means to us… to me.”

you can’t help but look at him with a soft smile.

it’s the way he always knows just what to say to make you feel seen and cherished. his words and actions fill you with warmth. it’s moments like these where you’re reminded that you truly chose the right person to love. 

jungkook’s sincerity is so raw and so real. 

this day, this celebration—it’s not just about the party or the cake, but about the life you’ve built together. 

it’s a celebration of the family you’ve become. 

together. 

as he catches your gaze, the quiet tenderness in his eyes speaks volumes, and in that moment, everything else fades. 

“don’t—” he starts, “we can cry about this later together. right now, enjoy the party.”

you muster a smile and nod at him. 

as you take a few steps forward, the sound of zia’s laughter catches your ear. you turn to see her in your mother’s arms, giggling with delight at the colorful decorations. you greet your parents warmly, receiving a kiss on your cheek from both of them.

“zion!” you call out, spotting your little boy running toward you, his face lighting up with joy. “you look so cute, my love! look at your little bow tie—”

zion rushes to you, wrapping his tiny arms around your legs. 

“happy birthday, mommy! am i handsome like daddy?” he blushes, looking up at you with innocent pride.

you look at jungkook, eyes wide and filled with admiration. then, you look back at zion with the same expression. kneeling down, you fix zion’s bow tie before attacking him with kisses. 

“yes, my love,” you tell zion. “so handsome. just like daddy.”

jungkook stands behind you, watching the scene with a fond smile.

“handsome like his daddy? maybe our father-son relationship has hope after all.” 

you hit his stomach with the back of your hand as you get up. he chuckles and ruffles zion’s hair, urging him to go to his grandpa. 

as you straighten up, you take a moment to gaze around the room, your heart swelling with gratitude. 

the penthouse is filled with the soft scent of flowers. their vibrant colors scattered across the space—roses, peonies, and hydrangeas in sleek vases add life to every corner. not to mention the birthday decorations are thoughtfully placed: silver streamers drape across the ceiling, and a "happy birthday" banner hangs delicately over the living room. a champagne tower sits elegantly on one side, glistening glasses stacked high, ready to be poured.

a few catering staff move quietly through the space, offering appetizers on silver trays, their soft footsteps blending into the background. the open kitchen reveals the omakase chef, expertly preparing food with graceful precision. jimin, taehyung, and hobi are sitting patiently on the other side of the kitchen island for the chef to get started. yoongi and his girlfriend are on the sidelines, watching and whispering in each others ear. meanwhile, jin and nam joon are talking to one another. 

everything is perfect. 

the warm, inviting ambiance makes the penthouse feel like the perfect mix of cozy luxury—everything perfectly curated yet relaxed, just like the man behind it all.

“honey, you’ve outdone yourself,” you say to jungkook, feeling giddy with appreciation. “the place is stunning. this is all so amazing. did you hire a party planner?”

he shakes his head and winces at you. 

“have you no faith in your visual director in advertisement husband?” jungkook scolds you. “god, it’s like i have to teach you a lesson or something—oh. hey, nam joon.”

just then, nam joon approaches, a slight smile on his face. 

“hey,” he acknowledges jungkook.

“thanks for coming,” jungkook offers him a lazy smile. 

“wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“you could though,” jungkook tightens his lips. “party would’ve been fine with or without you.” 

you hiss at him. 

nam joon laughs, taking jungkook’s tone lightly. soon, jungkook breaks character and laughs along. he then kisses your cheek and excuses himself so you and nam joon could talk. as jungkook joins the crowd, you open your arms and give nam joon a friendly hug. 

“thanks for coming! i know the firm can get busy this time of year—”

“would be much more manageable if you signed for partner,” he remarks casually, causing your expression to shift slightly. 

“timing was off,” you breathe. “you know that.”

“i know it,” he nods. “are you thinking of starting your own firm?” 

you shake your head, followed by a small smile. “no... jungkook has been talking about starting his own company and i feel like that will be a better focus for us... don't get me wrong; i love being a lawyer... but things got intense and mentally so draining so fast. it took a lot from me… from my family. truth be told, i miss it… all of it. court, the cases, the people—but i’m also a little afraid. i don’t want to drown in my work life like that again. so… i guess i’m mustering up the courage… and zia is almost one! i can’t… not be here for these kinds of things.” 

nam joon understands you.

he looks at you softly, respecting everything you said. out of everyone, he probably knows you the best when it comes to your career. you have worked extremely hard to be where you are now… he doesn’t want to see it go to waste. 

which is why he makes a pitch. 

“would you ever be interested in teaching law?” 

you blink. 

“i have connections to most of the law schools around here… i heard there were a few openings too. i can refer you. if you hate it or if you ever decide you’re ready to come back… come back and accept the partner position. our firm will wait for you… i will wait for you. in return, don’t stop doing what you love but don’t let it kill you either. you have fought enough and earned your place, ___. you're a good lawyer too. it wouldn't be right for me to stand here and you go.”

“oh my god. y-yes. nam joon—”

“alright. consider this a birthday gift.” he smiles, before patting you on the back. then, he takes out his phone and begins to type. “i’ll email a few of my connections right now just so it’s like a real present. happy birthday, ___.”

before you can even thank him, he turns and gets on call with someone.

you sigh.

but you smile.

you're thankful.

with the party in full swing, you weave through the crowd, hugging friends and family, sharing laughter and stories. you take everything in, feeling the warmth of their love. this is where you belong. this is where you are loved.

as the room fills with a soft hum of conversation and laughter, jungkook's arms slip around you, holding you close as you both sway together, grounding you in the comfort of his presence.

"ready to cut the cake?" he murmurs, his voice gentle, but that familiar spark in his eyes still present.

you nod eagerly, feeling a rush of joy from the gathering, from the laughter of your closest friends and family. jungkook then raises his voice to call everyone over. soon, the room fills with smiling faces, and zion giggles as he darts toward you, small arms outstretched. you bend down to scoop him up, his little hands curling around your neck as he snuggles close.

jungkook joins you at your side, holding zia in his embrace, her tiny hands reaching for you as she giggles.

just as everyone is about to sing happy birthday, jungkook clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention.

“before we sing and cut the cake,” he begins, his eyes never leaving yours, “i just wanted to say a few words.”

a hush falls over the crowd, and jungkook smiles, taking a deep breath, his gaze filled with something that makes your heart race.

“thank you all for coming. i know keeping this a secret from ___ wasn’t easy since she’s nosy—”

“hey!” you frown, playfully smacking his arm.

“but we love her,” jungkook pauses, glancing at you with a teasing smile.

the crowd laughs with you.

“... and with that being said, honey, i’m so glad i have the privilege of being your husband. from the life we’ve built together, our children, our home—to our friends and families—you have made every aspect of my life happier, brighter, and fuller. even in our most difficult moments, i have never doubted that you are the one for me. i have chosen you every day, and will spend the rest of my life doing so… and you know? i used to be afraid of time. not having enough of it to spend with you and our children… but not so much anymore. every day, you hold my hand, make me laugh, and kiss me—giving meaning to our forever. so, here… right now, i want to say this to you: our time is forever. ___, if it takes bending every rule, making new ones, or breaking every piece of time itself—for me to be the one you love in every lifetime—then i’d do it.”

his voice is strong, clear, yet filled with a gentleness that brings a lump to your throat. “i have seen the way you love and i have felt it every day in every possible way. i feel it in our success and in our losses. god, am i ever so blessed to feel it. ___, i love you, always. you are my divine. my everlasting love. my heart in every lifetime... and i—truly, madly, deeply—i am yours forever.”

the world falls away, leaving only jungkook’s words hanging in the air.

they’re rich with love and promise. you feel zion’s small weight in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder, a gentle reminder of everything you and jungkook have created together.

your eyes blur as the room and faces around you seem to melt into a soft haze. there’s only jungkook’s gaze—kind, loving, forever.

a shaky breath escapes your lips as you look at him, your heart swelling with a love so deep it feels almost impossible to contain.

zion shifts in your arms, sensing the emotion in the room. his little fingers reach up to pat your cheek, grounding you. you press a kiss to the top of his head, gathering yourself, your voice catching as you try to find the words to answer jungkook’s confession.

you give a small, breathless laugh, holding zion closer as you look at the man who is both your beginning and your forever.

“jungkook,” you manage, your voice thick, barely more than a whisper. “how do i even… how do i follow that?”

the room chuckles softly, a few sniffles heard from the crowd, but you barely notice as you take a step closer to jungkook. his gaze pulls you in, that warmth surrounding you.

“i’ll start off by saying… everyone knows jungkook’s guilty pleasure is twilight, right?”

a few gasps are heard, and jungkook’s eyes widen in mock horror.

“honey—”

“so i’ll say this: for every second, every memory, every joy, and every heartache… i choose you too… because, honey, no measure of time with you will ever be long enough, but we’ll start with forever.”

jungkook chuckles, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks. it’s a mix of embarrassment and unmistakable affection lighting up his face. even though he’s trying to fight it, you can see that your words have touched him, and it makes you smile.

your voice wavers, and you pause, catching his gaze one last time. “and i believe in that forever of ours—more than i ever believed in anything.”

as the last words leave your lips, you see the pink flush deepen across jungkook’s cheeks. the surprise in his eyes melts into that soft, adoring smile—the one reserved just for you. the room is silent for a beat, as if everyone is letting the moment settle in, before they break into applause, a few playful whistles cutting through the warm atmosphere.

then hobi calls out, “light your candles and blow them out! zion’s drooling already!”

laughter erupts, and you find yourself laughing too, the joy of the moment infectious.

holding zion close, you turn to the cake, the soft glow of the candles flickering across your face. jungkook lights them for you, and for a brief second, you close your eyes, making a wish. the room hums as everyone sings you happy birthday.

with a gentle breath, you blow out the candles, and the room erupts into cheers and applause. voices ring with love and laughter. zion giggles in your arms, clapping his small hands in excitement, his face beaming with pride as he looks up at you. you kiss his cheek, smiling through your own laughter.

jungkook leans over, slipping his arm around your waist, and presses a tender kiss to your temple.

“what’d you wish for, mama?” he asks softly, his voice low and full of warmth.

“oh… you know,” you sigh, leaning into his embrace. “forever.”

[revelboo]

I just wanted to say, thank you for showing me where to get the little models, I've been having so much fun putting these guys together the past two days

Sorry for the quality of the photo

Shockwaves! I found the Blokees models purely by accident, but I love how tiny and posable they are. I ended up moving my Flame Toys Megs to my plant shelf just to make more room for these guys

Gravity Pt 6

IDW Optimus x Reader

• “Why Earth?” Turning away from his work at the soft question, he finds you sitting cross legged nearby watching him with a little frown. Yours been quiet so long, he’s assumed you were resting. At his questioning look, you roll your hand in a vague little gesture. “Why did you all come here? Why Earth?”

• Servos flexing slightly, he leans his forearms against the desk. Almost looming over you, but you don’t lean away. Just arching your eyebrows at him, because it’s been bothering you for a while now. Surely there were other worlds closer to his world, to Cybertron. So why here? “In the archives, there were ancient records of worlds the Primes had visited during the expansion before the war with the Quintessons. Of worlds that had been seeded with energon or interacted with,” he says. The words bringing up more questions than answers. Quintessons? Other Primes? Only energon rings a bell, because that’s the stuff he lives on, but seeded?

• Your expression twists and he knows he should explain it all. That he owes it to you after trapping you with him, but the past has only ever wounded him. Dredging it up always brings up the choices and mistakes he’d made. The things he can’t undo, but wishes he could because something small might have led them all down a different path, a brighter one if he’d only been better, stronger.

• “You came here for the energon,” you hazard. He’s volunteered so little of his past, only letting things slip occasionally. Like that his Autobots are at war, that they’d had to flee their world and that their enemies had followed. The details, though? Like why they’d left Cybertron or even what the war was over? Those things he doesn’t seem ready to talk about so you haven’t pushed.

• “We had no way of knowing about your species. You didn’t exist when this world was seeded as a potential colony.” Reaching out, he crooks a servo not really expecting for you to lay a hand on him and let him gently pull you to your feet. “I wouldn’t have led the Decepticons here if I’d known.” And that’s his guilt to carry from now on. Another failure that might cost so much, another sin weighing on his spark, because this world might not survive their war. You might not.

• “You guys were starving, right?” You ask, hand lingering on his servo as he inclines his head. “You were trying to save who you could, I get that.” It’s not fair or right, but you do understand. From what you can gather from the things he doesn’t want to say, things were pretty desperate. He was desperate. And to be responsible for the survival of your people, what would you have done in his place? You’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be nearly as honorable as he is, that you’d do anything regardless of the cost, because you’re not good like he is.

• Spark warming at your soft words, it’s that you understand that makes him curl his servo about you. How can you not blame him for bringing his war to your home? Not hate him or at least resent him? Your little palm slides against his servo like you’re trying to comfort him, worrying over him. It’s a weight from him that you don’t despise him even though he knows that this and what will follow will be his fault. For now he just wants to feel your hand on him and pretend that this one time, his decisions won’t cost him what little he has right now in this moment. Won’t cost you, because you give him something to look forward to every day. Something beyond duty or responsibility, just enjoying your company, the sound of your voice. The soft touch of a hand reaching out to him to break his loneliness.

Previous

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

ok i can't contain myself to write so i will be reading (sorry for all the tiktoks send over dms hahaha) ⬇️

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

always obsessed with your descriptions and im grinning so hard knowing that's ME hehehe

It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you.

NOT FOR LONG I READ THE WARNING

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

my dom girlyyy

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

SCREAMINGGGGGGGGGG (muffled behind a pillow)

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

me rn: login who???

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

im so giddily rn, their banter is TOP TIER

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

OH I SPELT IT WRONG LOLLLLL

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

🤭 im like a schoolgirl rn

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

imma be so honest i thought WE were gonna be cheating but i guess HE'S cheating that scumbag

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

I KNOW so give me that dick 😁

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

i need him to SLAM into logan ohmygod

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

LET'S FUCKING GOOOO

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

ANGRY MAKEOUT SESSION LETS GOOO

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

oh im horny

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

oh HE'S horny

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

ok im at a cafe, reading this smut on my 14'' screen where everyone can surely see. let me pack up and go home and i'll be back to react.

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

I'M BACK

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

Oh. My. God. this is so fucking hot what the FUCK

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

it's me, but THAT SHOULD BE ME!!!!!!

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

IM GRINNING my favorite part of public sex smut is the fact they're almost caught hahahahaa

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

my baby my baby my babyyy

final thoughts—i'm obsessed with this. ur writing. you. ohmygod, as always, the first thing that comes to my head is your descriptions. when you were describing reader, the medical training, the equipment and the environment, i always feel so immersed by your vocabulary and imagery. next, the fucking BANTER, oh you got me clutching my chest, giggling in the middle of a cafe. thank god no one was looking over my screen. but truly, i love how lowkey smitten rafe is with reader. he's always in love with her before the story truly begins and i love how much softer this version of rafe is. don't get me wrong, he's possessive and a beast on the ice, but something about him is so baby girl. thank you, gigi, for doing my request justice, i swear i want more!!!!

looking like motivation - hockey!r.c (+18)

requested by my #1 @zya4lifers

warnings: meantions of cheating; SMUT.

Rafe’s day started the same way it had for the last two months: with a groan of pain that shot up from his knee and settled into his mood like a stubborn storm cloud. 

He hated physical therapy, but what he hated more was sitting on the sidelines, watching his teammates on the ice while he was stuck on a cushioned table with resistance bands and an overenthusiastic sports medic, with hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail and a pair of blue scrubs that somehow still looked cute on you.

At least that was what he thought when he first met you. 

But two weeks in, his hatred had morphed into something else entirely, something way more complicated. He wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe when he caught you singing quietly along with the radio while taping up his knee, or when you’d given him that first, honest-to-God smile that wasn’t out of politeness but genuine amusement at some stupid joke he’d made. And he made a lot of those. 

Now, sitting on that same damn table, Rafe found himself looking forward to PT in a way that had nothing to do with his injury. You walked in, clipboard in hand, looking as professional as always. It was kind of cute, the way you tried so hard to keep things strictly professional between the two of you. Rafe knew he got under your skin—hell, he made sure of it. He could tell by the way your eyes flicked up to meet his for just a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away. You tried to be cool, but he knew better.

“Alright, Cameron. How’s the knee today?”

He put on his best wounded-puppy face. “Terrible. I might never skate again.”

“Shut up.”

“And I could be better,” Rafe drawled, his lips curling into that signature smirk. “But seeing you always helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You say that every time.”

“And I mean it every time,” he shot back, winking at you.

You tried to ignore him, busying yourself with adjusting the equipment. “Let’s focus on your knee, alright?”

“Whatever you say, Doc,” Rafe said, stretching out on the table with a lazy grin.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched up. “We’ve got to work on your pain tolerance.”

He couldn’t resist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to keep me on my toes.”

Finally, you looked up, your expression deadpan. “And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to avoid actually doing your therapy, Cameron.”

Touché.

He liked the way you said his name—like you were in control, like you were the one calling the shots. It was refreshing. 

The first few minutes of the session passed in relative silence as you guided him through the exercises, your hands expertly working his injured knee. Rafe winced, but it wasn’t all from the pain. It was from trying to resist the urge to say something that might actually cross the line. But resisting wasn’t really his style.

“So, what’s your boyfriend up to this weekend?” Rafe asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp, watching your reaction.

You weren’t the kind of girl to fall for a player, especially one with a reputation like Rafe’s. Besides, you were already with someone. Logan—the clean-cut, dependable defenseman from a rival school. You’d been together for over a year, and things were great.

You looked up at him, a little caught off guard. “Out of town.”

Rafe snorted, unable to help himself. “Figures.”

You frowned, straightening up to give him a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe shrugged, feigning innocence. “Nothing.”

“He’s busy,” you said defensively.

“Too busy for you?” he pushed, his tone dripping with faux concern. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, I’d make time.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, “I’m sure you would.”

“You don’t think I would?”

“I think you’ve already got your hands full with the cheerleading team.” 

He liked to pretend you sounded jealous and not critical. 

Rafe chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Cheerleaders are fun and all, but they’re not really my type.”

Okay, that was half a lie, but in his defense, he hadn’t slept with anyone on the cheer squad since sophomore year. 

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest as you adjusted the strap on his knee brace. “And what exactly is your type, Cameron?”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “Complicated. Smart. Gorgeous.”

You didn’t miss a beat, even as your pulse quickened. “So, basically the opposite of you?”

He grinned, like a stupidly in love sick puppy, unbothered by the jab. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the smile threatening to break through. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, his eyes locked on yours.

There was no denying the chemistry, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. But you were with someone else, someone who, despite his flaws, you cared about. Still, Rafe made it hard to remember why you were trying to resist in the first place.

“Rafe, we really should focus on your PT,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to safer territory.

“Trust me, I am focusing,” he replied, his tone suggesting he wasn’t talking about his knee.

You rolled your eyes, standing up straighter to put some distance between you. 

“Right. Well, you need to focus on this next exercise. We’re going to work on your range of motion.”

He sighed dramatically but didn’t argue, watching you with a lazy smile as you moved to demonstrate the exercise. He couldn’t help but admire the way you carried yourself—confident, knowledgeable, and completely fucking beautiful. It was a challenge, and Rafe Cameron loved a challenge.

As you guided his leg through the motion, your hands firm but gentle, Rafe couldn’t resist pushing a little more. “You know, you never answered my question.”

“What question?” you asked, though you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“What you’re doing this weekend,” he said, his eyes locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze making your breath catch.

You glanced away, focusing on the movement of his knee, your fingers brushing against his skin as you adjusted the angle. “I’ll probably just catch up on some work. Maybe relax.”

“Sounds boring,” Rafe remarked, though there was a playful lilt to his voice. “You should let me take you out.”

You looked up sharply, caught off guard by his directness. “Rafe, I’m—”

“Taken, I know,” he interrupted, his tone still light but with an undercurrent of something more serious. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, does it? Just as friends.”

“Just as friends?” you echoed skeptically, knowing full well what his idea of ‘just friends’ probably entailed.

Rafe shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “We could get dinner, maybe hit up a bar, talk about something other than my knee for once. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“No.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before it came back stronger, more determined. He leaned back on the table, pretending to stretch as he tried to mask the sting of rejection. "No?" he echoed, as if the concept was foreign to him.

You crossed your arms, standing firm even though his eyes on you made your heart race. "No. We both know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to happen."

"And what exactly am I trying to do?" he asked, feigning innocence with a smirk that told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to get drawn into his game. "You know what. I’m here to help you with your injury, not to entertain whatever fantasy you’ve got going on."

"Who says it’s a fantasy?" he shot back, his voice lowering, taking on a more serious tone that caught you off guard. "Maybe I just want to get to know you better."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. But Rafe was hard to read when he wanted to be, his playful exterior a well-practiced mask that he rarely let slip. "Rafe, you're a good guy, but—"

"Good guy?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone describe me like that."

"Fine," you conceded with a small smile. "Maybe ‘good’ is a stretch. But you’re not as bad as you want people to think."

Rafe’s smirk faded. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and it made you hesitate, made you wonder if there was more to him than just the cocky, relentless flirt.

But before you could dwell on it, he was back to his usual self, flashing you that devil-may-care grin that made it hard to stay mad at him. "You know, I’d actually take that as a compliment if it came from anyone else."

"Don’t get too excited," you replied, trying to keep things light. "I still think you’re a pain in the ass."

"Yeah, but I’m your pain in the ass," he teased, stupidly blinking his lashes up at you.

You shook your head, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "You really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when it comes to something I want," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"Cameron, this isn’t going to happen. I have a boyfriend."

He shrugged, unbothered. "And? You’re no fun. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

You handed him a water bottle, expression neutral. “You’re just out of shape.”

“Out of shape?” He looked at her, incredulous. “Do you see this body?”

You didn’t take the bait. “I see a guy who’s been slacking off on his conditioning.”

He laughed, low and warm, as he took a sip of water. “You’re tough. Tougher than most of the coaches I’ve had.”

You shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

 “Logan’s a lucky guy.”

The hockey world was small, and word got around, of course he knew his name.

“Logan’s great,” you said, a little too quickly.

Rafe nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, I’m sure he is.”

He didn’t push it further, though. Instead, he fell back into his usual routine of teasing and flirting. Every time you guided his leg through a stretch or adjusted the equipment, he found his mind wandering, imagining what it would be like if things were different. If he were the one you were coming home to after a long day, if he were the one you smiled at without that guarded look in your eyes.

But you were with Logan, and as much as he hated to admit it, Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to cross that line. Not when you were clearly trying so hard to keep things professional between the two of you.

As the session wrapped up, you handed him his schedule for the next few days, your demeanor as cool and composed as ever. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Make sure you keep up with the exercises over the next couple of days, and don’t overdo it.”

He took the paper from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moments. It was enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be good,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

 “Can’t make any promises.”

He spent the weekend bored out of his mind, thinking about you—wondering if you were with Logan, if the guy was actually smart enough to know what he had.

He hated Logan more than he hated the pain in his knee.

The guy was too perfect, too dependable, too fucking boring. And Rafe had been praying, in a way he wouldn’t admit to anyone, that something would happen—something that would make you see Logan for the jackass he really was. It wasn’t that he thought he was a better guy; he knew his own flaws better than anyone. But he also knew that he could make you happier, make you laugh harder, make you feel things that Logan never could.

So when you walked in late to the next session, he was ready to make a joke, to tease you about finally deciding to show up. But the words died on his lips when he saw you. You weren’t looking at him, not really, just muttering a half-hearted apology as you dropped your bag in the corner. But when you finally met his gaze, his chest tightened.

Your eyes were bloodshot red, the kind of red that came from hours of crying, from tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard you tried. You looked exhausted, like you hadn’t slept in days, and your usual spark was nowhere to be found.

His first instinct was to make a joke, to lighten the mood the way he always did, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like that.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice void of its usual cockiness. “You okay?”

You nodded, but it was the kind of nod that was meant to shut someone up, not because you actually meant it. You were far from okay.

“You’re late,” he said, his tone teasing, but even he could hear the concern underneath.

“I know, sorry,” you replied, your voice small, almost defeated.

Rafe frowned, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. This wasn’t like you. You were always so put together, so in control, and seeing you like this was…so unsettling.

“What happened?” he asked, more serious now, the joking tone completely gone.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you busied yourself with the equipment, but Rafe wasn’t going to let it go that easily. Not when he could see the pain written all over your face.

“Come on, what’s going on?” he pressed, his voice soft but insistent. “Did something happen with Logan?”

The way you flinched at his name told him everything he needed to know. His chest tightened, protectiveness swelling inside him. He’d always thought Logan was too good to be true, but seeing you like this confirmed it.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was low, a dangerous edge to it that he usually kept hidden. “Because if he did, I swear to God—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice cracking slightly as you finally looked at him, “I mean, yes, but… it’s not like that.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “What did he do?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat as you tried to hold it together. But there was no point in pretending anymore, not when Rafe was looking at you like that—like he actually cared, like he was ready to go to war for you if that’s what it took.

“He cheated,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling as the tears you’d been holding back threatened to spill over. “I found out through a fucking DM on Instagram. Some girl… she just messaged me out of the blue and told me everything. And when I confronted him, he didn’t even deny it. He just—just said it wasn’t a big deal.”

Rafe’s vision blurred with red-hot anger. He wanted to find Logan and beat the shit out of him for making you cry, for being stupid enough to let you go. But more than that, he wanted to make you feel better, to make the hurt go away, even if he didn’t know how.

“That fucking asshole,” He growled, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “I swear to God, I’ll—let me get on that ice and I’ll wipe the entire ring with his face.”

“Rafe, don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it, okay?”

His heart twisted at the broken look in your eyes, the way your voice wavered as if you didn’t quite believe your own words.

“He’s not worth you,” Rafe said softly, stepping closer, his anger replaced by something gentler,  “You deserve better than that. Way better.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be so serious. But here he was, looking at you like you were the most important person in the world, and it made your heart ache even more.

“I don’t know what I deserve anymore,” you admitted, your voice small and lost.

He reached out, hesitating for just a second before he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that had finally escaped.

“You deserve someone who knows what they have when they have you,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes locked on yours. “Someone who would never make you cry like this. Someone who would never, ever cheat on you.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over at his words. “Rafe…”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re… you’re amazing, you know that? Any guy would be lucky to have you, and Logan’s a fucking idiot for not seeing that.”

You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but it was no use.

You started to cry, the kind of deep, gut-wrenching sobs that you’d been holding in all weekend. And before you knew it, you were collapsing into his arms, letting him hold you as you cried, his arms strong and steady around you.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to shush you or tell you everything was going to be okay. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back as you let it all out, crying into his chest until there were no more tears left.

When you finally pulled back, your face red and puffy from crying, you only uttered a small, “Thank you.”

Rafe nodded, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. “Anytime.”

And then, without thinking, you leaned up and pressed a soft, hesitant kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a second before pulling away. He blinked, a little stunned by the gesture, but before he could say anything, you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

“Do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?” you said quickly, your voice still shaky. “I’m not sure I-“

“Of course not.”

You breathed out in relief, “Thank you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He wanted to tell you to stay, to tell you that it was okay to not be okay, that you didn’t have to face this alone. But he knew you needed space, needed time to process everything that had happened.

“Yeah,” he said softly, nodding as you turned to leave. “Tomorrow.”

He wanted to be there for you, to be the one you turned to when everything fell apart. But more than that, he wanted to be the one to put you back together again, to show you that not all guys were like Logan—that he wasn’t like Logan.

And as you disappeared down the hallway, he made a silent promise to himself: he was going to make you see that. No matter what it took.

⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷ೃ⁀➷⁀➷ೃ

The weeks passed, each session with Rafe seamlessly flowing into the next. What started as this totally professional thing, strictly business, slowly morphed into something way more personal. His cocky jokes and playful banter had shifted into these deep conversations that actually mattered, and somewhere along the way, you found myself getting closer to him than you ever expected.

Rafe’s knee had healed remarkably well, and now the day had arrived: his first game back on the ice. As it drew near, a strange sense of anxiety creeped in. Your life had become so closely tied to Rafe’s recovery over the past few months that the thought of him no longer needing your help—or your company—left you with an unsettling emptiness.

You had prepared yourself for the possibility that he might distance himself once he was back on the ice. After all, athletes had their own lives, their own routines, and you were just the therapist who had helped him get to this point. But when he invited you to his first game, the gesture came as a welcome. Whether you wanted to admit it or not, he’d slowly lurked his way into your heart. 

It was after a particularly intense session, where you’d pushed him harder than ever before, that he brought it up. You were finishing up, wiping down the equipment while he caught his breath, stretching out his legs on the bench.

“You know,” Rafe started, his voice casual but with a hint of something more in it, “I’ve got my first game back tomorrow night.”

You looked up, catching the subtle edge in his tone. “Yeah, I’ve heard. You must be excited.”

“Excited? Nervous as hell, more like it.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “It’s been a long time coming. A lot of pressure to perform, y’know?”

You nodded, understanding him. You’d seen how hard he’d worked, how much this comeback meant to him. “You’ll do great, Cameron. You’re more than ready.”

He smiled at that, but there was something else in his expression, something hesitant. “I was thinking…maybe you could come. To the game, I mean. It’d be nice to have someone there who’s seen the whole process, who knows what it took to get back on that ice.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. It wasn’t just the invitation—it was what it represented. He didn’t just see you as the therapist who’d helped him heal. He saw you as someone important, someone he wanted by his side as he took this next step.

 “I’d love to, Rafe. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Relief washed over his face, followed by a grin that was equal parts gratitude and something else— “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now, “because I’d hate for you to miss it. You’ve been a big part of this, more than you know.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself blushing under his gaze. 

“I’m just doing my job,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, but the look in his eyes told you that he saw right through your attempt to downplay it.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad it’s you,” Rafe said, his voice earnest. “I don’t think I could’ve done this with anyone else.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the only person in the world at that moment, made it hard to breathe. This was more than just an invitation to a game. This was him telling you, in his own way, that you mattered to him—that you were more than just his therapist, that you were someone he wanted to keep around.

“I’m glad it was me too,” you whispered back, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Now, as you sit in the stands, watching Rafe skate out onto the ice, you feel a nervous anticipation that has little to do with the game itself.

Just before the puck drops, Rafe catches your eye, giving you a confident wink that sends your heart racing. He knows what this game means, not just for him, but for you as well.

Logan is there, playing on the opposite team. You haven’t seen him in exactly two months. Whatever feelings you had for him disappeared the moment you found out about his betrayal, but your ego still hurts like hell.

The energy in the arena is electric, a buzz that makes his blood hum with anticipation. His first game back, and the stakes couldn’t be higher—not just because of his injury, not just because it’s a rivalry match, but because Logan is on the other side of the ice. Rafe’s jaw clenches at the thought of that bastard, the memory of your tear-streaked face still fresh in his mind.

During warm-ups, he spotted Logan, skating like he didn’t have a care in the world, like he hadn’t just thrown away the best thing that ever happened to him. Rafe’s grip tightens on his stick, his knuckles white against the black tape. The rage simmering beneath his skin isn’t just about the game. It’s personal.

His focus is razor-sharp, every movement precise, every play calculated. But no matter how much he tries to concentrate on the game, his eyes keep drifting back to Logan, who skates circles around the ice like he owns it.

The first period passes without incident, but by the second, the tension is boiling over. Rafe feels it building, that need to do something, to break Logan’s face in half. He doesn’t just want to beat him; he wants to humiliate him, to knock that smug look off his face once and for all.

Then it happens.

Midway through the second period, Logan makes a hard hit on one of Rafe’s teammates, sending the guy crashing into the boards. The hit is clean, but it’s the arrogance in Logan’s smirk that pushes Rafe over the edge.

He doesn’t hesitate. 

He skates straight at Logan, not bothering with any pretense. If Logan wants to play dirty, he is more than ready to play dirtier. Logan barely has time to react before Rafe drops his gloves, his intent crystal clear.

“You think you can just get away with that?” He snarls, his voice low and menacing as he shoves Logan hard in the chest, the force sending him stumbling back on his skates.

Logan’s eyes flash with surprise, quickly followed by anger. “What the hell’s your problem, Cameron?”

He doesn’t bother with a reply. 

He swings, his fist connecting solidly with Logan’s jaw. The satisfying crunch of bone against bone is drowned out by the roar of the crowd, but Rafe doesn’t care. He’s been waiting for this moment, waiting to unleash all the pent-up anger and frustration that’s been eating away at him since the day you walked into that PT room with your heart shattered.

Logan staggers back, his expression twisting with fury. He recovers quickly, launching himself at Rafe with a wild swing, but Rafe is ready. He dodges the punch and counters with another one of his own, this time aiming for Logan’s ribs. He can feel the impact reverberate up his arm, but it’s not enough. He wants more.

“Come on!” He shouts, face red from all the pent-up anger simmering inside him. “Is that all you’ve fucking got?”

Logan grits his teeth, struggling to keep his balance. “You’re fucking crazy, Cameron!”

“You haven't seen shit," He spits back, landing another punch to Logan’s midsection. “But at least I know how to treat someone right.”

Logan’s eyes widen, the realization of what this is really about dawning on him. “This is about her? You’re seriously going to throw down over some girl?”

Rafe’s vision goes red at the mention of you, the casual way Logan dismisses you as “some girl.” He doesn’t care that he’s going too far, doesn’t care that the refs are probably going to break this up any second. All he cares about is making Logan feel a fraction of the pain he caused you.

“You don’t get to talk about her,” He growls, grabbing Logan by the collar and yanking him close. “You don’t even get to think about her.”

Logan tries to shove him off, but Rafe is relentless, landing punch after punch, each one fueled by the memory of you crying in his arms, by the way your voice trembled when you told him what Logan had done.

By now, the refs are on them, trying to pull Rafe away, but he isn’t finished. Not yet.

“You don’t deserve her,” He hisses through clenched teeth, his fist connecting with Logan’s face one last time before the refs finally manage to separate them. “You never did.”

Logan stumbles back, his face a bloody mess, and for a brief moment, he feels a little satisfaction. But it isn’t enough to stop the anger, the frustration, the overwhelming need to protect you from ever being hurt like that again.

He sits in the penalty box, his chest heaving as he tries to calm the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. He can barely hear the crowd over the sound of his own heartbeat, but he knows they’re going wild. The fight has been brutal, and he’s given Logan exactly what he deserved. But as the rush of the fight starts to fade, he starts to overthink: how will you react?

The game ends with a hard-fought win for his team, but the victory feels hollow. As his teammates celebrate on the ice, Rafe’s thoughts are miles away, fixated on you. What if you’re pissed? What if you think he’s overstepped?

After the final whistle, he makes his way to the locker room, his mind racing. He’s about to strip off his gear when he hears footsteps approaching, quick and determined. Before he can even turn around, the locker room door flies open, and there you are, marching straight toward him with a look on your face that he can’t quite read.

Shit. You’re mad.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, his voice low and uncertain as he holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know that might’ve looked bad out there, but I swear—”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you grab the front of his jersey and pull him down to your level, crashing your lips against his with a force that takes him completely off guard.

His mind goes blank as all he can focus on is the way your mouth moves against his. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before—raw, heated, desperate.

His hands instantly find your waist, gripping tightly as he pulls you flush against him, the heat of your bodies mingling in the small space between you. Your kiss is wild, all tongues and teeth, and when you bite down on his bottom lip, hard enough to make him groan, he realizes this is real.

You’re kissing him.

“Fuck,” he gasps against your mouth, his voice ragged with need. But you don’t give him a chance to catch his breath, your hands threading through his hair as you deepen the kiss, your lips moving with a feverish intensity that makes his head spin.

You break away just long enough to breathe, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

The way you say it, half-growled, half-breathed, sends a shiver down his spine, and he can’t help the sound that escapes him, somewhere between a moan and a groan. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he fights to keep control, but you aren’t making it easy.

You press yourself even closer, your body flush against his as you kiss him again, harder this time, more demanding. Your tongue sweeps into his mouth, claiming him, and Rafe is more than happy to let you take the lead. He’s never felt anything like this before—this urgency, this hunger that makes him want to lose himself in you completely.

You tug on his hair, tilting his head back to give yourself better access, and Rafe nearly loses it right then and there. He can feel his self-control slipping, can feel the primal need to devour you taking over, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how badly he wants you, how desperately he needs to feel more of you.

When you pull back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breathing just as ragged as his. You stare at him, your eyes dark with lust, and Rafe feels his heart hammering in his chest, each beat echoing with the desire pulsing through him.

“Been waiting for over an hour to do that,” you breathe.

Rafe’s hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine as he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. When he reaches the curve of your ass, he doesn’t stop. His fingers grip you there, kneading the soft flesh with a pressure that makes you gasp into his mouth, your hips instinctively pressing against his.

“Then do it again,” he murmurs, “Do whatever the hell you want to me.”

His hands are everywhere, sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts before moving back down to cup your ass again, pulling you even closer against him. You can feel him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh, and it sends a wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You want him—more than you ever wanted anyone—and the way he’s looking at you tells you he feels the same.

Rafe lets out a low, almost guttural sound as you rock your hips against him, the pressure making him tighten his grip on you, holding you in place as he grounds himself against you. The sensation makes your breath hitch, a needy whimper escaping your lips that only spurs him on. 

“Fucking idiot,” you whisper again, your voice rough with desire as you nip at his bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth before soothing the bite with your tongue. 

His reaction is immediate. He groans, a sound so deep and full of need that it sends a shiver down your spine. His hands flex against you, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he’s trying not to loseg control completely.

 But you can feel it—the way he’s trembling, the way his breath is coming in harsh, uneven pants against your neck. He kisses you again, hard and desperate, his mouth moving against yours with a fervor that matches the wild pounding of your heart

But just when you think you can’t take it any longer, the sound of footsteps echoes outside the door, snapping you both back to reality. You pull back, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, your mind spinning with the intensity of what had just happened. He’s just staring at you, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips swollen and red from your kisses. He looks as wrecked as you feel, and it takes everything in you not to drag him back down for more. 

But you know you shouldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Except there’s no fucking way Rafe is letting you go now. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and filled with a raw need that makes your breath catch. 

He doesn’t ask; doesn’t need to. He’s done waiting, done pretending he can hold back. 

Without another word, he pulls you toward the locker room, his grip firm and unyielding as he leads you through the maze of benches and lockers. Your heart races as he pushes open the door to the showers, the sound of the water echoing off the tile walls. The room is empty, the air thick with steam, and the second you step inside, he’s pouncing on you. Clothes are gone in the blink of an eye.

He presses you up against the cold tile wall, his body flushes against yours as his lips find yours again, hands running over your wet skin. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone as he kisses, licks, and nips at your sensitive skin. You whimper, fingers threading through his hair as he drops to his knees in front of you, his lips trailing down your stomach. 

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of the hot water and his hot mouth on your skin driving you insane. "If you don’t-" your voice trembles with need as he spreads your thighs apart, “Fuck.” 

He looks up at you, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

His hands grip your hips firmly. Without another word, he buries his face between your legs, his tongue flicking out to taste you. The sudden, intense pleasure makes you cry out, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders as he licks and sucks, his tongue working you over with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath. It’s not fair. 

This man can’t possibly be real. The water splashes against your back, masking the sounds of your moans as he takes his time, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every swirl of his tongue. Your body trembles, your legs barely able to hold you up as he pushes you higher, his hands tightening on your hips as he holds you in place.

 "Oh my god," you moan, your voice breaking as you feel the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until you are crying out his name, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure rips through you.

Rafe keeps his mouth on you, drawing out your release until you are trembling, your legs shaking as you struggle to catch your breath. 

Truth is, he doesn’t want to stop. He can’t get enough now that he has finally gotten a taste. He stands back up, his hands running up your sides as he kisses you again, the taste of you still on his lips. You can feel him, hard and ready against your stomach, and it only drives you crazier. Of course, this man had to be fucking huge. 

Without breaking the kiss, he spins you around, pressing you against the wall as his hands grip your hips, pulling them back slightly. You brace yourself against the tile, your body arching as you felt the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

"Oh Rafe," you groan out his name, your voice low and needy and he growls softly in response, his breath hot against your ear as he slowly pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch until he is buried to the hilt.

Rafe nearly passes out from the sight. Watching himself disappear inside you has to be his favorite sight in the entire world. 

“So fucking pretty.” The feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely, is almost too much to bear, and you let out a long, low moan as he begins to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace that drives you wild. The water cascades over your bodies as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he fucks you with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. 

Each thrust pushes you harder against the wall, the cool tile a pleasing contrast to the heat between you. You can barely think, barely breathe, lost in the sensation of Rafe moving inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots with every thrust. The sound of the water mixed with the wet slap of skin against skin, your moans and gasps echoing off the walls as the pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to consume you.

 "God, you feel so fucking good," He groans, his voice rough with desire as he leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

 "Faster," you gasp, your voice pleading as you push back against him, needing more, needing everything. He doesn’t hesitate. His pace quickening, his thrusts coming harder and faster as he drives you both toward the edge. The intensity of it is overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as he fucks you with a raw, desperate need that matches your own. Just when you think you couldn’t take any more, you heard footsteps outside the shower, followed by a voice calling out. 

"Cameron? You in here, man?" Rafe freezes, his body tense, his cock still buried deep inside you as he glances toward the door, his breath ragged. 

"Yeah, I’m here," he calls back, trying to keep his voice steady, though you could hear the strain in it. 

"We’re heading downtown to the bar. You coming?"

He looks down at you, all too pleased with himself, "Not tonight," he replies, his voice thick with lust. "Got something else to take care of." 

There’s a pause, then a chuckle from the other side of the door. "Alright, man. Have fun."

 The footsteps retreat, and the moment the door closes, he’s moving again, thrusting into you with a renewed urgency, the near-interruption only heightening the intensity of the moment. You moan loudly, your body quaking as he drives into you with a relentless rhythm, each thrust sending you spiraling closer and closer to another orgasm.

The combination of the heat, the steam, the feel of Rafe fucking you so hard is too much, the almost getting caught. You feel yourself losing it, your entire body tightening as you reach the edge once again.

 "Come for me," He growls, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you are sure there will be bruises tomorrow. His words push you over, and you cry out as your orgasm tears through you, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure crashes over you in waves.

Rafe follows right behind you, his hips slamming into yours one last time as he comes, his body shuddering as he fills you to the brim with a low, guttural groan. 

For a long moment, neither of you move, both of you panting, your bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. The water continues to pour over you, washing away the evidence of your encounter as you slowly come down from the high. 

Finally, he pulls out, turning you around to face him as he cups your face in his hands, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss that’s so different to the rough, desperate way he just fucked you.

 "You’re a fucking idiot," you whisper against his lips, a small, breathless laugh escaping you. 

He chuckles softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he looked down at you with a mixture of affection and desire. "Yeah, but I’m your fucking idiot."

He was fighting every fucking player on that ice ring if it meant having you again.

[misaerabl]

Off The Ice

HOCKEY PLAYER ABBY X JOURNALIST READER 

MINORS and MEN DNI / Word count: 9.9k words 

SUMMARY: You were tasked with covering your university’s women’s hockey team, you see it as your chance to prove yourself worthy of becoming the next chief editor. Your main focus is Abby Anderson, the team’s star forward known for her cold, distant reputation. After observing her a few times, you’re surprised when she starts to warm up to you—unveiling a side of her no one else seems to see.

WARNINGS: scissoring, eating out, fingering (both a and r receiving and giving). I would say this is kind of a fluff with smut TT.

A/N: this is my early Christmas present tee hee.. I went on a bit of a whim writing this…  SMUT WITH PLOT or PLOT WITH SMUT WTV (please let me know if I miss any warnings!)

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The newsroom is buzzing with the usual chaos of deadlines and last-minute assignments. You’re sitting at your desk, scrolling through your laptop when your editor, Dina, stands by the door, holding a clipboard with the next round of assignments.

“Alright, people, we’ve got some big matches coming up,” she says, her eyes scanning the room. “I need someone to cover the women’s hockey team. We’ve got scouts coming to the next game, so make sure it’s more than just a game recap. I want a real story, got it?”

You glance up, the opportunity immediately catching your attention. The women’s team has been making waves lately, and Abby Anderson, the star forward, has been all anyone’s talking about. Known for her ruthless play and icy demeanor, she’s a force on the ice but practically a ghost off it. No one has really gotten the chance to uncover what makes her tick.

“I’ll do it,” you say, raising your hand before anyone else can speak up.

Dina looks at you, surprised. “You sure? It’s a tough one. A lot of pressure to get a unique angle.”

“I think I’ve got a good angle,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I want to write about the team, but also about her. There’s more to Abby than just her game stats.”

Dina raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Alright, you’ve got the job. But make it count.”

As she walks away, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. This could be your shot at making your mark—and maybe even getting that chief editor position. You grab your notebook, already mentally outlining your approach. The real challenge, though, won’t be writing the story—it’ll be getting past Abby’s walls.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

A few weeks later, you're sitting in the stands of the rink, notebook in hand, watching the women’s hockey team practice. The cold air cuts through the arena, but you're too focused on your task to notice.

Abby Anderson moves like a storm on the ice. Her swift, powerful strides cut through the rink with precision, her eyes locked on the puck, her focus unbreakable. She’s the kind of player who makes it look easy, but you know there’s more to it than that.

You’ve been attending practices for days now, trying to catch glimpses of Abby when she’s not in game mode. But so far, she’s kept her distance. She’s all business, all the time, barking orders at her teammates and keeping her interactions brief. If anyone speaks to her off the ice, it's either short and to the point or completely ignored. You’ve yet to get more than a few sentences out of her.

You jot down a few notes, trying to focus on the team’s dynamics, but your eyes keep drifting back to Abby. She's skating alone now, practicing shots at the net, her intense movements betraying any hint of vulnerability. You wonder if she ever lets anyone see that side of her—the one that's not all about hockey, about being the best.

“Hey.”

You jump, startled, and look up to find Abby standing next to the railing, her skates still on, but her posture relaxed. She looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Uh, hey,” you reply, quickly trying to gather yourself. "Just—just taking some notes. You know, for the article."

She nods, glancing at the rink before looking back at you. “How’s it going so far? Got a good story yet?”

You hesitate, unsure how much of the truth to reveal. “I’m still working on it. It’s hard to find the angle everyone’s expecting… but I think I’ll get there.”

Abby studies you for a moment, her face still as hard to read as always. “Just don’t make me sound like a robot on the ice. I know how that goes.” She smirks, her first real hint of a smile.

You can’t help but laugh, relieved. “I’ll do my best to capture the whole picture. Not just the stats.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Good. Keep it real.”

With that, she turns and heads back to the ice, leaving you standing there, heart racing slightly faster than usual. You watch her skate off, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t much, but it was more than you had before. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to get past her walls.

But you also know it’s just the beginning. There's more to Abby Anderson than the game, and you’re determined to find it.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

A few days later, you’re standing in front of Abby’s dorm, the familiar nerves creeping in. The article deadline is approaching fast, and you’re still struggling to break past Abby’s walls. But today is different. After days of awkward exchanges and hesitant small talk after practice, you finally managed to convince her to sit down for a real interview.

You took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and heard the faint shuffle of movement from inside. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Abby in a casual hoodie and sweatpants, her hair pulled back in her signature braid. The intense, icy exterior you were used to wasn’t there—she looked... normal, like a regular college student.

"Hey," she said, offering a small, almost reluctant smile. "Come on in."

You stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the room instantly contrast with the chilly vibe Abby often projected. The space was clean but a bit cluttered, with hockey gear tossed on one side and textbooks scattered on her desk. It felt strangely intimate like you were seeing a side of Abby no one else ever had access to.

"Sorry about the mess," Abby muttered, gesturing to the pile of equipment. "I’m usually just too tired after practice to clean."

"No worries," you said, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. "Thanks for agreeing to this. I know you’re not exactly a fan of interviews."

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, instead grabbing two water bottles from a shelf and tossing one to you. "Let’s just get this over with," she said, her tone a little more playful than usual. It was as if the pressure from earlier had eased just a bit.

You smiled, grateful for her willingness. "I won’t take too much of your time. Just a few questions about... well, everything. Hockey, life. What it’s really like being Abby Anderson, off the ice."

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms as she considered your question. "What it's really like..." she echoed, her gaze briefly flicking to the window as if pondering the words. "You make it sound like I'm some mystery."

"Maybe you are," you said, more candidly than you expected. "No one really knows you beyond the ice. You're always the tough player who doesn't talk to anyone off the rink." 

Abby’s gaze softened at your words, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she fiddled with the water bottle in her hands, turning it absently as she seemed to think about what to say. There was a quiet tension in the air, one that neither of you had expected when you first agreed to sit down.

"Yeah, I guess I come off like that, huh?" Abby finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice had a quiet edge to it, almost as if she was admitting something she hadn’t said out loud before. "I don’t really know how to be any different. It’s easier this way."

You felt a shift in the atmosphere, like she was allowing herself to be more open than she ever had before. The moment was subtle, but you couldn’t ignore it.

"I get that," you said softly, leaning forward. "But you’re more than just a hockey player, Abby. I mean, you’ve got layers—there’s got to be more to you than what we see on the ice."

Abby’s eyes met yours then, the intensity of her gaze making your heart skip a beat. For a brief second, you thought she might brush you off again, but instead, she looked almost… vulnerable.

"You think so?" she asked, her voice quieter now, as though she was testing you, seeing if you’d take her seriously.

You nodded, feeling a sense of connection you hadn’t expected to feel. "Yeah, I do."

A moment of silence stretched between you, and you could feel the energy in the room shift. The playful banter had evaporated, replaced by something deeper, more intense. Abby’s eyes lingered on yours, her lips pressing together as if fighting back something unspoken. You weren’t sure what was happening, but it was as if the ice around her was finally starting to melt, and in the stillness of her dorm, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

"I don’t usually do this," Abby said, her voice a little breathless. "Let people in, I mean."

The admission hung in the air, and you realized how rare this moment was for her. It was raw, real, and far from the icy persona she’d shown everyone else. There was no game face now, no walls.

"You don’t have to let anyone in," you replied, your voice lower now, almost without thinking. "But I’m not like everyone else, Abby."

She took a step closer, her eyes searching yours for a moment. Then, without another word, Abby’s hand reached out, brushing against yours—light at first, like she was testing the waters. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart raced as the proximity between you grew more charged, more electric.

"Are you sure about that?" she whispered, her voice shaky, unsure, but her eyes steady as she closed the space between you.

Before you could respond, Abby leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft but insistent. You could feel the toned, muscular strength in her arms as she held you, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The warmth of her body radiated against yours, the firmness of her form pressing gently but surely as her fingers slid into your hair. It was as if her whole presence surrounded you—strong, sure, yet still carrying a touch of hesitation.

The kiss deepened as Abby caressed your hair gently, her fingers threading through it with a tenderness that belied her fierce persona on the ice. It was a contrast—the hard, determined athlete and the softness of the way she touched you. The moment felt like a contradiction, one that both of you were willing to embrace.

When she finally pulled away, her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. She looked at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parted as if she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Her hand remained in your hair, fingers still grazing your scalp.

Abby’s hand lingered in your hair, her touch soft but steady, as though she needed a moment to ground herself. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, eyes still locked on yours, as if searching for something—answers, maybe, or reassurance that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

"That was..." Abby’s voice trailed off, her lips curling into a small, uncertain smile. "I didn’t think you’d be... like that."

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the kiss. "Like what?"

Abby shrugged, a little bashful for the first time since you met her. "I don’t know. I guess I just figured you’d be... different."

"Different how?" you asked, your voice quieter now, but there was a playful edge to it.

"Like... not so—" She gestured vaguely between the two of you, looking for the right words. "I don’t know. You’re not what I expected."

It was your turn to feel a little bashful. You didn’t know what to make of this sudden shift in dynamics, but there was something about Abby’s vulnerability, her uncertainty, that made you feel like maybe this—whatever this was—wasn’t just some random kiss. It felt more like a beginning.

"Maybe I’m not," you replied softly. "Maybe we’re both surprising each other."

Abby’s eyes softened at that, and she gave a slow nod. She seemed to be processing everything in silence, unsure of how to label the moment. She was still the tough, intense player on the ice, but the cracks in that persona were becoming more apparent now.

"Don’t go thinking this means I’m some open book now," Abby warned with a smirk, though there was no real bite to it. "I’m still the same Abby Anderson."

You laughed lightly, the tension easing between you two. "I never thought you were an open book."

"Good," Abby replied, her smile returning, warmer than before. She finally pulled her hand from your hair, though she kept her gaze locked on you, her lips still lingering with a hint of the kiss you’d just shared. "But maybe... just maybe... we can see where this goes."

You nodded slowly, your heart still racing, but your chest felt lighter, freer as if a new chapter was just beginning to unfold. "I’m willing to find out."

The quiet between you lingered, the air between you charged with something unspoken. Abby’s eyes softened, and for the first time, she didn’t seem like the intimidating hockey player. She was just Abby, standing in front of you, her vulnerability laid bare.

"Maybe we don’t need to talk about the article anymore," she murmured, her voice low, almost like she was thinking out loud. "Maybe we can just... be here for a bit."

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could respond, Abby was standing up, closing the space between you. The shift in her demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. She was no longer the distant athlete; she was someone who wanted more than just the interview.

"You make it hard to stay guarded," she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath warm against your skin. Her hands slid to your waist, gently pulling you closer. Her body was strong, and solid, but there was a softness in the way she touched you, a tenderness you hadn’t expected.

You swallowed, your pulse racing as you met her eyes. "Abby..." You couldn’t find the right words, but you didn’t need to. The air between you both was thick with the weight of what was about to happen.

Abby’s lips found yours again, more urgent this time, less like a question and more like an answer. She kissed you deeply, her hands threading into your hair as she pulled you closer, her body pressing against yours with a heat that made everything else fade away. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as though she was savoring the moment. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you tight, like she was afraid to let you go as if the distance between you both had only made her want you more.

You melted into her embrace, your hands finding their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as if you could close the gap that had always been there between you. She groaned softly, the sound low in her throat, sending a thrill through you.

When the kiss finally broke, Abby’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. Her hands gently cupped your face, her thumbs brushing across your cheeks as if memorizing the feel of you.

"I’ve been wanting this," she admitted, her voice hushed. "More than I thought I would."

You smiled, still feeling the rush of the moment. "Yeah," you whispered back. "Me too."

Abby’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. "This doesn’t change anything, right?" she asked, her voice a little uncertain. 

You gently cupped her face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of her jaw as if to reassure her. "No," you said softly. "But maybe we can figure out what comes next..."

Her lips curled into a smile, and for the first time, it wasn’t guarded. It was real, and it was for you. "Yeah," she whispered, closing the distance again, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of something neither of you was ready to define just yet, but both of you were willing to explore.

And as the kiss deepened, you realized that no matter what happened after this, you had stepped past the barrier that had once kept you both apart. Whatever came next, it was something neither of you were willing to walk away from…

She pushes you down on the couch, her body hovering above you. She stares deeply into your eyes as if she was asking for permission. You nod in response. 

Abby buries her face in your neck, kissing and nipping it, making you moan in response 

Abby's touch is confident and assertive, her hands roaming your body with an intensity that mirrors her personality on the ice. She knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to take it. Her fingers trace patterns on your skin, igniting sparks wherever they touch.

Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingertips trailing along your sides, feeling the soft skin beneath. You gasped at the touch, your hips bucking slightly. Abby took advantage of this, her hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as she deepened the kiss.

She broke away from your lips, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered, "Can I... can we...?" She nuzzled her nose against your jaw, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "Can I take this off?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, and she reached for the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up and over your head.

As your shirt hit the floor, Abby's eyes roamed over your bare chest, taking in every detail. She reached out, tracing a finger over your collarbone, down your sternum, and across your abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

Her touch was light, reverent, as if she was worshipping your body. She looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire, and leaned down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your chest.

You hissed in a breath at the warmth of her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair. She continued to place kisses all over your chest, her hands roaming over your curves. She paused at the waistband of your skirt, looking up at you for confirmation.

Seeing your nod, she hooked her fingers under the hem, pulling it up and off. She took a moment to appreciate what was revealed - your smooth legs, the curve of your hips, the lacy underwear that matched your bra.

Abby's hands slid up your legs, her touch leaving a path of tingling heat. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, her eyes locked with yours. "Can I...?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper, full of need and uncertainty.

“Go ahead abby…” 

With a nod and a shy smile, Abby slowly slid your underwear off, tossing it aside. She paused, her eyes taking in every inch of you, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

She heard you suck in a breath above her, and she looked up at you with a mischievous grin. Slowly, she leaned in, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place as she pressed her mouth to you, her tongue parting your folds.

She started slowly, exploring you, learning what you liked. Your moans filled the room, encouraging her. She slipped a finger inside you, her mouth continuing its administration. You let out a low moan, your hands fisting the couch cushion as you tried to keep yourself grounded.

She added another finger, stretching you, preparing you. Your moans grew louder, your hips moving in rhythm with her actions. Abby looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears at your beauty. She withdrew her fingers and climbed up your body, claiming your mouth in a passionate kiss.

You could taste yourself on her, the evidence of her ministrations. You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around her waist, pulling her closer. "Abby..." you whispered, your voice shaky,

"Mmm?" She murmured against your lips, grinding against you. She was still fully clothed, her pants rough against your bare skin.

"You're still dressed..." You panted, your hands reaching for the hem of her shirt. She grinned and sat up, pulling her shirt off in a swift motion. She reached behind her back, unhooking her bra and tossing it aside.

Her breasts bounced free, and you reached up to grasp them, squeezing and kneading them in your hands. Abby let out a pleased moan, her hands reaching for the button of her pants. She popped it open and slid the zipper down, shoving her pants and underwear down her legs.

Now Abby was completely naked, sitting astride you. You looked at her, taking in her toned stomach, her full breasts, the curve of her hips, her muscular thighs. She saw the awe in your eyes, and it made her feel powerful.

With a predatory grin, Abby lowered herself onto you. She wrapped her legs around yours, crossing her ankles behind your knees. She slowly rocked against you, her wetness rubbing against yours. You gasped at the new sensation, your hands gripping her thighs as she continued to move against you.

She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against yours as she captured your mouth in a deep kiss. She sped up her pace, her breath coming in short pants against your lips. She reached one hand down between them, her fingers finding that bundle of nerves and rubbing in time with her movements.

You cried out into the kiss, your hips bucking up to meet hers. The sensation of her rubbing against you, combined with her fingers on your clit, was too much. You felt your orgasm building, your vision blurring as Abby continued to grind against you.

"Abby... Ab... I'm... I'm..." You stuttered, your words cut off by a moan as she quickened her pace. She felt you convulse against her, your hands clutching at her back, your face buried in her neck.

She smiled to herself, pleased with the effect she was having on you. She kept scissoring against you, her own orgasm building. "Look at you," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're so… perfect.”

As she spoke, she felt her own climax approaching. She increased the pressure between her legs, rubbing herself against you with frantic intensity. With a loud cry, she came, her hips jerking against yours as her orgasm overtook her.

She collapsed on top of you, her breath hot against your neck. You ran your fingers up and down her back, feeling the dampness of her sweat. "Abby... that was..." you started, but words failed you. She just chuckled and nuzzled your neck. "I know,”

She stayed on top of you, her arms wrapped around you in a loose hug. Her fingers traced patterns on your stomach as she nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent. "Can we just…”

"...Stay like this for a while?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She nuzzled your neck again, her body pressing closer against yours. She felt content, happier than she had in a long time. She felt a connection with you, a bond forged in the heat of passion.

You nodded, not wanting to break the moment. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as you both lay there in silence. The only sound was the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and the soft rustling of the sheets.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The next day came faster than you expected. You’d barely gotten any sleep, your mind constantly replaying everything that had happened after. But as you sat in the café near the university, waiting for Abby, your heart settled into something more focused. Today wasn’t about the sparks from the night before. Today was about the interview.

The café was quiet, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in the hum of conversation and the clink of cups and saucers. It was cozy, with warm light spilling from overhead lamps, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You had a lot on your mind, not just about Abby, but about the article and what this interview could mean for your future with the paper. If you did this right, if you got Abby to open up like she never had before, you might be able to prove yourself worthy of the next chief editor position.

A few moments later, the door to the café opened, and there she was.

Abby stepped inside, her usual confidence radiating from her as she scanned the room, her eyes locking onto you instantly. She was dressed casually—athletic but comfortable—and yet she carried herself with the same quiet intensity that made her a standout on the ice. Her gaze softened when she saw you, and the familiar spark of something more was there again, just beneath the surface.

She walked over to the table, giving you a small but genuine smile. "Hey," she greeted, taking a seat across from you. "You doing okay?"

You nodded, trying to steady yourself. "Yeah. Just a little nervous."

"Don't be," she said, her voice reassuring. "It’s just coffee, right?"

"Yeah. Just coffee," you echoed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "But you know... a little more than that, too. A real interview."

Abby chuckled, glancing around the café. "Right, well, let's make it count then."

You both ordered your drinks and for a moment, there was an easy silence between you. The pressure of the moment, of what had passed between you both, seemed to be melting away, replaced by something more comfortable, natural.

Finally, you picked up your notebook and pen, getting down to business. "Alright," you began, your voice steady but a little softer than usual. "Let’s start with hockey. You’ve been the team’s top scorer for a while now. How does it feel to be in the spotlight like that?"

Abby leaned back in her chair, her eyes focused on you. "It’s... a lot of pressure. But it’s part of the job. Being in the spotlight is something you just get used to. Especially when your team depends on you."

There was a confidence in her tone, but also something more—something that suggested the weight of being the best wasn’t always as easy as it seemed. You could sense the layers beneath her tough exterior, and you knew this was where the real interview would begin.

You pushed forward, asking more questions, and letting the conversation flow. As you spoke, Abby opened up more than you expected, revealing not just her thoughts on hockey, but glimpses of who she was outside the rink. She was driven, and focused, but there was a vulnerability to her that only seemed to surface when she talked about her team, her passions, and the sacrifices she’d made to get where she was.

The interview wasn’t just about facts anymore—it was about connection. And for a moment, you forgot about the article entirely.

After a while, Abby leaned forward, her eyes locking with yours, and you could feel the shift again. There was a quiet tension hanging between you both as if the world outside the café had faded away, and only the two of you existed in this small, intimate moment.

"You know," Abby said softly, her voice almost playful now, "you asked a lot of questions, but you haven’t told me anything about you. What made you want to write about me? About hockey?"

You blinked, taken off guard by her question. You hadn’t expected her to turn the tables. "I... guess I thought you were an interesting story. I mean, you’re kind of a mystery to everyone. The tough hockey player. The star who doesn’t talk to anyone off the ice."

Abby’s smile was small, but it felt meaningful. "I’m not really a mystery. Just... focused. You get that, right?"

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. "Yeah, I get it."

For a long moment, you both just sat there, the sound of the café filling the silence between you. The interview was far from over, but something had changed. It wasn’t just about the article anymore. It was about something else—something you both hadn’t been ready to acknowledge yet, but it was there, lingering in the air between you.

"You know," you said after a beat, "I think this might be one of the best interviews I’ve done."

Abby’s gaze softened. "Glad I could make it interesting," she said, her voice quiet but warm.

And as you sat there, talking about everything and nothing, you realized that what had started as a simple interview had turned into something else entirely. A new chapter, one you weren’t sure how to write, but were willing to explore.

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

The final game of the season was just days away, and the energy around campus was electric. You could feel the anticipation building with every passing hour. The women’s hockey team had worked tirelessly all season, and now, the championship was within reach. For Abby and the rest of the team, it was the culmination of all their hard work. For you, it was the final stretch to prove you could handle the pressure of being the next chief editor of the school paper.

You’d passed the draft of your interview to Dina, the current editor-in-chief, and she had loved it. The words flowed smoothly, and she could sense the connection between you and Abby without you having to spell it out. That feedback had given you the confidence to continue pushing forward, not just for the article, but for everything you had on the line.

But the days leading up to the final game felt like a whirlwind. You and Abby were both consumed with your responsibilities—her with the team’s last-minute practices and preparation, you with your final edits and deadlines. It wasn’t the ideal time for the two of you to reconnect, but you knew that after the game, everything would settle, and maybe you could find out what this—whatever it was—meant.

You found yourself in the quiet corner of the student lounge, typing away on your laptop, trying to finish your article before the big game. Your mind kept wandering back to Abby, though—how her smile lingered after the interview, how she’d looked at you across the café that day, like there was something more she wanted to say but couldn’t.

You hadn’t had time to talk since that day, and now, with the pressure mounting on both sides, you weren’t sure when you’d get the chance to sit down with her again.

The door to the lounge opened, and you didn’t look up right away, assuming it was just another student coming in for a late-night study session. But then, a familiar voice broke through your concentration.

"Hey, you."

You froze, the sound of Abby’s voice sending a familiar rush through your chest. When you looked up, you found her standing there, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, her long hair tied back in a messy bun. She looked exhausted, but there was a spark in her eyes.

"Abby?" you asked, surprised but a little relieved to see her. You hadn’t expected her to stop by.

"Yeah," she said with a small grin, taking a step closer. "I, uh, figured we should talk before the big day. We’ve both been too busy, haven’t we?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. "Yeah, it’s been crazy. I’ve barely had time to breathe with everything going on."

"I get that," she said, her eyes softening. "But I wanted to check in with you. How’s the article coming along? You’re going to be on top of the world when they publish it, you know that, right?"

A warmth spread through you at her words. "It’s... going well," you said, trying to hide the excitement in your voice. "I think Dina liked the draft. She said it’s one of the best interviews she’s read in a while."

Abby raised an eyebrow, a proud smile tugging at her lips. "I’m glad to hear that." She leaned against the table, her tone turning more playful. "But you better not make me look too good. I don’t want to get all cocky before the game."

You laughed softly, the familiar spark between you two returning. "I think I can keep it balanced."

Abby’s smile faded just slightly as she looked at you more seriously. "Listen, about... what happened before. I know we’ve both been busy, but I just wanted to say... I don’t regret it. Us, I mean." She paused, her gaze softening. "I guess I’m just trying to figure out what this all means, but I don’t want to run from it, either."

Your heart skipped a beat, the tension in the air thick with unspoken words. "Me neither," you said quietly. "I don’t know what this is, but I’m willing to see where it goes. After the game, maybe we can talk more."

Abby nodded, a small, genuine smile returning to her face. "Yeah. We’ll figure it out." She glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at you. "I should go, get some rest. Big game tomorrow, right?"

You nodded, feeling that familiar pang of disappointment that she had to leave so soon. "Yeah. Good luck, Abby."

She paused at the door, turning back to face you. "Thanks. And... I’ll see you there," she said with a wink before she disappeared into the night.

As you sat back in your chair, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything—despite the pressure of the article, the looming championship game, and the uncertainty about what you and Abby were becoming—you couldn’t deny the excitement buzzing in your chest. Tomorrow was the big day, and whatever came after, you knew you’d both be ready.

The final game had arrived, and the energy around campus was palpable. The buzz in the air was electric, with every student and faculty member talking about the championship match. You could feel the weight of the moment—this wasn’t just any game. For Abby and the team, it was the culmination of months of grueling practice, sacrifices, and determination. And for you, it was the finish line for your article—and maybe something more.

You had finalized your piece, and after getting Dina’s approval earlier that morning, there was nothing left to do but wait for the game to unfold. But as you stood at the rink, the sense of anticipation made it hard to focus on anything else. You watched as the team prepared, Abby at the forefront, looking every bit the fierce competitor you had come to admire.

Her movements were fluid, and powerful, slicing through the ice like she owned it. You found yourself drawn to her, to the way she held herself—confidence in every stride, but you could also sense something else, something beneath the surface. And though you tried to concentrate on taking notes for the article, every so often, you’d glance at her, catching her eye.

You were almost caught up in the rhythm of the game when the buzzer sounded, signaling the start. The intensity was immediate, the tension tangible in the arena. The crowd’s roars filled your ears, the game beginning in a blur of motion. You scribbled down observations, the action on the ice more chaotic than you had anticipated. It was difficult to focus on anything other than the game itself. Every move felt crucial, and Abby was right in the middle of it all, controlling the pace with every turn.

But it wasn’t just the game that had your attention. It was the way Abby played—how she seemed to be everywhere at once, her energy contagious, urging her teammates forward. She was the center of it all, and you couldn’t help but admire how she took charge, and how her presence seemed to push the team toward victory. She was sharp, a calculated force on the ice.

And then it happened.

Abby made an interception, gliding effortlessly past the defense. At that moment, time seemed to stretch out, the entire arena holding its breath as she lined up for a shot. Her eyes focused, and in one smooth motion, the puck flew off her stick and toward the net. The sound of the puck hitting the post rang out, but Abby wasn’t done. She was already there, crashing the net, securing the rebound, and slamming it in. The crowd erupted.

Your heart raced, the realization dawning on you that her goal had put them ahead—and it was the winning goal.

The game continued, but the tide had turned. With seconds on the clock, the buzzer sounded, and Abby’s team celebrated their victory. You stood in the middle of the crowd, still processing the intensity of it all. Abby had led them to victory, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for her.

You waited near the locker room, hoping to catch Abby after the game. You hadn’t been able to keep up with the excitement of the game completely, but you had seen enough to know this was her moment. The sound of the locker room doors opening echoed in your ears, and you spotted her almost immediately.

Abby stood out from the others, her usual focused demeanor softened by the thrill of the win. She was still in her gear, her face flushed from the game, but there was a lightness about her that hadn’t been there before.

"That was incredible," you said, your words a little breathless from the adrenaline of the game still coursing through you.

She looked at you, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It was a team effort," she replied, but you could see the pride in her eyes. "Still, I’m glad you were here to see it."

You smiled, taking a step closer. "You’ve earned it," you said quietly, meeting her gaze, trying to find the right words. "I’m proud of you."

Abby’s expression softened, her usual confident exterior cracking just a little. She leaned in slightly as if weighing her words carefully. "Thanks," she said, voice lower than before. There was a moment of silence between you two, the noise of the locker room buzzing faintly in the background.

For a second, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. Abby’s eyes never left yours, a quiet understanding passing between you. There was no need for words, not now. The game, the season, the article—it all seemed to fade as you stood there, caught between the rush of the moment and the realization that this wasn’t just about hockey anymore.

As the team continued their celebration around you, Abby’s hand brushed against yours, a subtle connection that sent a jolt through you. She gave you a small nod before walking toward the rest of her team, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing from the game—and from everything that was unfolding between you and her.

⋆.˚🦋༘⋆ 

he newsroom was alive with a flurry of activity, papers scattered everywhere as the final touches were being put on the issue. The clock ticked toward 8 PM, and you were sitting at your desk, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The article was done. Your piece on Abby, her journey to the championship, and the thrilling game had come together perfectly. The highlight of the issue, the one everyone was talking about. It felt like the culmination of everything—your hard work, your ambition, and the connection you had built with Abby.

As the editors rushed past, congratulating you on how well the article turned out, you couldn't help but smile. A few of them had asked you how you’d managed to make Abby open up, some even teasing you about her sudden warmth toward you. "Did you sweet-talk her?" one of the writers joked. "She’s been ice-cold with everyone else!" You just shrugged, your mind drifting to her last words to you after the game. "Just doing my job."

But as the energy in the newsroom built to a crescendo, Dina appeared in front of you, leaning in with a grin. "I think you just earned the spot as the next editor in chief," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the buzz of the room.

Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked, not sure if you’d heard her right. "Wait, what?" you asked, feeling a flush of disbelief and excitement rise in your chest.

Dina chuckled softly. "You’ve earned it. You’ve got the article everyone’s been talking about, and you’ve proven you’ve got the skills. I’m officially putting your name in for the position." Her eyes twinkled with approval as she walked off, leaving you stunned, your breath caught in your throat. This was it. This was everything you’d worked for.

As the evening wore on, the final issue of the paper was ready to go to print, and it was only a matter of time before it would be released at midnight. You stayed in the newsroom, helping with last-minute preparations, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Abby. What she’d said, what she meant to you now, and how the chemistry between you had grown in such a short time.

In the midst of the excitement, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. The message on your screen made your heart race.

Abby 🏒: Hey, where are you? 

Abby 🏒: I’m still at the party btw

Abby 🏒: I want to see you.

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips as you typed your response, the warmth from her text a stark contrast to the cool air in the newsroom.

You: I’m at the paper, finishing things up. I’ll be there soon❤️

You felt a little giddy, your heart racing with anticipation. After everything, the article, the win, the promotion—it felt like the perfect moment to see her again, to see where everything between you would go.

As the clock ticked toward midnight, you closed your laptop, the rush of excitement bubbling up inside you. The paper would be published, and your future as editor-in-chief seemed all but certain. But as you left the newsroom, your mind was on Abby—and the night ahead.

As you turned the corner, the soft hum of the campus night air accompanied your steps. The excitement of the newsroom buzzed in your veins, but everything seemed to quiet when you saw her waiting for you.

Abby was leaning casually against the wall, a small smile tugging at her lips as she waited, the blue jersey she wore a bold contrast against the dimly lit hallway. It was the same one her teammates all wore, emblazoned with your university’s logo—proud and unmistakable. But even in something as simple as a jersey, there was still that undeniable pull to her presence.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you walked toward her. "You didn’t have to wait for me," you teased softly, though you were secretly glad she had.

Abby pushed off from the wall, stepping closer. "I wanted to. Besides, I promised I’d see you tonight, didn’t I?" Her voice was playful, but there was something softer in her gaze, something more sincere.

You nodded, the air between you light and easy, but still charged with that undercurrent of something more. "You did," you agreed. "And, uh, I actually have something to show you." You pulled out your phone, tapping through the screens until you found the article you’d written.

Abby raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the screen. "No way," she said, her lips curling up slightly. "You actually made me sound like a good person."

You laughed, but there was a warmth spreading in your chest. "I didn’t just make you sound like a good person, I made you sound amazing." You swiped down, showing her the headline: "Abby Anderson: The Heart of the Winning Team." The words felt just as true as when you’d written them.

She studied the screen for a moment, her fingers brushing lightly against the phone. "I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to get me to open up like this," she said, her voice quiet, almost thoughtful. "But you did. So, thanks."

Your heart raced at her words. The sincerity in her voice made everything feel more real, like something was shifting between you two.

Abby looked at you, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual, before the silence stretched. The sounds of the party down the hall faded in the background, the moment between you two feeling more significant than any celebration.

"You wanna head back to the party?" you asked, breaking the silence, though neither of you moved immediately

She shook her head, her  hand brushed against yours. She paused, her fingers lingering against your wrist, a soft smile on her lips.

"I think," she started, her voice low and steady, "I’d rather be alone with you right now."

Your heart skipped a beat, her words making everything feel just a little more intimate. The noise from the party down the hall seemed to fade away, the energy shifting in an instant.

"You sure?" you asked, your voice a little quieter now, as the anticipation between you two hung thick in the air.

Abby nodded, her eyes meeting yours, full of something unspoken. "Yeah. I’d rather spend some time with you... just us."

She gave your hand a gentle squeeze before she led you away from the noise, down the hallway, and toward her dorm room. The walk felt longer than it was, but it gave you time to let the anticipation build. Abby’s steps were confident, but there was a softness in the way she held your hand, something that made your chest flutter.

When you reached her dorm, Abby opened the door, stepping aside to let you in. The room was cozy, nothing extravagant, you took in the familiar feeling. It felt like a place where she could truly be herself. The familiar blue jersey she wore still clung to her frame, a symbol of her strength on the ice. But now, in the quiet of the room, she seemed different—less guarded, more present.

She tossed herself on her bed and pulled you in with her, planting kisses on you. 

The sudden pull caught you off guard, and you laughed softly as you fell beside her. Abby's arms wrapped around you, her strength both reassuring and gentle. Her kisses were warm, pressing against your skin with an intensity that made everything else fade away. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of the sheets and the sound of your breathing.

Abby paused, her forehead resting against yours as she caught her breath, eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You met her gaze, a smile curving your lips as you traced the line of her jaw with your fingers, feeling the tension melt away under your touch.

“You okay?” she whispered, her voice husky and low, a tender contrast to the fierce athlete everyone else knew.

You nodded, your fingers threading through her hair. “More than okay,” you murmured, pressing your lips to hers again. The kiss deepened, slow and steady, as if both of you were savoring the rare moment of peace away from the chaos of the rink and the noise of the world outside.

Abby shifted, pulling you even closer, her embrace tightening around you as if she wanted to make sure this moment stayed real. The scent of her, the warmth radiating from her body, made your heart race. 

You sit up and move on top of her, her gaze softening as you did. “I think… you deserve a reward for your excellent performance at the game. don’t you think?” 

Abby’s eyes widened slightly at your words, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She let out a breathy laugh, her hands finding their place on your hips as she looked up at you, a mix of amusement and anticipation in her gaze.

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow, her voice teasing. “Is that so?”

You leaned down, your lips barely brushing hers as you whispered, “Absolutely.” The playful tone sent a shiver through her, and you felt her fingers tighten their hold, drawing you closer.

Abby’s gaze softened, the fierce determination she carried on the ice replaced by an openness that was reserved for moments like this—moments just between the two of you. The space between you seemed to shrink as she tilted her head to meet your lips again, her kiss more insistent, filled with a new kind of energy that made your pulse quicken.

She sighed against your mouth, the sound sending warmth rushing through you. Her hands traveled up your back, pulling you down until there was barely any distance left. The room, once filled with quiet, seemed to pulse with the shared heartbeat between you.

“Best reward ever,” Abby whispered, a grin breaking through before she kissed you again, deeper this time as if she couldn’t get enough.

Pulling away from the kiss, you start to unbutton your shirt, watching her gaze on you. 

She bit her lip, her eyes never leaving yours as you began to unbutton your shirt. She felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached up, helping you remove the shirt, her fingers brushing against your skin. "You're so…”

"...beautiful," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of your collarbone, feeling the warmth of your skin. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the spot she had just touched, before moving on to kiss the sensitive skin just below your jaw.

She trailed her kisses down your neck, her lips lingering on your pulse point. She could feel your heartbeat fluttering beneath her mouth, quickening with each touch. "I want you," she murmured against your skin, her hands sliding down to rest on your hips.

She chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as she pulled back slightly. "You're right, I got a little carried away," she said with a playful grin. She settled back, watching you with hooded eyes, her hands resting on your thighs.“Ah! Not so fast Abigail. I’m the one who’s giving you this reward remember?”

You help her remove her jersey, and then the shirt she was wearing underneath. You trail down to her pants. As you began to unzip her pants, she lifted her hips, allowing you to slide them down along with her underwear. She lay before you, her body bare and exposed, her chest heaving with anticipation. Her eyes, filled with desire, followed your every movement as you leaned down.

She let out a soft gasp as you kissed her stomach, your lips trailing down to her hips. She wrapped her arms around your head, holding you close as you continued your path of kisses. When you reached her inner thigh, she spread her legs wider, giving you access to her most intimate area.

She moaned softly as you kissed her, the sensation overwhelming. Her hips buckled against your touch, her breathing growing heavier with each passing moment. She tangled her hands in your hair, pulling you closer as the pleasure intensified. "Please...please..." she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

She arched her back, her breath hitching as you continued to tease her with your mouth. Her legs tightened around your shoulders, her whole body tensing as the pressure built inside her. "Don't stop...please, don't stop..." she pleaded, her voice hoarse with desire.

Her eyes flew open, her mouth forming a silent 'O’ as you pushed two fingers inside her. She writhed beneath your touch, her hips bucking against your hand. "Yes...like that...please..." she moaned, her voice growing louder as the pleasure became almost too much to bear.

“Hm? You like it baby?” You hissed. 

“Oh god, yes...” She panted, her body tensing as your fingers curved upwards, finding that sweet spot deep inside her. Her head fell back against the bed, her body trembling. "More...I need more..." She looked at you, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.”

You smiled, pleased with her reaction, and added a third finger, scissoring them inside her. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as the stretch and pressure became overwhelming. "Fuck...fuck fuck fuck!" She chanted, her voice echoing through the room as she struggled to breathe.

She could feel the heat building inside her, her body growing warmer and more sensitive with each passing second. Her hands grasped at the sheets beneath her, pulling them taut as the tension became unbearable. "I'm...I'm going to...please, please!" She begged, her eyes wide and desperate.

With a final thrust, you pushed your fingers deep inside her, crooking them upwards. She shattered, her body convulsing as waves of intense pleasure washed over her. She screamed your name, her voice hoarse from shouting, her body growing limp as the aftershocks subsided.

As she came down from her high, she pushed feebly at your shoulder, her body still shuddering occasionally. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice still ragged from her release. She pushed you onto your back, straddling you before you could protest.

You landed on your back with a surprised grunt, looking up at her with widened eyes. She grinned mischievously, her eyes filled with lust and determination. She slowly began to kiss her way down your chest, her hands caressing your skin.

She continued her descent, her lips leaving a trail of kisses on your skin. Without warning, she reached out and tore open your already unbuttoned shirt, the fabric ripping easily under her strength. She tossed the shirt aside and moved on to your pants, roughly pulling them down your legs along with your panties

Once she had you fully exposed, she took a moment to admire the view, her eyes hungrily roaming over your body. She licked her lips before leaning down, her hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "I'm going to make you feel so good,”

She whispered, her voice low and sultry. Before you could respond, she wrapped her hands around your thighs, pushing them apart. She leaned down and slowly, torturously, ran her tongue up your length.

She took her time exploring you with her tongue, licking and sucking at your most sensitive areas. Her hands massaged your thighs, occasionally dipping lower to tease your entrance. She worked you with skill and enthusiasm, determined to drive you wild with pleasure.

Abby sucked on your clit making you toss your head back and grip her hair. You could feel her smile. She stops for a second and slides in her fingers inside you

She curled her fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot as she continued to suck on your clit. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against her face desperately. She added another finger, scissoring them inside you as she finger-fucked you relentlessly.

She could feel you tightening around her fingers, knowing you were close. She doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she pumped her fingers faster. Her other hand reached up to roughly grope your breast, pinching and tugging at your nipple. She wanted to feel you come undone.

The combination of sensations became too much and you came with a loud moan, your body shaking and convulsing. Abby continued to stroke you through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure. She slowly withdrew her fingers and licked them clean, savoring your taste. "Mmm, you taste divine," she purred.

She crawled back up your body, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She leaned down to claim your lips in a searing kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on her. She ground her hips against yours, her own desire evident in the way she rocked against you. She was far from finished with you… 

She kisses your neck, trailing down until she reaches your breasts, sucking on your nipples. 

She lavished attention on your breasts, suckling and kneading the soft mounds. She bit down gently on one peak, causing you to gasp. She grinned mischievously and continued her torture, moving between the two and back again.

“Mhmm.. Abby… Shit”

She heard your muffled words, your voice hoarse with desire. She knew you were helpless under her touch. She bit down harder on your peak, relishing your cry of pleasure-pain. She moved her hand down to toy with your slick folds, mirroring the action of her mouth with her fingers. 

You bit your lip, staring at her. as if begging her to give it to you. You wanted her fingers inside your walls once again.

Abby looked up at you through her lashes, a smirk playing on her lips. She slowly slid one finger, then two inside you, loving how you bit your lip and watched her with eager eyes. "You like that, baby?”

“Fuck yes…” 

Abby pumped her fingers in and out of you, curling them upward to hit that spot deep inside. Her thumb rubbed circles on your swollen nub. "Look at me while I touch you," she demanded. Your eyes locked onto hers as your hips lifted to meet her touch, silently begging for more.

She added another finger, stretching you. She watched your face as she increased her pace, her fingers slamming in and out of you. Your breaths came in short pants, your moans filling the room. She leaned down to capture one of your moans with her mouth, kissing you deeply.

Your legs shook as she worked you expertly. She could feel you tightening around her fingers. "That's it, baby. Come for me," she encouraged, her voice low. You shattered, convulsing around her fingers as you found your release.

As your climax washed over you, Abby gentled her touch, helping you ride out the waves of pleasure. She slowly withdrew her fingers.

She gathered you in her arms, holding you close as your breathing gradually slowed.

She stroked your back soothingly, placing soft kisses on your shoulder. "You’re gorgeous," she murmured. She reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a warm, damp cloth, cleaning you up tenderly. 

She tossed the cloth aside and pulled you back into her arms. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly. She nuzzled your neck, her voice laced with concern. You snuggled against her, your voice sleepy. "Content," you murmured. "So taken care of…”

She smiled, her heart warming at your words. She tightened her arms around you, her voice gentle. "Good. You deserve to be taken care of." She kissed your shoulder, her touch becoming slower, more loving. "Rest now, baby. I've got you.”

Abby’s gaze softened as she watched you sleep, the subtle rise and fall of your chest lulling her into a sense of calm she rarely found anywhere else. The room was quiet, the only sounds being your soft breaths and the distant hum of the city outside.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle in—a mix of contentment and the unfamiliar ache of something deeper. Brushing her thumb across your cheek, she whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me,” her voice so low it was almost swallowed by the quiet.

As exhaustion finally pulled her eyes closed, Abby held you tighter, as if anchoring herself to this moment. The worries of games and expectations could wait; for now, all that mattered was the warmth shared between you and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating as one.

 ⋆.˚🦋༘⋆