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reignpage · 18 days ago

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Vice President!Sukuna

Hanssen: disasters all around

Word count: 5.4k Contents: cursing, violence, alcohol use, general dumbassery at parties, references to sexual assault/harassment, bts of Gojo's '4Justice' party, misuse of ChoCHo

“Why am I here?”

Sukuna inhales deeply, leaning against the dirty brick wall, one foot propped behind him, scuffing his trainers. Between his fingers, he holds a lit cigarette, dangling precariously as he bore a half-smirk, barely there, eyes smouldering when he meets the confused gaze of his cousin.

He scoffs. “Because you owe me a favour.”

The younger man grumbles a complaint but remains squatting on the floor, legs tired from standing for so long. Having been creeping around the side of some frat house for half an hour now, he’s grown restless. Refusing to explain further, Sukuna huffs silently at the pout his accomplice is sporting.

Suddenly, a click jolts the artist awake, eyes darting to the mastermind, who’s tense and jerking his head to signal it’s time to go. Unfolding himself, Choso mimics Sukuna’s position, directly behind a huge hedge, away from street view.

A silhouette steps out from a widening door, yawning loudly as it stretched.

“Fuck, it’s cold,” it yelped, burping loudly before walking away to get into its shitty car.

Sukuna watches the car splutter away, disappearing beyond the curve of the road, and makes his move. He rounds the hedge and climbs up the stairs to feel for the door handle.

Unlocked.

“Dumbass Theta Chis,” he mutters. They never lock their damn doors.

The night is still and both cousins’ shallow but even breaths are the only things that can be heard as they slink inside the house.

Aware that he could have simply paid off one of his family’s goons, Sukuna feels absolutely no regret when, as he switches the light on, he bumps into a vase. It shatters on the ground. Choso winces, feeling bad for said vase, but nonetheless walks in, hiking a duffel bag up; who is he to feel guilty about the destruction of property?

Empty as expected, they eye the place. Sukuna scowls in disgust over the pigsty they’ve walked into; empty beer bottles lay scattered all over the floor, chairs and tables askew, streamers limp over almost every surface, and yeah, in the corner that’s undeniably used condom. The soles of their shoes stick to the floor and neither of them want to make guesses on why that’s so.

Still, they look over at the one unsoiled spot in, likely, the entire house, standing side by side. Sukuna has a smirk, eyes glinting. His cousin on the other hand is wincing again, catching a glimpse of that deranged expression on the ringleader.

How did he let himself get caught up in his theatrics, again?

There, above the grand staircase —not quite as grand Alpha Phi Delta’s, well, most certainly not as grand — hangs an obnoxiously large portrait of the founding fathers of the fraternity.

It’s Theta Chi’s Holy Grail.

But tonight, it’s the cousins’ personal playground.

With a heavy sigh, the sleepy sidekick drops the duffel bag on the floor, the rattling of metal all too familiar to him, and he gets to work. As much as he loves art and creating art, being used by his stupid cousin who sports seniority by less than a year never feels great.

“Don’t rush, Choso,” an excited snarl pierces him, and he dares not look back, already exhausted of his antics, “I want this to be just perfect.”

………………………

At the centre of campus, the night is not so quiet.

Lights are beaming and flashing, blinding the moon itself. There’s a deep thumping rocking the ground and it vibrates through every pole, every cup and every person. The Quad is packed full of people from all years and all practices, with a solid chunk consisting of students from other universities, friends of friends. Anyone who is anyone is here tonight, but who they are doesn’t matter. Everyone moulds into heap of gyrating bodies, swaying and jumping to the beat.

Huge speakers line the perimeter, and drink stations have been practically robbed. Everyone has one thing on their minds tonight and that’s to get totally wasted.

Just a hair’s breadth away from the first blade of glass, there you stand. You’re breathing out, itching at a spot on your wrist subconsciously and it’s turning the skin there red.

Your thoughts are racing. You shouldn’t be here; you’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and it’s against the rules and the police could come and so many things could go wrong.,

But when was the last time you went to a party?

Not a charity event or an end of the academic year staff party, but a real party, drank cheap but strong alcohol, and danced to music with no lyrics.

When was the last you had even danced?

You scratch harder.

Most people are passing by you like you’re invisible, but one or two people would smile or wave, in a rush to get into the throngs of thoughtless pleasure. Maybe this was a bad idea — it’s unlikely you’d even enjoy this. You’ve always been a homebody, after all.

A flash of black catches your eye. A figure blanketed in woven darkness is standing around, clearly anxious about the noise, the mess, the consequences. She picks up a random red cup lying on the floor and throws it into a bin.

Is that the Treasurer?

Just as you’re about to take a step towards the girl, a voice reaches you, somehow clear despite the deafening noise of inscrutable music. You whip around and almost stumble at the sight of a person you’ve been trying not to think about the entire night.

He’s in a plain white shirt, jeans hanging low on his hips, flashing a Calvin Klein band, and hooked over his fingers is his varsity jacket strung over his shoulder. Head cocked to the side as he gives you a once over, whistling at the sight of your bare legs.

You suddenly feel cold in your skirt.

“Hey, prez,” he drawls, “been waiting for me?”

Your eye twitches. Then you turn away, facing the writhing mass of bodies surging with energy, fuelled by mixed concoctions and techno beats. You feel even more afraid.

This is definitely not your crowd.

“How was the press conference and everything else?” You don’t even know what you’re saying, just feeling a need to distract yourself with conversation. It’s easy to talk to Sukuna when you’re not looking at him. It hurts to look at him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a desire to wear that jacket he’s carrying. But you don’t want to ask.

He steps beside you, eyeing the crowd just as you are.

“Nothing special.”

You nod.

Sukuna throws you a side-glance, sensing your nerves, and he thinks it’s hilarious. There’s a chuckle rising from his chest, but he has enough tact to smother it. So, he settles for giving you an elbow nudge, rolling his eyes when you glares at him.

“You gonna stand there all night or you gonna do what you came here for?”

“I’m going home.”

He laughs.

He couldn’t help himself.

The sight of you stomping away is too damn comical to resist the urge to wrap his arm around your waist. Pulling you close, he presses you tight against his chest, and whispers right in your ear, “Don’t leave before I get to see this other side of you, prez.”

You try to wriggle yourself out of it, but he only tightens his hold. Too anxious to fight, shaking like a leaf, you accept it. That’s the reason you feel most satisfied with to justify clutching his forearm, unable to wrap around the thickness of it, and remaining in that position. Sukuna’s so warm, it’s as if winter’s never going to come.

“I’m pretty sure all the alcohol’s gone by now,” you mumble.

There are a few people staring and whispering at the both of you, but he pays no attention to the gossipers. Blinking, you realise you’re swaying. Or rather, he’s swaying you to an imperceptible music, a song only he hears. It’s slow, not at all like the rapid fire of beats that everyone else is feeling running through their bloodstream.

“I’ve got a hidden stash,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry, prez. You’re gonna have fun tonight, one way or another.”

The way he says that sounds like a threat, like he knows something you don’t, and that clears your head. You push off him and snatch his jacket in one go, like it’s yours and he had stolen it from you.

Sukuna doesn’t flinch, simply pockets one hand into his jean pocket, and runs the other through his hair. It looks slightly damp, and you have to gulp to push away the thoughts of him in the shower. His bicep flexes at the movement, shirt rising to reveal a flash of skin, and a trail of hair disappearing into his boxers.

That shouldn’t make your mouth water.

With a slight shake of your head, you adorn the jacket, feeling the material slide against your skin, still warm, absolutely burying you in the fabric. Why is it so big?

“Alright, follow me.”

He’s sauntering off, long legs taking him so far in a blink of an eye. You stumble after him, meandering along the other people jumping and hooting like they have no worries whatsoever.

Sukuna’s taken you to the Life Sciences building, a little further away from the heart of the party, but still feeling the weaker waves with the random people making out against walls, or girls crying into each other’s arm. In a lab room, he opens a locked cabinet with a key hidden under a textbook. Stocked are two bottles of vodka.

You don’t ask why it’s there or how many other stashes he has, though you know you really ought to so you can confiscate them. He places the bottles on the work bench devoid of beakers or test tubes, and without warning, grabs you, the unsuspecting victim, by the waist and lifts you up onto the surface.

Yelping, you smack his shoulder. He ignores that and just lifts himself up to sit beside you. So then, there you sit, legs pressed against each other, sharing a bottle of vodka. The liquid burns your throat, and you hate the smell of nail varnish. It’s like an estranged lover, familiar but it doesn’t know your name. The instant warmth it courses through your body is very much welcomed, however.

Minutes pass in relative silence, you both check your phones here and there and pass the bottle to each other. You try not to think about the fact that you're technically sharing an indirect kiss. That's childish.

“You know,” you begin, “I’m surprised you’re a party person.”

He lifts a brow at that.

It’s quiet here. Sure, you can still hear the distant rumbling of disco and craziness, but where you are, the loudest noise is the dull thrum of the radiators. And your heartbeat, but you hope he can’t hear that. You need him not to hear it.

You continue, “It’s just, I’m pretty sure you don’t like people.”

“Oh, yeah?” He fires back immediately. “You know me so well, prez?”

Shrugging, you take the bottle from him and gulp, “I know you better than you think.”

You’re aware of how vague and ominous that sounds but the alcohol’s making it really easy to not care. If karmic law exists, then you’d be allowed this —these little jabs at his true form whenever you can. You’ve earned it. You know that, so then why does every word leave a bitter taste in your mouth?

Sukuna rubs a hand across his jaw, tasting your words and mulling it over. The lab room is lit up only by one light, just hanging a couple metres away from you. It’s enough to see the flush climbing up your neck.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

You laugh at his petulant tone. It reminds you of the frustration babies face when a square brick doesn’t fit through the triangle hole, try as they may to force it through. Opening your mouth, you’re about to make a retort, but then suddenly, shouting breaks out in the hallway, and you flinch, hand flying to grab his bicep.

Bare skin touching bare skin, it’s a feeling of utter scandal, and like you’ve been burned, you let go just as soon as you grabbed on.

“Relax,” he stares at his phone screen, “just some frat guys fighting.”

Frowning, you ask, “What about?”

The smirk Sukuna has makes your heart clench.

Rolling his piercing between his teeth, he considers his words carefully before deciding on, “Someone’s defaced the portrait in Theta Chi.”

You gasp. “No way. One of the alums on the board went to Theta Chi. They’ll be so upset.” The paperwork will be crazy, is the only thought passing through your mind. There’s a sudden lightness to your head and it pushes a giggle out.

“Weren’t the people who egged my window from Theta Chi?”

Sukuna takes a swig of the vodka, regretting, for a moment, his failure to stash something stronger. Ignoring your question, he jumps down suddenly. You don’t want to wait for him extend a hand out, or worse, grab you anyways. So, you jump as well. With much less grace.

Stumbling, you fall into him, right in his chest, buried between hard muscles. He smells nice. Clean. He really did just take a shower before coming. And once again, you’re picturing him soaked and naked and steaming and —

That’s enough.

You aren’t drunk enough to indulge in thoughts like that.

“Trying to cop a feel, prez?” His voice is gruff despite the amusement lacing his words. “You should know I charge extra for that, although I’m willing to give you a discount.”

Pulling away, you flash him a finger, and he only smirks.

“Seriously, what happened to Theta Chi?” You frowned. “I need to know how pissed the alums will be.”

He glances down at you, a dry expression on his face. “Someone painted some shit about their hazing process. That’s what Gojo’s saying in the group chat, anyways.”

Humming, you wracked your brain for every detail you can recall about the fraternity.

“The previous president mentioned that in passing to me last year, when I was shadowing him. Something about this long tradition of stripping the freshers naked and making them run into the woods? But I thought that was just a rumour.”

The man shrugged, already bored of the conversation.

You glare at him.

“This doesn’t have something to do with our conversation, does it?” It can’t be. “When you said you’d send a message.”

Surely, your vice president would have enough sense to know that a ‘message’ is just a stern talking to, and definitely not whatever the hell is going on. It would be catastrophic if this is linked back to him, and you.

Sukuna’s already walking towards the door, more interested in the commotion than the way your brain is firing at a thousand miles per second, even whilst the vodka begins to fuzz up your clarity.

“Dunno why your first thought is me and not the extremely outspoken vandal we’ve got in our midst, prez.”

That makes sense, and it calms you a little, even if it’ll still be a headache to deal with. But you can’t shake off the feeling that, somehow, he knows more than he’s letting on.

Following Sukuna, you both peek at the hallway where a crowd is forming. There are a bunch of guys wrestling each other onto the ground with uncoordinated swings and kicks. People are egging them on and recording, dodging the violence when it gets too close.

And yeah, you’re so very sure the paperwork’s going to be insane. Especially as two members of the student council will be seen in the background of the dozens of videos being taken. The headache is already developing.

“You fucking dick! Admit you broke in and destroyed our fucking picture!” A guy in a tank top despite the chilly weather yells and you recognise him as a fellow law student. Travis or something. He’s always been nice, quiet, but seeing him now as he trips over his own feet, backwards hat flying off, you realise, maybe he was just too hungover to participate in class.

“I didn’t do shit!”

Another guy throws a punch, missing its target but succeeding in pushing his victim over, but the act also drags him down. Both fall together.

“You’re a fucking liar! You drew over my great-great grandfather’s face with Pac-man!”

Someone from the crowd hollers, “Who the fuck doesn’t love Pac-man?”

“You fucking strip the freshies, you freak, a Pac-man on your ugly grandad is the least you deserve, asshole!” Someone else from the crowd screams.

And they’re collapsing back down, people try to pull them off each other but only end up getting dragged in. It’s one huge uncoordinated Jenga tower crashing down. Sukuna tilts his head, mildly interested. They’re all too drunk to throw a proper swing, one that could do real damage, but if even just one person could slip and crack their head on the floor, that would be enough.

A member of the crowd gets knocked over in the kerfuffle, distracted by something on their phone and skids along the floor with a pig-like squeal. Acting on reflex, you jolt towards the stranger, arms reaching out to pick them back up, but Sukuna grabs the back collar of his varsity jacket, the way one holds a puppy by its scruff.

You’re dragged away, to the other direction, away from the mess of drunkards, too consumed by the alcohol to realise that this is going to hurt in the morning.

“You’re just any other college student,” he scolds once you’re in the clear, “you’re not the president of the student council tonight.”

A pout drags your bottom lip down and you clutch his arm to your chest, it takes Sukuna by surprise, suspicion painted all over his face like you’re strapping a bomb around him.

“But Sukuna,” you peer up at him, “you call me prez.”

He scoffs, a disbelieving amusement wracking his body. You’re trying to kill him. That must be it. There’s no way you’re this much of a lightweight, so much so that you’d quickly abandon your integrity, and go as far as to say his name like ’S’kuna’.

Your eyes have glazed over and there’s an inelegance to your movements, little clumsy jerks and goddamn it if it doesn’t make Sukuna’s chest do that weird thing it always did when he looks at you.

How repulsive.

There’s a part of him that hopes you’ll remember the utterly embarrassing position you’ve placed yourself in, but he also doesn’t want to deal with the avoiding eye-contact and ignoring him thing you do. It’s irritating as hell.

“You’re fucking dangerous when you’re drunk, Jesus,” he snorted.

That makes you giggle. You’ve still got his arm trapped, blanketing it with his own jacket, and it’s warm, warmer than the alcohol your body’s desperately trying to digest, the foreign liquid an enemy.

“Fucking finally!” Someone yells.

It’s Gojo.

He’s marching towards the both of you, hands flailing in anger.

Sukuna rolls his eyes before he pushes you slightly behind him. “What climbed up your ass?”

“Your Treasurer, that’s who!”

And with theatrical movements he reenacts the complaints he’s been hearing, about how she’s preaching safe sex to couples making out in the hallway, shouting at people to pick up their litter, and sending him a finger from down at the Quad to where he stood on a balcony.

The last part seems to upset him more than anything else.

“Why did you bring the freaking fun police?” He directs the question at you. He always assumes you’re the root of all his problems, and well, you won’t deny that. “She’s gonna ruin my rep as the best party-thrower!”

Gojo’s a huge pain in the ass and to see him so frazzled over a different member of the council makes you pleased. You jab a finger at his chest, giggling as you mocked, “Someone needs to arrest you for being so stupid.”

When you hiccup, Gojo looks at you, horrified. His eyes dart comically between you and Sukuna like you’re pranking him, like he’s missing a big joke, instead of making it, for once. Seeing Sukuna only raise a brow in challenge, he groans, rubbing a palm down his face.

“You guys are killing me, I swear!”

And then he stomps away.

You giggle again, his lanky body looks so funny speed walking. You take the bottle from Sukuna and gulp clumsily. Some of the liquid dribbles down your chin, and you don’t care. This is the freest you’ve felt in months, hell, maybe even years. It’s as if chains have been loosened and you can stretch your limbs.

Taking the bottle away from you, he tilts his head back slightly to take a gulp too, except he doesn’t look away whilst he does it. Not a single drop goes to waste, not even as he brushes a thumb over your chin and swipes it over his own lips.

The skin where he touched sizzle.

You clear your throat, “Should we tell her it’s okay?”

Sukuna shakes his head with a devilish smirk and retorts, “You’re not the prez tonight, remember? Let the idiots fix themselves up.”

Slapping his chest and then settling on groping his pec, you slur out, “I’m never not the ‘prez’, idiot.”

“You’re just y/n, tonight,” he insists, encasing your wrist with one large hand, and stilling your movement so you can’t squeeze like a creepy uncle. “Be selfish for once, yeah?”

“Like you?”

Your head is tilted in curiosity, lashes fluttering and he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about. He won’t deny his habit of putting himself first, and he certainly won’t apologise for it, but the way you put the question to him brings a flash to his head.

Strobe lights, warm bodies and lies.

Sukuna reels back like he’s been slapped.

He gets not a single second to process anything before there’s whooping. People grin at you two, punching the air in an expression of solidarity, chanting ‘fuck Mahito!’ at the top of their lungs. It’s fun to see everyone so friendly when most days people stroll by without so much as even a glance your way.

A guy comes up to you both, in a blue sweater and cargo shorts, doing that weird handshake men do with Sukuna and you sort of want to join. He greets you with one of those half-nods and takes a sweep of your body, a grin on his face.

“Want something?” Sukuna pushes out through gritted teeth.

The guy shakes his head as if to clear his mind before he’s smiling like a little boy again. “Just wanted to talk about our next game. Heard the team’s good but I think their defence is a little weak.”

Hearing the basketball talk, you grow disinterested.

Which Sukuna doesn’t sense until it’s too late. Because your question threw him off and he’s slacked. For perhaps the first time in his life.

So, when he glances down beside him and finds you gone, he’s cursing the heavens and leaving his teammate mid-conversation. He searches for you everywhere, trying to find an oversized purple jacket hanging off your frame, even popping into the girls’ bathrooms, ignoring the crying girls there.

“Flighty fucking woman,” he growled.

There’re still too many things he had planned for your one-night truce, too many things he wants to pull out of you whilst you’re honest. And with you, the surprising lightweight that you are, being drunk off your head, alone, the thought of all the ways things could go wrong is making a muscle tick in his jaw.

He sees Choso, leaning against a bike shed, looking up at a mural with a cigarette between two fingers. It’s half washed off; the scaffolding abandoned for the night. Sukuna couldn’t care less for the sentimental mood his cousin’s in.

“Why do you look mad again?”

Sukuna ignores that, “Seen the prez?”

The younger man tastes the word in his mouth. “The prez? The president of the council?”

Okay, apparently all the usefulness he’s capable of has been maxed out this evening. Without a parting word, Sukuna continues his search. He’s practically running. People are trying to catch his attention. Guys who’ve fallen under the delusion that they’re friends for reasons that elude the pink haired man, and girls who mostly likely wanted to put the rumours of his skills in bed to the test.

He ignores all of them, popping his head into every classroom, growing more and more agitated, and he swears, once he finds you, he’ll tie you up and lock you in a closet so you can’t run off, can’t make his heart clench and his palms sweat.

Eventually, he ends up back at the Quad, there’s too many idiots crowded in one place to see, and he’s certainly not going to attempt to sift through them all. He sees Gojo on a balcony, standing beside two figures, sunglasses pushed up over his head, grinning so brightly, even from where Sukuna’s standing, he can see all his teeth. He’s leaning over the railings, eyes fixed on something at the side. Just as Sukuna makes a step towards his direction, deciding that getting a higher vantage point would be the best strategy, a flash of purple catches his attention.

He found you.

But it’s too late.

You’ve already climbed a table, shoes next to some red solo cups, drawing many people’s attention. No one expected to see the president here, and certainly not with a varsity jacket on. Perhaps, people are worried you’re about to lecture them, to warn them about the rules and trespassing and whatever else.

Resting against a pillar, he sighs and rubs his jaw.

Apparently, drunk you loves attention. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised; you’re a great orator and it just comes naturally to you, even if you are a bundle of nerves sometimes. He decides to stay there, watching your passionate speech, arms raised like you feel the zeal course through you. The music has quietened, the, no doubt ridiculously expensive, DJ a certain frat president hired lowering the volume.

Everyone’s watching you, halting their grinding and jumping to hear you out. You introduce yourself -not that you needed one to begin - and talk about the challenging couple months, the way students turned on each other and staff showed their bias. You saw the girls, other victims, forced to cower, forced to feel dirty, and doubt themselves.

But you also witnessed the love, the support, the community. The sisterhood that carried you all to this point where the truth has made itself clear, justice prevailing because they cannot deny the bravery you’ve all showed.

There are a few people wiping tears from their eyes, guys occasionally shouting in agreement. Despite most people coming just for a good time, it seems like there really was a need for catharsis. Recent events haven’t just taken a toll on you and the girls and the lawyers, but also on the other women on campus.

Sukuna rolls his eyes.

Drunk you is the female reincarnate of Mark Antony, go figure.

Half obscured by shadows and half lit by flashing lights, he stands there, eyes never leaving your figure, jolting every time you stumble on the table, but as infuriating as it is, you’re surrounded by a bunch of guys, ready to catch you.

He’s developed a disliking of parties over the years, hating the bumbling ineptitude of drunk people, and all the drama that comes bursting from the seams of repressed idiots. Still, he attends most of them, never taking part in the chaos but often just watching.

Sukuna hates parties but this one isn’t too bad, he decides.

A notification goes off on his phone and he sees his roommate’s message — a video and a text following it.

the girl of your wet dreams is really getting the waterworks going huh?

Once again, Sukuna rolls his eyes, saving the video and ignoring Toji.

God, he hopes when he brings you back to your dorm room that you won’t throw up all over him. He can deal with carrying your dead weight back to the Northside Halls, and the no-doubt moody and grumpy you that’ll show up the next morning, dragged down by a killer hangover, and even the insults you’ll no doubt hurl his way when you accuse him of enabling you for his own entertainment.

But if you throw up on him, he’ll lose his mind.

You reach a dramatic end, thrusting your fist into the air and people follow suit, just as drunk, if not more so, and easily influenced. They clap, roaring and whooping. The music comes back on and the dancing returns, invigorated by the shift in energy.

Clambering down, feeling satisfied, you’re being shaken by the overly supportive drunk friends you’ve made within the span of the five minutes until Sukuna found you. They slap you on the back, congratulating you and saying other things that aren’t really registering in your mind.

Escaping to a quieter part of the Quad, you skip along, to nowhere in particular, and fall face first into a hard wall. It hurts and you clutch your forehead, cheeks puffed out as you furrow your brows.

Glancing up, you’re met with a stormy gaze, it’s smouldering something unyielding and threatening. But, as you squint through the haze of insobriety, you see the gentle tracing of his eyes over your frame, and then as if he saw what he wanted to see, it hardened to something much more akin to a feasting.

You’re drunker than you feel.

“You left,” his tone is calm but there’s an undercurrent of heat there. It’s accusing and scathing, and it teases at your spine.

With a shrug, you reply, “You were boring me.”

You’re a little sweaty, the running away and the standing beneath so many lights had you feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon. And when he swipes a hair off your forehead, you can only splutter in complaint when he smears your own sweat onto your cheek.

“It’s bedtime, prezzy, come on.”

His voice is uncharacteristically soft, a quiet whisper against your head as he clutches you to his chest just as your knees cave in. Your vision is spotty, and your lips are dry.

In a blur, you find yourself in your bed.

When did you get here?

How did you get here?

You’re too tired to tell, eyes drifting close.

Your desk lamp is on, lighting your room enough for you to see the silhouette of a man running his hand along your table, eyeing the piles of papers scattered there. He flips a page over, studying your handwriting and the sticky notes with random faces, some frowning and some with Xs for eyes.

“S’kuna?”

His stare snaps towards yours and it steals your breath away.

“Go back to sleep,” his voice is soft. And even whilst weighed down by the alcohol, you’re aware of how tiny your room is with him in here. It feels wrong to have Sukuna pacing the length, studying the pictures on the wall and the neatly piled laundry waiting to be put away.

You have no idea what he’s thinking, and it scares you. Groggy and still not fully conscious, you croak, “Did you bring me back?”

“No, we teleported,” he fires back, without missing a beat. “Yeah, I brought you back. I didn’t touch you or anything, so just relax.”

“I didn’t think you did,” you admit, the sentence muffled by your comforter.

Sukuna leans against a wall by your door, calculating if everything’s as it should be, and you finally notice he’s just in his white shirt, no jacket in sight.

“Wait,” he cocks his head in question, “it’s cold out. Wear your jacket.”

He laughs, it’s low, just a couple huffs really, but it’s a laugh, nonetheless. It feels like one of those rare victories. “Nah, keep the jacket. You like damn thing more than I do.”

“No. Wear the jacket,” you point to the chair it’s draped over; your arm is heavy and you’re drifting off again.

He narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t see that, breath evening out. “Always so stubborn,” he says this more to himself, walking over to your chair and snatching it with more force than necessary. “I’ll take it, on loan.”

You don’t reply.

But when he stands over you, knuckles brushing a stray hair off your cheek again, you hear him from behind the haze of sleep and exhaustion say, “You always get what you want, don’t you, prez?”

And then he’s leaving, shutting the door much quieter than you ever have. You swear as you take one last inhale, you can still smell his fresh soap and feel the scalding burn of his touch.

Both of you know you’ll barely remember any of this, if anything at all. Despite that, you find yourself hoping that you, at least, remember the feeling of being free and unburdened, even just for one night. You also hope he’ll remember what life could be like if you two got along, so perhaps he’ll ease off a little.

Just as you enter a dream state, you sluggishly respond to something that seems so far away now, the words escaping you like one last exhale before you’re dead to the world.

“I never do.”

#jjk x reader #jjk sukuna ryomen #jjk fluff #jjk crack #jjk angst #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst

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hypnotiiize · 8 months ago

Text

𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥’𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: this is real old and angsty like not for fake. it’s short though. also i grew up catholic so u gotta bear w the lil references and shit. trigger warning religious talk kinda

She couldn’t remember much of the year if she was being honest.

She could remember her best friends’ wedding.

She could remember Valentine’s day.

She could remember March and April breezing past her, a mixture of Easter and celebrating her friend’s birthday.

She could remember the drowsiness that overcame her in May. She could remember how it followed her well into June.

She could remember her friend’s baby being born, and she could remember smiling down at his tiny squished face.

And she was happy for them, she was. But, when she found herself in her newly quiet home at the end of the day, the reality remained that she was alone. Utterly alone. No one to turn to. No one to rely on. Alone. She felt that this was her fault.

When her friend called and cried to her about new motherhood delivering a swift kick to her backside, she accepted the opportunity to stay with her friends for a few days, maybe even weeks— however long it would take for her friend to get back on her feet with a new addition to the household.

The record was three weeks. July was almost over. Amelie, ever-grateful, had even told her that she could go back home if she wanted. The woman, not wanting to overstay her welcome, accepted that as well.

She had been accepting a lot of things, it seemed. She would leave the following week, after the event that was planned meticulously for the baby.

It was when she was getting ready to go to sleep early— the baby had a habit of scream-crying at the break of dawn and she liked being up with him— that she received a knock at the guest bedroom door. Curious, she tip-toed across the room and found herself opening the door to reveal her tired friend whose smile grew as she rocked her fast-asleep son. [y/n] invited them in and grabbed the baby at once, sitting on the bed with his little body cradled in her arms.

“Okay, I wanted to tell you so that you weren’t, like, bombarded with this,” Amelie began after a small chat about how the baby had just done something cute.

She involuntarily put pressure on her eyebrows, furrowing them together.

Amelie folded her hands in her lap. “You know his baptism is next week and you know you’re his Godmother, of course... I tried to talk Trent out of it, but he’s going to make you know who his Godfather.”

She could feel herself gasp at the mention of you know who. She definitely knew who.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I get it. And I get it if you’re not ready to see him. I can have someone else step in as his Godmother for the ceremony if you can’t do it. You don’t have to go to the party. What are you feeling?” Amelie asked.

She bit the skin of her bottom lip. She looked down at the almost two-month-old who looked so much like her friends that it was crazy. He was blinking up at her with his bottom lip poked out, looking scandalized. She laughed and rubbed the pad of her finger over his dark waves.

“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed… But I can do it. I don’t care about him. This is for my Godbaby. Right? This is for my Godson,” she cooed to the baby who half-smiled.

“You’re sure?”

“Sure. Yes. Yeah.” She was trying to convince herself more than anything and she knew it. “No one cares about that man, anyway. It’s just Rayan’s day..” The baby smiled as if he knew what they were talking about, and the women fussed over him a bit more. When the familiar weight pressed itself against her shoulders, She sighed. “I need a drink.”

“Go raid Trent’s cabinet, girl. You know he’s not shy about Don Julio,” her friend joked about her husband.

There was a painful twang in her chest at once. Her husband. Her friend was joking about her husband. A man who she shared a child, a home, and a life with.

She could taste iron. She would later realize that she had bit the inside of her cheek open. For now, she chopped the stinging sensation up to the of moths fumbling about in her stomach.

Her friend took her Godson and she was left alone once more. She laid her head on the linen pillow and stared blankly at the room before her. Wistfully, she imagined Amelie and Trent embracing each other at the end of the very long day. She imagined them nuzzling against the other as they gazed down at their sleeping baby boy. Then, she imagined everything that could have been.

She fell into a slumber with remnants of saline tears on her cheeks, and she woke up days later wearing a crisp white blouse and her best earrings. Rayan’s baptism.

He barely left his mother’s arms that day. He was tiny and it was a big day for him and he was wearing a long, pristine white dress that used to be his grandfather’s when he was that small. So Rayan slept, and she tried not to kick open the church doors and run as far as her legs could take her.

She knew he was in the room. She could feel it. If she opened her mouth to speak, she could taste it. If she inhaled too deeply, she could smell it. His presence was the sustenance that her soul had been missing for far too long and she was being punished for it. Her hands were shaking. She slipped off to the bathroom three times before she realized that her issues could affect the day. Being unreliable or looking flaky was the last thing she’d wanted to do after making it so far through the day. When she sat back down in the pews, she crossed her hands extra tight in her lap and kept her neck arched high. She would shake it off. This was for Rayan.

After some time she stood with her friends and made her way to the front of the church. She could feel him behind her. Then beside her. She willed herself not to look at him and focused solely on swearing to remain a key figure in the baby’s life.

For you, I’ll do my best.

He made his pledges after her. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. He was so close to her. She could feel the echo of his baritone in her feet. She could taste iron, far more pronounced this time.

The baby was placed in her arms, and the metallic flavor dissipated at once. She secured her arm around his head and tugged his gown down. He whined, only to stop a second later when his mother kissed his hand.

The priest asked the Godparents to move closer. She stepped forward and nodded when appropriate. The priest said something that she didn’t really catch. She had been too busy making sure Rayan was comfortable. Brown hands came forward and untied the loose strings around the baby’s neck. He pulled the baby’s hat off. She could hear the ocean in her head.

She leaned forward and lowered her elbow an inch. The priest placed his hands in the tub of water before him and her. He poured water on the baby’s dark tufts of hair. One hand, then two, then another for good measure. Rayan let out a short cry from the temperature of the water.

“It’s okay, honey, you did great,” she whispered to her Godson when it was all over. She held him tighter, closer to her face.

“Maybe he’s cold,” the familiar voice said. “Here, let me put his hat back on.” Brown hands came into view and she watched him make the loose loop-the-loop. Rayan calmed down.

Rayan’s parents came and uttered softly to their son. His mother fought tears. His father let them glide down his cheeks freely, rubbing the top of the baby’s bonnet with a thumb.

“Hey,” the Godfather’s low voice was saying. He was not whispering. Anyone could have heard him. Though, when she thinks back on the moment, she can remember the soft, whispering tickle of his breath hitting her ear. She wanted him to be whispering.

She greeted him back weakly and she did not try to hide it. With everyone focused on Rayan, the awkward encounter would just be their own and she could not muster the strength to make it anything but.

The corner of his mouth quirked up, weakly too, and he said, “You look really nice.”

All at once, she could hear the ocean. She could hear volcanoes erupting. She could feel the familiar sharp chill of ice, and she could smell the smoke of paper burning.

She could not remember what her response was, or if she even responded at all. She could only remember the pain of living without the only man she had loved for months after being together for so long.

Through the fog, a voice prompted, “Let’s get a pic with the Godparents.”

She craned her head and found herself staring at a man that she had gone to school with. Kareem was known for being tall, charismatic, and a photographer. Therefore, she was not surprised that her friend had invited him to the gathering. Though she wished that someone would have filled him in on the current situation before he suggested such things.

Rayan’s parents moved away. She took a half step closer to Rayan’s Godfather. Rayan’s Godfather took a half step closer to her.

For the first time in months, they were pressed against each other.

Her chest felt hollow. Icy. It burned to inhale. It took too much effort to exhale. She lifted the baby so that he was perfectly between them. A brown hand fixed the baby’s dress. Fingertips grazed fingertips. She could taste iron pooling just behind her teeth, and then she smiled.

Her first tear fell when the camera shuttered for the last time. The people were emotional, too. They spoke to the baby in whispers. The Godfather left her side to go gawk at his Godson.

It was only her in the center of that stage. She was alone. There was no one in her corner anymore.

She had no husband. No new baby to baptize. No boyfriend to envision her future with.

She felt as if she was going to drown. She sucked in a burning breath.

She tasted the iron.

#jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x oc #jude bellingham x you #x black fem reader #x black reader #trent alexander arnold x black reader #trent alexander arnold #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine

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lovelytsunoda · 2 years ago

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one of the boys // charles leclerc

summary: she's worked for ferrari for four years now. four years that only let her feelings for their number one driver grow stronger and stronger, until she wishes that charles leclerc would stop seeing her as just one of the boys, and start seeing her the way that she sees him

pairing: charles leclerc x mechanic! reader

warnings: ferrari fuckups, sexual tension, sad charles, actually charles goes through a whole range of emotions, matchmaker seb, mentions of workplace harassment, set in the 2022 season when charles won australia, sexual innuendos and references.

she sat on the halo, her feet resting against the seat as she leaned over the engine compartment, her boiler suit tied off around her waist and her hair pinned to the back of her head as the bahrain sun beat down.

ferrari had bottled it again. which meant double-duty for the pit crew to fix it for jeddah.

the radio hummed softly in the background as she cursed, losing her grip on the ratchet. when the engine fried itself, it had also made the parts a lot harder to take apart.

"fucking hell." she groaned, resting her head against the cool, red body of the car. "vasseur was supposed to fix this."

"what are you still doing here? you should have left at least an hour ago?"

the movement in the garage, as well as the voice breaking the almost-silence was enough to get her to look up, heart hammering against her ribcage.

the same annoyingly alert reaction that she'd had to his presence for the last two years.

"charles. what are you doing here?"

"hiding." the driver smiled sadly. the balaclava lines had faded fomr his face, but she could still see the sweat in his hair, the scent of the race mingling with his team-sponsored cologne. "you know how it is after a weekend like this."

"yeah, i do." she could feel the blush creeping onto her face, and she subtly pinched herself to try and make it go down. charles leclerc couldn't give her butterflies, it wasn't right. technically speaking, he was her superior.

but that didn't change how much she cared about him, how much she longed to feel the monegasque's lips against hers

"you should not be working. come out with the rest of us, we're getting drinks and commiserating. did i use that word right?"

it was hard for y/n not to smile at charles' attempt to learn the english language. he had a fantastic grip on the language, but when he tried to use larger words to sound cooler, it was usually followed up with uncertainty, all adding to what she liked to call his 'boston terrier energy'.

"yeah, you got that one right." she chuckled, dismounting the car, pain rocketing through the nerves in her feet as she hit the ground too hard. "that's a beauty of a car. such a shame that the scuderia doesn't know how to treat it properly."

standing next to charles, she was all too aware that she was wearing nothing but a sports bra on the top half of her body, and she wondered if she could pull her boiler suit back on without charles noticing.

charles snorted. "try driving that thing."

she patted him on the shoulder, a sad smile on her face. "give me ten minutes to go put some proper clothes on, and then we'll go out somewhere. drinks are on me, god knows you deserve it."

______

"seb, i don't know what to do!" y/n groaned, face against the tabeltop as the german man laughed.

sebastian vettel had been the closest thing she had to a father when she was on the road with the scuderia. in all fairness, the job with ferrari hadn't even been what she went to school for. she had picked engineering at college because it was what everybody else was doing, and she'd stumbled upon this job by accident with the promise of travel. when she was starting to regret everything, it had been sebastian who had convinced her to stay.

"ugh, this is so not funny!" she shouted, throwing her arms in the air and wincing as her knuckle banged against the shop window. they were in a quaint little café in fiji ahead of the australian grand prix, and y/n was in need of some serious advice.

but to get advice from seb, you needed to bribe him with coffee first. hence why they were in the rustic cafe, every bare surface covered in plants that sebastian had spent ages talking to the manager about.

sebastian vettel was a nerd. in a good way, of course.

"you're a lovely young woman, y/n. you have a nice figure."

"does hanna know you're out here complimenting younger women?" she joked, taking a sip from her strawberry lemonade.

sebastian laughed, shaking his head. "you need to let everybody else see that side of you, y/n. let your hair down, wear a nice pair of jeans for once instead of that boiler suit. let the world see the lovely girl that we all know is there."

"i'm going to miss you when you retire."

"i know, kiddo. listen, we're all going out after the race, to have drinks and whatever. go out with hanna, buy yourself a nice new dress on my credit card, and then come out for drinks with us. i guarantee that one look at you will whip charles into shape. you're a catch, y/n. i think that charles would be lucky to have someone like you in his life."

"i'm already a part of his life. as a work friend. and i'm accepted that i'm not likely to be anything more."

seb raised an eybrow. "doesn't sound like it."

in another bar, on another part of the small island of fiji, carlos and charles were having a very similar conversation.

"carlos, i can't make a move! technically, i'm higher ranking at ferrari than she is. there's a power imbalance, what if she feels like she can't say no? it's a harassment case waiting to happen!" charles whined, a pint glass clutched in his hands.

carlos shook his head, an annoyed sigh escaping the back of his throat. "you're an idiot, hermano. she's in love with you! you think you're the only person who sees her staring at you in the garage?

"forgive me if that's not something i want to be wrong about. i could be staking our careers on your little hunch."

groaning, carlos buried his head in his hands. getting through to his teammate was a hopeless and futile affair. once charles leclerc was set in his ways about something, there was no changing his mind.

"what about the party in australia? ask her to dance, buy her a drink? you're not getting any younger, charles. you need to get back out there and start dating again."

______

as f1 descended on albert park, the glitz and glamour taking over melbourne, y/n y/l/n and hanna vettel were standing in a small, glitzy boutique, armed with hanna's husband's credit card. the young ferrari mechanic was standing in front of a floor-length mirror, her hair falling around her shoulders.

"hanna, i don't know how i feel about this." she inhaled, staring at her reflection and the ferrari red dress that hugged her figure. "i love it, honestly, i do, i just cringe at the thought of ever wearing it outside of the house. especially if i;m in front of charles!"

hanns sighed, brushing her fingers through the younger girl's hair. "have a little bit of faith in yourself, darling. you look stunning, this dress shows off all your best physical attributes, and charles already knows your best qualities."

"yeah, because who else is going to sing nineties stoner rock songs in the car on the way to the track with me?" y/n laughed, remembering singing ‘teenage dirtbag’ with charles on their way to the track in jeddah, a carpool with some of the other mechanics. charles barely knew the words, but then again, y/n got them wrong a lot as well. “yeah, okay. lets do this fucking thing.”

hanna grinned. “that’s our girl!”

hours later, she was regretting her decision, standing in front of the club in her baggy leather jacket, shaky knees knocking together as she stood outside the front door in her heels and that tiny little dress, voices and laughter wafting through the walls as the inside hummed with the rarity of a ferrari victory. she nervously tapped her fingers against the side of her purse as a group of haas mechanics crossed the parking lot, wolf whistling at her before she flipped them both the bird.

“are you coming inside, or are you just going to stand there and freeze your balls off?”

“oh, if only I had balls to freeze. and this is bloody australia, its not even that cold.” y/n chuckled to herself, turning to look at jessica hawkins, one of the aston martin young drivers. “I need someone to remind me that I dont look stupid in this goddamn dress that hanna vettel picked out for me.”

jessica cocked an eyebrow, looking the mechanic up and down. “babes, you look hot! who are you trying to impress?”

“charles.” y/n mumbled, her face flushing pink before she cleared her throat. “its stupid, isn’t it?”

the other young woman shook her head. “not at all.” she grinned, linking her arm through y/n’s. “come on, lets go get you your man!”

the inside of the club was crowded, yet closed to the public as f1, f2, and the w series descended on the establishment. all of the f3 drivers were too young to legally drink, and had made their displeasure quite clear as they were herded away to an italian restaurant instead of the club.

"drinks for the lovely ladies?" abbie eaton chortled, bringing tequila shots over to where the mechanic and jessica were standing. "cheers on three, yeah?"

jessica sounded off with the countdown, the three women tapping the tiny glasses against each other before throwing back the burning alcoholic drink.

"if i'm going to do this," y/n began, raising her voice to be heard over the drake song that was playing. "i'm doing it right!" she took off her jacket, throwing it over a chair before she made her way over to the dj booth, her ballet flats sticking to the floor.

after a whispered conversation (and a monetary bribe), wheatus' 2000 hit 'teenage dirtbag' began to play over the speakers as y/n and jessica took to the floor, champagne flutes in hand as they began to dance.

from across the way, under the deep blue lights, charles leclerc was in a trance as he watched the way she moved, laughing and giggling as she sang along, finally getting each word right. adn charles would be lying if he said he didn't love the way her legs looked in that short little dress, how full her breasts looked in the red fabric that cradled them.

"is he still being a pussy?" pierre gasly groaned. "come on, man! you won the fucking race, and that's still not giving you the confidence you need to tell her you have a crush on her?"

"i'd rather not embarrass myself too much, thank you pierre." charles grumbled, taking another sip of his fruity mixed drink.

"he won't even drink proper alcohol." carlos commented. "i think she broke him."

pierre shook his head. "i will not stand for this, i am not letting it go on any longer. ilies!" he shouted, waving over his best friend- save for charles of course- and social media manager. "we need you to do something for us, for charles."

ilies nadri nodded. "it's about that girl he keeps talking about, isn't it?"

"exactly. so here's what you're going to do."

back on the dancefloor, y/n was beginning to forget that charles was watching, laughing and singing with jessica as the dj began to play 'toxic' by britney spears, at a drunken lando norris' request.

"looks like you've got an admirier. and it's not charles." nerea marti pointed out, nudging her head in the direction of ilies nadri, who was beginning to make his way over to the girls.

"well, if charles isn't interested." jessica shrugged, calpping her on the shoulders. "you look too pretty tonight to go home alone if you don't want to, and it looks like there's a good looking bloke who wants to join ya."

moments blurred as nadri took y/n's hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and making her laugh with a french come-on, and before she knew it they were dancing to britney.

and she had forgotten about him, about the reason she wore that red dress in the first place.

but charles never forgot about her, his eyes boring into the back of ilies' head as he watched them dancing to a christina aguilera song. his grip was steadily tightening on his glass, and carlos looked over at him with a concerned glance.

"are you sure that getting her to dance with ilies was the smartest idea?" carlos whispered under his breath, raising his eyebrow at pierre. "he's going to break the fucking glass."

"or, he'll get jealous and go over there." pierre reasoned.

"how the fuck do you have a girlfriend, gasly?"

but pierre's reasoning must have been rooted in proof, for charles put down his glass and tromped over to the dance floor, his eyes a certain shade of jealous as he prepared himself to finally make a move.

he didn't speak, sweeping over the dancefloor to grab y/n's arm and pull her away from ilies and away from the dancefloor and it's illuminated vinyl flooring.

"charles, what is wrong with you?" y/n shouted, tispy on her feet and buzzing from alcohol as she tried to ignore the way her chest tightened and her heart skipped a beat at charles' possessiveness.

"i'm in love with you." he blurted out, desperation in his voice. "and i'm tired of hiding how i feel. i don't care how it looks to the outside, or to mattia, but i want to be with you. you were never just one of the boys to me, y/n. you were just you. and i like who i am with you. i want to be able to be that person for you, all the time."

"charles." she said softly, heart softening before starting and stopping again in an erratic beating pattern that would have worried her if she could have heard the beating over the refrain of charles' confessions playing on loop in her mind, louder and louder each time. "just kiss me."

and that's what charles did, an *nsync song playing in the background as he mashed his lips to hers, backing her up against the wall as she giggled, wrapping a slender, bare leg around his own, arms looped haphazardly around his neck and over his shoulders.

"charles, your phone isn't in your front pocket, right?" she panted.

charles looked confused, resting his forehead against hers. "no, i always put it in my back pocket."

"fuck." y/n all but moaned, arousal pooling in her own thighs as she thought about what was in between charles'. "that means that it's your rock-hard cock that's pressing against me right now, and that's so fucking hot."

grinning to himself, charles pressed up against her even more. "whay don't you join me at my hotel, and i'll show you just how fucking hard you make me."

"is that a threat or an invitation?"

"it's whatever you want it to be, mon cher."

"kiss me one more time, and you've got a deal."

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 imagine #lovelytsunodas katy perry series #charles leclerc x y/n #scuderia ferrari #Spotify

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coryosbaby · 2 years ago

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Ultraviolence - E.L & C.M

(pt. 1)

Fandom: “Scream Vi”

Pairing: Stepbrother! Ethan Landry x fem! Reader, Chad Meeks Martin x fem! Reader (not in this chapter), Ethan Landry x Chad Meeks Martin (not in this chapter)

Warning: dubcon, stepcest (stepsister x stepbrother), reference to being siblings while fucking (I’m sorry), jealousy, p n v, Ethan isn’t a virgin in this, loss of virginity for reader, Cherry popping, slight blood kink, scent kink, sir kink, dark! Dom! Ethan, sub! Reader, slight perv! Reader, Ethan is older (19/20), reader is of age, quinn doesn’t exist ig, masturbation, fingering, corruption kink, degradation, choking, a little bit of titty worship

A/N: this is the first part to the stepbrother! Ethan landry fic! <3 heavily imagining the way Ethan acts after the ghostface reveal for this, bc he’s just so cray cray and fine 😜 so he’s like, majorly unhinged and cocky 💗💋 reader is also hyperfem ! (I like pt 2 better honestly pls bear with me)

When you first figured out that your mom was marrying, you were ecstatic. She deserved to be married to a decent guy, and Wayne was someone in that category. He was nice, had money, and you didn’t dislike him.

When you first met Ethan, however, he made you nervous.

You didn’t hate him, per say. But the intense look he gave you the first time he was forced to shake your hand put a chill up your spine. His gaze itself cut into you like a knife. Polar opposites, him in dark sweaters, t-shirts, and jeans. And you? Clad in the shortest skirts, in the tightest tops.

The boy had ignored you the first few weeks of knowing each other. Now moved in, you’re both in the same house. Your rooms are right across from each other’s: yours completely covered in pink, with flower and hello kitty accessories laying about. Ethan’s is definitely different; a little bit less cluttered, most of it blue. A bookcase in one corner. You knew this because he left his door open quite often.

You regret not paying attention to that tiny detail.

It’s a sunny day. The sun is shining brightly down on you as you rest beside the pool in your backyard. Clad in a checkered pink bathing suit, your hair is thrown up with a claw clip and you’re spread out on a towel. Suntanning is one of your favorite activities, and today is great for it.

Wayne is at work and your mom is away doing errands. You don’t know where Ethan is. Probably in the living room watching a show, you suspect. It’s what he usually does.

You sigh, and pop the knuckle of your left hand. It’s definitely time for a drink, and you want to get your Bluetooth speaker.

When you go inside, you climb up the stairs to your room. Ethan’s door is slightly cracked, but not to the point where you can see inside. Not unless you’re close to it, at least. He must be busy.

You roll your eyes when you catch sight of the dress you’re going to be forced to wear at your mom’s wedding resting on the top of your dresser. You love her, but the woman does not have a good sense of style.

Grabbing the small speaker in your hand, you begin to make your way back outside.

And that’s when you hear it.

A groan, and then something wet.

Its coming from Ethan’s room, and sounds like him. And it’s as if the sounds he’s making started up right when you went to leave. And with his door unlocked? It couldn’t be that wrong to be curious and see what he was doing, could it?

You approach the door, not really thinking it through. And when you catch sight of the room through the crack of the door, it takes everything in you not to rub yourself.

You can see Ethan on his bed, shirt off and his bottom lip caught in between his teeth, his sweats pulled down to expose himself. He’s looking at his cock, face scrunched up in pleasure, and god, he’s big. You can feel your face heating up, can feel your swimsuit beginning to get soaked with more than just water.

“Oh… shit. Yeah, baby. You like that cock, don’t you? You dirty little bitch.” He growls, and it’s like he’s saying it directly to you.

And maybe he is. Because as his thumb is rubbing the tip of his cock, he looks directly at your quivering form in the door, thrusts his hips into the air, and cums.

You’re trying your hardest to avoid Ethan.

And who wouldn’t? He’s your fucking stepbrother and you just watched him jack off; not only that, but he orgasmed when he saw you watching. It’s fucked up.

You try to push the guilt of touching yourself later that night to the thought of it down. And it’s hard. Ethan sends you glances, a lot more noticeable than his usual ones, and when you make eye contact with him he looks at you with mischievous eyes.

And then comes the day that you’re both alone again. You’re on the couch watching a show, trying to get your mind off of Ethan. When of course, he comes down the stairs, wearing a black button up shirt and jeans. The shirt hugs his muscles and you try not to pay attention to that. He sits down beside you.

“Hey, sis.” His voice is amused, and you don’t look at him as you adjust your thigh highs.

“Hey, Ethan.” You mumble. The tv show is suddenly very interesting.

“I like this show, too. Really good.” He notes, as if this isn’t the first set of words you’ve ever really said to each other. His hand rests on the top of your thigh and the movement makes you jump out of your seat. You look at him for a moment and then scurry to the kitchen.

“Where are you goin’ sis?” He questions loudly.

“T-To…get something to drink!”

You go to the fridge to open the door and pull out a Cherry Coke, nervous hands skimming over other drinks to have an excuse to stay in the room for longer. You jump when you turn around and Ethan is leaning against the counter. He looks calm, a small smirk playing on his handsome face.

“Can you get me one too, sweet thing?”

The nickname makes you flush, and you turn around to reach back into the fridge and grab another Cherry Coke.

You hold it out to him, but instead of grabbing the drink his hand goes to wrap around your wrist to pull you closer. You inhale sharply when his hand comes up to move a piece of your hair out of the way. He then leans into you, so much that you can feel his breath. You clench your eyes shut and pull away when his lips almost touch yours.

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“E-Ethan…” he’s looking at you so intently, that it makes you flush under his gaze. And then his fingers move to the thin strap of your top, playing with it. He seems deeply concentrated on it. Or, more likely, your tits. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do or… or trying to start, but we can’t-”

“You’re really pretty, do you know that?” He interrupts, and you stutter, not really knowing how to reply.

“Y-Yes? I mean, a lot of people say it, but…” he looks up at you and smiles.

“You’re so sweet, too. So innocent..” he frowns, his grip tightening on your shirt strap. “But maybe you aren’t. Because you’re a little pervert, aren’t you baby?”

“I-I didn’t… I didn’t mean to-“

“But you did. Don’t lie to me.”

“I-I’m sorry…” you say, breathless.

And then, without warning, he’s kissing you. You gasp at the harshness of his mouth, and he yanks you closer to him by your hair. He turns you around to shove your body against the counter, as if you weigh nothing. You moan, and he reaches down to grope one of your tits in his hand.

“Let me see these. Now.”

You whimper, hesitant, so Ethan makes the decision for you. He yanks your straps down and your tits spill out, nipples hard and stiff from your arousal. He brings one into his mouth and sucks, his teeth scraping the swollen skin.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to see these tits, sweetheart.” His cock grinds against your clothed pussy, and you thrust your hips forward.

“This is… god, this is so wrong, fuck…”

“But you want it, don’t you? Dirty girl.”

His strong hands go underneath your ass and lift you up on the counter. He brings his mouth back to yours, and groans when you touch his hard bulge through his sweats. Fuck it. What’s done now can’t be undone.

“I do want it, sir. Wan’ it so bad.”

He lifts your skirt up, moves your underwear to the side, and sticks his middle finger in your tight heat. You hide your face in his chest, his smell making your brain cloudy, makes you forget the possibility that both of your parents could come home at any moment.

“You’re such a wet little thing.” He breathes. “Gonna let me fuck this sweet pussy, baby?”

You nod shyly, and he laughs.

“C’mon, baby, don’t get shy on me now. Let me see you. ”

You look up at him, and he grips your throat.

“Are you going to let me fuck you?” He questions again.

“Yes sir.”

And then moments later you’re bent over the counter, virgin pussy spasming around Ethan’s incredibly large length. You’re crying, the stretch painful, but nonetheless he feels amazing.

His big hands grip your hips harshly as he slams into you, sweat beading on his chest. When he looks down, your creamy fluid mixed with blood drips down his cock, and he grins.

“Awww, baby. You’re bleeding! ” He mocks. “Little virgin pussy can’t handle my fat cock, can it?”

You mewl, thrusting your hips back harder, craving more of him.

“Yeah, pretty baby. That’s it. Take your big brother’s cock.”

#I’m sorry this is sinful #Ethan landry #Ethan landry x reader #Ethan landry x fem! reader #stepbrother! Ethan landry x reader #stepbrother! Ethan landry #dom! Ethan landry #sub! reader #virgin! reader #scream #scream 6

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mingirn · 9 months ago

Text

only lovers alive

song mingi x reader

synopsis: you return back home after graduating college to a new relationship you have to navigate with your childhood best friend

warnings: smut, a lot of mentions of sexual acts, drinking, insecurities, jealousy, dirty talk, phone sex, sort of (very brief) exhibitionism, gender neutral reader

word count: 20,3k

notes: hello. i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for 1-2 years and saw a tweet that said ”i’d pick you up from the airport in every universe” and decided to let this out of jail bc of that. although the fic itself is inspired by this song. fic title comes from this song. i’m gonna schedule this to post while i’m asleep because i’m terrified to post after not being on here for such a long time. please be gentle with me >:(

It’s dark outside your window, but the streets are lit up by countless glimmering lights. Even though the day is turning into night, there’s still plenty of traffic. Beaming headlights join the streams of light from street lamps, and it’s just your apartment that is missing a glow from a lamp on its windowsill. You’ve got all yours packed up and sent away already, and you’re taking in the city for the last time.

”Are you going to miss it?” Mingis's voice is soft on the other end of the phone. You’ve got him on speaker, lying right next to you.

”I guess, yeah. It’s been nice, even though I haven’t spent much time exploring or enjoying the city.”

It’s true. You’ve just finished your last semester and finally graduated after moving hours away from your hometown to go to your dream school. It feels like eons since then, when you had to say tearful goodbyes to your friends and family and settle down in a cramped little dorm room. You’d been lucky enough to get student housing in your last year, a bigger place where you’d been living for the past two semesters. This city wasn’t just a stark difference to your hometown, it was the definition of complete and total opposite.

The town you grew up in was the type to hide, not really forgotten, just barely there. Small and tucked away between long stretches of forests and fields. You’d be blessed to live there your whole life, yet lucky to get away. You’d go home to visit during summer break and just bask in how simple life was back home, but beyond all, how it was still home to all the things you held most dear. Top of that list: Mingi.

”You’ll always be able to go back, maybe we can go during the summer and you can take me to that Chinese place you’ve talked so much about,” Mingi says. He’s starting to sound a little sleepy, and it’s a reminder that you should probably get to sleep soon. You’ve got an early flight to catch, then it’s just a span of a few hours separating you and Mingi. He’ll be coming to pick you up, so you suppose you better let him go too so he can get some sleep.

”You know I’d love that,” you smile, and slump down on your bed. ”I think we should head to bed though, maybe we should leave this future talk for some other time.”

He hums in agreement, and the line goes quiet for a minute. You can hear his breathing through the speaker, slow and steady. When you close your eyes it’s almost like he’s here.

”Hey, uh,” he begins, and he swallows audibly. ”Do you think it’s gonna be weird?”

Ah, there it is. You’ve almost been waiting, expecting, him to ask it.

”No, I don’t… It’s not like we haven’t seen each other since I moved away. We’ve spent almost all of the last three summers together, right?” you reason. It’s not really what Mingi is referring to, but you have to start somewhere. Soften him up, reassure him.

”Well yeah, yeah, I know. It’s just different because we weren’t doing those things then, and now it’s… well, different.”

”Mingi,” you say with firmness in your voice. ”It would only be different if you said and did all those things just because it was over the phone. If you didn’t mean any of it.”

Mingi takes another moment of silence, and you can imagine that he’s probably chewing nervously on his bottom lip. It makes you a bit nervous as well, the fact that you can’t see him. You’d always been so good at reading his face and figuring out what he was thinking. You need that more than ever now, the ability to read him, because so much has changed.

”I’ve meant every word I’ve ever said,” he says, and something about the words feels so heavy and serious, and he seems to realize it too. ”I really, really want to fuck you, not just over the phone.”

Mingis voice is normal when he says it, not a hint of underlying desire or desperation, but the words themselves send a flash of warmth through your body. It’s become regular at this point, this shift in your friendship. The first time you guys crossed over that invisible line had been under the influence of alcohol, you had come home drunk from the bar after celebrating good test results with some friends and Mingi had been celebrating getting a new job with your mutual friends back at home. It just sort of happened, you dialing his number and gushing about how much you missed him. The conversation went on for half an hour when you started trying to undress from your bar clothes and Mingi had asked what you were doing. He’d asked about what you were wearing, and what color your underwear was, then he informed you that he was just in his boxers, and for some reason you found yourself telling him about how sexually frustrated you had been lately in hopes that he’d offer help. And he did.

That first night it was quick and needy, neither of you initiated it, it just happened in perfect symbiosis. You checked the call log the day after and saw that you guys had been on the phone for hours, the last of which you had both eventually fallen asleep on call until your phone battery died. Tentatively, you had called him during the afternoon and asked him if he had any recollection of yesterday night's events. His voice had been raspy and breathy, throat raw from drinking and moaning, and you can still remember every inflection in the tone of his voice when he asked if you had liked it. That had been the start of it all, of an almost full year of phone sex, sexting, and swapping pictures.

”I’m glad to hear that,” you say, trying to sound just as casual even though you can feel butterflies swirl through your stomach. ”I really can’t wait, Mingi. Can’t wait to fuck you and can’t wait to see you, I’ve missed you so much.”

”I’ve missed you too… Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow at the airport, just look for a handsome tall guy!”

You fall asleep with Mingis laugh ringing in your ears.

The next day, your plane lands at a far emptier airport than the one you’d set off from. It’s early in the day and the sun is high in the sky, occasionally passing behind weak and thin clouds. The air is so different out here than in the big city. The sounds are clearer, the people are kinder, and everything feels so much more simple here.

You sit on a hard airport bench and wait as your phone connects to the internet after having been turned off, seeing all your missed messages coming in. You’re just about to type up a response to Mingis ’You there?’ when a call from him pops up on the screen.

”Yeah, I’m here!” you chirp into the phone.

”’Here’ where? I’m just walking around and-”

”Mingi, you idiot, turn around!” you call out loud enough for him to hear it on the phone and in person, though he’s quite a distance away from you. You could recognize the back of his head anywhere, even though it’s short and bleached blond right now, it’s undeniably Mingi.

He spins around and spots you right away, making eye contact with you across the big, open space. Seeing Mingi in person for the first time in months washes away all nervosity, all the same as it stirs up a new sense of anticipation. You jump to your feet and you're both rushing towards each other, crashing together in a tight hug.

You find yourself closing your eyes, tucking your head into his chest, and inhaling his scent until it makes you lightheaded. He smells just like your Mingi, that same cologne he’s worn since he was 15, the same laundry detergent, and he smells faintly of sunscreen. It’s not the first time you’ve hugged him, not by a long shot, but it feels like the first time you’ve held him like this. Your arms around his middle, taking note of how big he feels in your hold, and you’re thinking about every little detail you’ve missed out on by being away from him. His warmth, his touch, his size, his voice.

”Hi there,” he murmurs, and his voice is so different up close. It’s deeper and darker, it reverberates through his chest. ”Was the flight okay?”

Something about the conversation he’s initiating makes you feel like now is the appropriate time to pull away, and that in turn has you questioning how appropriate that hug had been on your part. Mingi, however, feels cool as ice when he grabs hold of your bag and slings his arm around your shoulder to guide you out of the airport.

”Uh,” you begin, feeling a bit stumped. You continue, ”It was as good as you can expect, but the food sucked, I can’t wait to get home and eat my mom's cooking.”

”Tired of ramen and takeout?” he asks, chuckling.

”You could say that.”

You try to move on past your own weirdness. Mingi is normal and there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be as well. Still, there’s a sort of buzz igniting under your skin from being in Mingi's presence again. You suppose it’s always like that, this initial excitement of seeing each other again and getting to update each other on all the things you’ve been up to while knowing you’ve got all the time in the world to hang out. But there’s this nagging voice at the back of your head that is frantically going through all the conversations you’ve had with Mingi on the phone. Late at night, underneath your covers, with Mingi moaning and speaking filth on the speaker. It doesn’t match up with the Mingi in front of you, the Mingi that has been your closest friend for years, and it makes you feel electric.

Mingi pops his trunk open and you load your bags into his car, then get inside and start the half-hour drive back to your hometown.

You only dare to steal little glances over at him. Watching him in the rearview mirror, seeing the sun set his brown eyes ablaze and paint his skin golden. His fingers strum along to the song on the radio on the steering wheel, he’s wearing a single ring on his right hand and his skin is already tanned even though summer has just begun. It’s almost like you’re meeting him all over again with the way you’re soaking in every inch of him, yet it’s forcefully clear to you that none of this is new. Perhaps that would have made it easier if he had just been a stranger where the slate was clean, but this is Mingi and there are things you’re both gonna need to navigate.

You’d foolishly expected that he’d lean in and steal at least a kiss but perhaps more right away, when you were still parked at the airport. More accurately, you had hoped so. It’s all you guys had been talking about for the past months, all the ways you’d want to ravage each other when you finally were face to face again. Apparently, Mingi thinks that can wait.

So you turn your head away, try not to look over at him or imagine his hand holding your thigh instead of the steering wheel. Instead, you focus your attention on the trees outside, and Talking Heads on the radio.

”Do you still like this song?” Mingi asks you. He takes a turn, and this is where the road gets lonesome and there’s more nature than buildings. The song playing is ’This Must be the Place’, and you know Mingi is asking because you’d been the one that bought him this CD for his birthday.

”I could never outgrow Talking Heads, you know that,” you smile at him. You’re starting to settle in now. The fields and the trees are so familiar, the air smells like your childhood, and Mingi is humming along to music you’ve listened to for years. You can do this, it’s not going to be weird, it’s still your best friend Mingi.

The ride back home starts to fill up with idle chatter. You’d think that you’d have run out of topics to talk about by now, seeing as you’d talk on the phone almost every day, but you still find new things to bring up. He parks his car in the driveway outside your house and helps you carry your luggage, all while giggling and joking with you.

It’s only been a year since you’ve been home, you hadn’t been able to come during Christmas, but that’s the longest stretch of time you’ve spent away from this very house. Not much has changed, your parents have kept your room exactly like you had left it, but something just feels different. It feels smaller, or you feel bigger. You catch a glimpse of Mingi in your doorway as you start unpacking your bags and for a second your abdomen flutters when you notice just how much of the door opening he can shield with his body. He has filled out a lot, and this shouldn’t be a surprise because you’d noticed it plenty of times before when you came home to visit. You suppose it’s not a surprise, but it’s the first time you’ve felt appreciation for it.

Of course, you had fantasized about his body since you entered his whole thing, and he had sent a lot of pictures that had helped you out with that, but seeing it in person is an entirely new ordeal. You feel your face heat up as your mind flicks through memories of pictures he’s sent you of himself naked, knowing what he looks like underneath his clothes. You have to wonder if Mingis mind is running in the same circles, if he’s as hyperaware of your skin as you are of his, and how he’s able to contain himself as well as he does if that’s the case. You hardly can’t.

”So,” Mingi begins. Your stomach lurches and plunges every time he pauses between words, fearing what may come next. Maybe this is when he breaks your heart and tells you he can’t do what you’ve been speaking about, that it’s just not the same when you’re face to face. You try to seem unbothered by your racing thoughts and decide to hear him out first. He continues, ”Uh, what now? Do you need any more help?”

”No, I’m all good, Mingi,” You’re rifling through clothes and belongings, lining them up on your bed. You can physically feel him behind you in your room as if he’s radiating this electricity and warmth that has your skin tingling.

”Maybe I should get going then. You know, to let you settle in.” You can hear him shift his weight between his feet. It suddenly feels unbearably awkward and strained between you two, and you know that if you keep your back to him it will only get worse. You need to face this head-on, cut through the tension, or at least pretend like the heavy atmosphere isn’t weighing you down.

You don’t want to let Mingi leave like this, without either one of you addressing things. If he leaves like this, with things unspoken and forgotten, the next time you see him it will be like nothing has ever happened. He’ll be right next to you but somehow further away than ever.

You guess you shouldn’t have expected to jump each other's bones the second you saw each other. Maybe that was unrealistic, but it had just felt that way on the phone. You suppose this is more natural, maybe you just have to stick it out until you’re used to being in the same room.

This Mingi in front of you is an entire world different than the one you’d grown up with. Despite the fact that everything is the same, that he’s in your childhood room and the sun is shining through the window just the same. The beam of light illuminates him directly, making his tan skin radiate.

You’re admiring him when he steps forward and closes the distance between you. Only the birds are singing outside your window, but in the total silence of your room, you can hear Mingi suck in a shaky breath before he leans forward and kisses you.

Time stills, the earth feels like it’s tilting or tipping, as if the very makeup of the universe is now irreversibly changed. Mingis mouth is warm and gentle but he’s keeping a pressure that has your mind whirling, just the way he’s kissing you with so much intent. You’re both breathing heavily and the air escaping his nose is so sweet that you can’t stop yourself from inhaling as much as possible, dizzying yourself to consume every bit of him that you can.

He’s already close, but he shuffles even nearer without breaking apart from the kiss. You can now feel his body against yours and Mingi moves his hands up to hold each side of your head, keeping you in place as he kisses and licks into your mouth. For some reason you’re so very present inside your head, thinking about each little detail of the way he kisses, reminding yourself to remember this moment forever.

You can feel when he starts to pull away so you chase after him, deepening the kiss for another second before he parts from it entirely. He’s just as breathless as you are, and there’s something in Mingi's eyes that you’ve never seen before. He focuses on your lips and leans in for another kiss that ends a moment too quickly.

Mingis hand ruffles your hair up, and his voice is laced with a laugh when he says a drawn-out ’bye’ and leaves your room.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, can hear the blood pumping and wooshing from it all the way through your body, throughout each delicate vein in your ears. Your lips are tingling when you reach up to touch them, almost in disbelief at the fact that Mingi had just been kissing you right there. Your mouth is slick with his spit, and your finger moves cardinally to gather it up and plunge into your mouth so you can savor it.

You fall down on the bed, staring up at your ceiling, and close your eyes to relive the kiss as you imagine what it will be like the next time you see Mingi.

Almost a full week passes until you see him again. Your family practically swarms you for the first few days, your parents being overjoyed to have you back invite your grandparents to welcome you home and your favorite aunt comes to see you with your two young cousins. You get unpacked quickly enough, when you manage to find time between family visits and long drawn-out meals, and before you know it five days have passed. Mingi stays busy too though, he sends a few occasional texts about work and though he lives right across from you, you never even catch a glimpse of him.

Sometimes you lay in your bed at night and feel your heart race up at the thought that there is only a few yards of grass and asphalt road between the two of you. It’s a massive change from the last three years when you had been miles and miles apart. Now, it feels almost like you can sense him. Just across the street, breathing and shuffling in bed. You can picture him so well, long eyelashes resting against his cheekbone, his skin flushed from sleep, his long limbs tangled up in a thin blanket. Your hand slips inside your underwear with a hot fire fueled by embarrassment and insecurity burning in your stomach.

Your imagination moves between recollections of words he’s spoken and pictures he’s sent, to the image of him in his bed right now. He’s so very close, but so very unaware of how much that precise fact affects you. Each day away from him only tightens the strings in your body and you grow more frustrated that you haven’t actualized any of the promises you’d made on the phone. At the same time, you find yourself quietly thankful for the imposed distance. Mingi isn’t even here, but he still has such an impact on you that it has you rushedly getting yourself off with your face buried in your pillow to keep quiet.

You’re so deeply affected by all this, while Mingi is fine. You’re the one busy, but when Mingi comes home from work and has some downtime he doesn’t even text to see if you can spend time. Seemingly, he doesn’t care to find out when you can see each other again.

On day six you’re sitting in your garden with your mom and aunt. Your cousins are playing in the grass in front of you and calling for your attention. The sun is high and hot in the sky, and Mingis car has been home for a few hours. You’ve checked your phone multiple times to make sure it’s not on silent, or if you’ve somehow missed a text from him, but it’s been quiet all day.

Then, a car pulls up to Mingi's house. You recognize it in an instant, it’s Yunhos old Camaro that he had inherited from his dad when he got his license, the same car he’d posted a thousand pictures of on social media. He had even let you drive it for an entire block two summers ago. The paint job has sparkles of blue in it that glimmer in the sun, and you somehow feel like it’s taunting you. The front door of Mingis house opens and he emerges in a pair of short shorts and a t-shirt that he has cut the sleeves off of, and he’s got a pair of sunglasses sitting on his face. A feeling worse than rejection rushes through you when Yunho rolls down the window and waves to you, finally prompting Mingi to also notice you sitting there.

Mingi raises his hand to wave but the movement is cut shorter than Yunho's enthusiastic full-bodied gesture. Mingi gets in the car and the engine roars as Yunho drives away. The warm air feels bittersweet when it’s filled by the smell of exhaust fumes.

That night you’re lying in bed and you’re inching close to sleep when your room lights up for a second. In the haze of sleep, you assume it to be the headlights of a car, but it happens again until the stream of light persists entirely and you finally get up to look outside your window. It’s clear instantly where it’s coming from because Mingi is hanging halfway out his window with a flashlight in his hand.

Though he’s quite a distance away, you can see him well enough to tell that he’s shirtless and his hair is messy, but your focus is pulled from that to trying to decode what gesture he’s making with his hand. You shrug, and he disappears from his window for a few seconds before he pops back with his phone and starts pointing to it.

You search for your phone and open it to find 4 missed calls from Mingi. His contact picture pops up on your phone and you hurry to answer.

”What the fuck, Mingi?” you whisper into your phone.

”Were you sleeping?” he chuckles, and you can see his shoulders shake with laughter. Every little bit of this makes you want to hang up, or scream, or march right over to his house and have a go at him. How dare he go days without speaking to you, then call you up in the middle of the night and laugh as if you haven’t been in agony this past week? How dare he kiss you breathless in this very room and make no attempts at reliving it?

”No, I was just about to fall asleep!” you huff.

”Why are you whispering?” Mingi asks.

”Because my parents are asleep, dumbass.”

”Hm,” he ponders. ”So that would be a no if I asked you to sneak out and come over?”

You hope he doesn’t hear your breath hitch at the thought that he wants you to come over in the middle of the night.

”Of course, it’s a no! My mom is already peeved because of Yunho coming by earlier today. She hates how loud that car is. She’s gonna think you’re a bad influence, riding around in that and making me sneak out.”

”Imagine her reaction when she finds out you drove that car before you got your license, and I wasn’t even there. It was all Yunho,” Mingi jokes.

”Shut up! God, my mom has been warning me about him for years. She used to be convinced I was going to end up with him and it was her biggest nightmare,” you say. Your window is cracked to let in some air now that it’s cooler outside. The night is quiet, and all you can hear is Mingi breathing at the other end of the call. It’s quiet for a moment, and you can see that Mingis face is scrunched up.

”You and Yunho?” he scoffs. ”Why would she think that?”

”I don’t know, it’s not like she had any reason to. She’s just weird like that, you know how my mom is.”

It’s silent yet again, Mingi just sighing.

Your stomach does a somersault when a thought strikes you and you have to ask, ”You’re not jealous, are you?”

”Jealous? Of- of Yunho?” Mingi laughs breathlessly. You just hum, and you can’t take your eyes off of him where he’s sitting in his window. Mingi sucks in a deep breath and regains his voice, ”I have no reason to be jealous of him when I’m the one with your nudes in my phone.”

Something about that makes you curl up on yourself, suddenly feeling very shy that you’re only in your underwear and a thin old tank top. It brings up another thought that has plagued you. The pictures you’d sent were all meticulously posed and manipulated to be as appealing as possible. It had been your body, yes, but the most perfect version of it possible. Here, in your pajamas with your skin glistening from sweat, hunched over yourself, you hardly think Mingi can find any resemblance between the picture-perfect version and the one in front of his eyes.

”Oh yeah?” you murmur. You can’t let him see you falter, can’t let him call your bluff. You straighten your back and pretend to be more interested in something under your nails. ”You could have a lot more than just pictures, you know.”

Mingi lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a moan and a breath, just audible enough for his phone to pick it up.

”Fuck, look at me,” he says, and you do. You just do.

Mingi stands up, keeping his phone pressed to his ear with one hand while his free hand moves in a long, slow caressing motion down his upper body. It’s your turn to feel jealous now, stupidly jealous of Mingis own hands for getting to touch him. His fingers reach the waistband of his boxers and you nervously stop breathing as you imagine them dipping inside. His hand moves just a bit further down though, where Mingi wraps his entire palm around his dick.

”Can you see that?” he asks. He uses his hand to move his hard cock under the light material of his underwear, making sure to jut his hips out towards the moonlight so you can see every second of his show.

”I can see you, oh my god. Are you out of your mind? Mingi, what if-”

”No one’s around, no one’s gonna see except for you,” he assures you. You lick your lips, thinking back to what Mingis mouth had tasted like.

”You’re crazy,” you whisper to him.

”You make me crazy,” he says with a smirk. ”Would you lift your shirt up for me?”

Your fingers have dug into your thigh without you noticing until now that Mingi is directing attention to your body. There’s so much tension inside your body that your breathing feels labored as if there are coils fastened inside you and everything Mingi says and does tighten up every bit of your internal structure. He has you feeling lightheaded with words alone.

Sensing your hesitance, Mingi speaks again. ”You don’t have to, I just really want to see you.”

The last sentence has you moving without thinking, getting up on your knees on the seat under your window. You take a quick glance around the street and in the windows of nearby neighbors. The whole world is asleep, only you and Mingi are awake.

You use your free hand to pull your tank top as high as possible, exposing your stomach and chest to Mingi who has stopped touching himself and is keeping razor-sharp focus on you.

”You-… Thank you, you’re gorgeous, do I ever tell you that?” Mingi’s voice is low and hushed. Until now he has sounded loud and confident, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that Mingi has gotten shy. He probably didn’t expect you to follow through with his request.

You haven’t spoken in minutes and you’re not sure if you could make any noise without it coming out as a whine, but luckily Mingi speaks up once more.

”Can you get into bed? I’m gonna lay down, please join me, please, would you touch yourself with me?” Mingi pleas. He waits a second for the words to register, for you to spring into action before he does so himself. Part of you wants to stay and keep drinking in the sight of his body, but the expectations of what he’s going to have you doing has you obeying his words.

”I’m in bed now,” your voice is still hushed, and there’s a layer of excitement in it that brings on a wave of embarrassment.

”I am too, I’m gonna- I’m taking my underwear off. It’s been so long, I just need to…” Mingi trails off. His end of the call is muffled, and a little distorted, and you can hear him shuffling to get his boxers off.

”It’s been so long since what?” you ask to clarify.

”Since we last did this, since I last came…” he answers. Fuck.

”Have you not been cumming since we last had phone sex?”

Mingi quiets down for a second before he lets out a breathy laugh.

”Have you?” he asks with a tone in his voice you can’t make out, but it has your cheeks heating up and your entire body running ice cold.

You turn silent now, but it’s clear from how Mingi is laughing under his breath that he doesn’t need an answer from you to know the truth.

”Oh my god. Well, tell me then, how many times have you made yourself cum since our last call?” Mingi asks. He sounds so cocky, so full of himself that you don’t know whether to roll your eyes or shove your hand between your legs and revel in this stupidly hot version of Mingi.

”Maybe two or three times,” you mumble, hoping that he doesn’t catch it.

”Let's just pretend I believe that. What have you been thinking about?”

You whine, feeling your entire body surge with shame and humiliation. Despite all of it, you’ve bunched up your blanket between your legs and without thinking about it you’ve started rutting against it slowly.

”Mingi, please…”

”Tell me.”

”I think about you. I always do. I’ve been thinking about that kiss, and-…” Your thought is interrupted by a sound on the other end of the line, along with Mingis soft hums. ”Mingi, are you jacking off to me telling you I fantasize about you?”

”I’m jacking off to your voice,” he says so matter of fact it knocks the air out of you. He continues, ”The fact that it’s about me only makes it better.”

”Oh my god,” you sigh, closing your eyes and letting your hand move where you need it most. Mingis voice is sweet and gentle as he moans with each stroke, and his phone is so close to his mouth you’re tricked into believing he’s right next to you, breathing and huffing.

”I wish you were here right now,” he says, sort of under his breath, a little quiet. It feels a little secretive when he says it, like when you were younger and he would have you turn your back to him as he did the same. With your backs pressed together, he would tell you all his deepest secrets, and when you’d turn around again you would both pretend like nothing had happened. It’s a memory you have replayed a lot more recently than ever before, just due to how similar it feels to this arrangement you have with Mingi. As long as you aren’t faced with each other, as long as your backs are turned you can do and say whatever you want.

Instead of sulking about it, you force yourself to play along.

”I do too, I need you so bad,” you whisper, and none of it is a lie.

”Need to see you cum for me, fuck, I need you to make me cum,” he moans. It echoes through your entire head, that moan and those words, and it has you rolling onto your back and pulling your underwear down your legs so you can touch yourself properly.

”You’ll make me cum just by saying that, Mingi,” you say, pathetically so. Something about Mingi has you reaching the edge faster than anything else.

”Fuck, me too. Just hearing you say my name is enough to make me cum right now. I’ve never felt this fucking good,” Mingi groans.

”Mingi,” you let out again, out of pure instinct. ”Mingi, please give me permission to cum, I need it, please!”

He does, in a string of words and breathless moans he allows you to cum with him. Your orgasm rolls through your entire body in a blinding flash, and by the time it’s over you can’t gauge if multiple minutes or just a few seconds have passed. Your phone is pressed so tight to your ear that pearls of sweat coat the screen.

”You there?” Mingis voice is raspy, all fucked out.

You come to, clearing your throat, ”I’m here, sorry. Holy shit.”

”What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks. You don’t have time to feel overjoyed or even finish your train of thought (of oh, fuck, it’s finally happening) before Mingi continues, ”Yunho’s throwing this… thing, at his house. There’s gonna be a barbeque, we’re gonna get drinks, and he says it’s going to be chill but you know how he is. It’s gonna end up being a party by the end of the night.”

You’re staring up at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers Mingi helped you set up when you were 15, and the answer is so obvious you don’t have to think about it.

”Yeah, I’ll go with you,” you respond.

”Well… I’ll take you, but maybe we shouldn’t make it too obvious when we’re there. All of our friends will be there, maybe it’s best to lay low?”

You clench your eyes shut. It makes you want to scream so loud it’d pierce your wall and travel across the street and through to his bedroom. A week ago he had been so concerned about things turning weird between you two and you’d written it off as a worry about your friendship, about how things would change after all the words and naked pictures you had exchanged. You hadn’t considered for a second that Mingi would be concerned for his reputation.

”Yeah,” you mutter. ”No, yeah, you’re right.”

”Okay then,” he says, so cheerily that you feel shame wash over you. ”I’ll pick you up tomorrow at five then?”

You hum in response and swap goodbyes before he ends the call and the beeps ring through your ear.

Your sleep that night is weighed down by a worry you can't dispel even after you wake up. You hardly feel rested, and your parent's voices barely register when they speak to you at breakfast. A lot of thoughts linger in your head, unshakeable doubts about whether things with Mingi are really going to be as okay as you had thought when you were in school.

Things had felt so much simpler then, like this steadfast belief that it would be just as it had always been. You had returned every single summer and were able to pick back up your friendship with Mingi with no trouble, despite all the months you had spent apart.

At least you would get to see all your friends again. Summer being in full swing would mean that everyone would be at their happiest, most free, possibly stupid, and risky behavior.

The day passes by sluggishly, you're merely counting down the hours. You try to read a book while lying in the sun in your backyard, but find that the words just flow together. You check your phone and see the half-hour call in your log from yesterday night, you’re just staring at Mingi's name and contact picture. It's just letters and numbers on a screen, but it's also a journal of your entire relationship. You can go back and see every single one, remember where things had started and where things had escalated. It took you weeks to send the first suggestive pictures to each other and they had been modest back then. A picture of your dark silhouette in the mirror, and Mingi replying with a blurry picture of his thighs in the dark of his room.

It's just another reminder that what you've got with Mingi is all contained in this piece of technology you can fit in your hand. Nothing is real or tangible, except for a few minutes of kissing. That's all you've got that counts as something; Mingi kissing you in your childhood bedroom for a few very good minutes before departing and ignoring you for days.

The kiss lives vividly in your head as you shower and get dressed.

You're sitting on your windowsill and watching the clock tick closer to five when the front door of Mingis house opens and he walks outside. He's got a pair of sunglasses on that he lifts off of his nose to peek up at your window, and when he spots you he waves and motions for you to come down.

You float down the stairs and out your door. The air is light and breezy outside despite the way the sun has been beaming down all day. Mingi is dressed in yet another shirt that shows off his arms, the slight tan line from his work t-shirt that he tries to even out is obvious to you up close and you squeeze his arm to tease him for it.

Both of you sit down in his car. The windows are rolled down to let air flow through and Mingi sets the car stereo to a low volume so you can faintly hear Tears for Fears play in the background. The engine hums pleasantly in comparison to Yunhos Camaro when Mingi starts the car. You watch his hands, waiting for him to shift the stick into first gear, but it doesn't happen.

Instead, time moves in both directions, very slowly but all too quickly as he wraps his hand around the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss. Every single thought that has plagued you throughout the day vanishes the second his lips are on yours. It's replaced by the fact that these same lips had moaned your name less than 24 hours ago, that he had sounded so desperate when he told you he wished you were there.

Mingi deepens the kiss this time, letting it go on for longer than last time. When you have to part from it to take a breath Mingi trails his kisses from the corner of your mouth to under your ear. The kisses are chaste, barely there, but every single one leaves your skin tingling.

He doesn't return to your lips, he pulls back and regains his breath and his smile is so cocky when he reverses the car out of the driveway. You can't help but giggle then, and Mingi turns up the volume to let the music blare through the entire car. This is the Mingi you've missed, the one that drives through your neighborhood and ignores all the grouchy people who turn around and stare disgruntedly. He sings along too loudly, straining his voice to hit notes that sound awful even though you know that he's a great singer.

Everything feels as it always has when you pull up to Yunhos house and there are cars parked up and down the street. Mingi parks and as you're unbuckling your belt you see him look in the rearview mirror, grooming his hair and then wiping his mouth to remove your lip balm. It stings for a second but you don't let it persist. You just get out of his car and the two of you walk towards Yunhos backyard.

There is a voice in the back of your head that reminds you of the distance Mingi puts between you, this very conscious measurement that would leave no doubt for all your friends that you're strictly platonic. You push that away too, and make way towards all your old school friends instead. Seonghwa is the first to pull you into a hug, and it's all you need for the bubble to burst on all your worries.

Soon enough you're all laughing, the backyard is quickly filling with people and Yunho is having a hard time keeping up with all the people demanding a burger. The afternoon air smells just like high school, and the cheap alcohol mixed in the punch is just like the one you used to drink back then. The only difference is that everyone looks so much older, and the conversations have switched from homework, crushes, and drama to future plans and jobs.

"So what now?" Seonghwa asks you when a few hours have passed and the sun is setting. It's not getting dark, the sun is just changing from blue to lilac. You turn to him, feeling the way the alcohol has affected your vision, the way it's swimming a bit.

"What now?" you ask.

"I mean, are you back for good? Are you gonna settle down, get a job, do the whole small-town thing?" he jokes, but the question he poses is a valid one.

"Hm," you ponder for a second, looking up at the sky as if an answer is gonna rain down on you. "I guess I don't know. I need to get a job, but I'll give myself the summer to figure it out. It feels like the last one before things truly.. you know.."

"Change," Seonghwa interjects. "Before we truly grow up."

The conversation quiets for a moment before you both burst into laughter.

"Jesus, we always get so somber, don't we?" Seonghwa laughs.

"Remember prom? We went out for some air and you couldn't stop talking about the universe because you looked up at the stars for a second," you say.

"I don't remember that, I just remember Hongjoong going off on me because I teared up and ruined the makeup he spent an hour doing on me," Seonghwa recollects. You could remember that. You also remembered the eyeshadow Hongjoong had smeared across Mingis's eyelid, the messy dark brown he had lined his eyes with because Mingi refused to stay still for too long.

None of you had brought any dates that night, your entire friend group had decided to just go together and spend the night dancing with each other. When you had gotten a dance with Mingi towards the end of the night his makeup had started running and you had brushed your thumb under his eye. Nothing about that action or the dance, or the night as a whole, had been close to romantic. He had just been Mingi, the same Mingi as always, he walked you home that night with his arm around your shoulder just like he had every day after school.

It's only with the wisdom of hindsight you can identify little actions to speak otherwise. You can't recall what Sans eyes had looked like when you danced with him, but you remember in great detail how the lights had twinkled in Mingi's irises. All you remember from your dance with Wooyoung is that his hands had been too sweaty to hold, but you can go back in your memory to when Mingi had leaned his head on your shoulder and sang along softly to the song that was playing.

"What is it like when you talk to Mingi?" Seonghwa pulls you out of your thoughts. You don't know when your eyes close, but when you open them again the sky is starting to burn a vibrant pink.

"Well... I don't know. It's good. We talk about all sorts of things," you try to sound matter of fact, very casual. Reminding yourself of Mingis words, lay low.

"Yeah, you must," Seonghwa remarks, a chuckle sounding through his voice. It has you turning to him, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"Meaning?" you question.

"Just that there must be substance to your conversations, seeing as Mingi excuses himself from every night out when you call," he says.

"Yeah," you attempt to brush it off as a meaningless piece of information, but it feels like a lot more. You didn't know Mingi would rush home to talk to you.

Seonghwa hums, and your eyes are pulled to the ground where you've been digging your heel into the grass.

"I guess you guys have always been closer than the rest of us. Living across from each other, being childhood friends, all that," he says. There's no hidden meaning or intention behind his words, you know Seonghwa well enough to deduct that, but it still feels like he's trying to catch you out.

"Yeah," you repeat, absent-mindedly. "Suppose so."

Seonghwas mouth twitches a little as if he wants to say something else, but he keeps it shut. You're thankful, because even if he can read between the lines of your and Mingi's strange relationship, the fact that he doesn't say it out loud serves as reassurance to you. It's the same thin veil that you and Mingi drape yourselves in. Unspoken meaning unchanged.

A friend comes over and offers to top off your and Seonghwas glasses, and you decide to get up on your feet and move on from the sudden gloom that took over.

The music is loud and the air gets chillier as the clouds twist amongst pink and orange. You’re talking to Yunho and telling him the story about your mom's disapproval of his car when he notices your shoulders quiver with the drop in temperature. He fetches one of his flannels for you, helping you thread your arms through and telling you that you need another drink to warm up. Yunho makes you something stronger than the diluted punch, and it goes to your head with haste.

It does warm you up, and it pulls you from reality a little. It’s easier to laugh along with Yunhos jokes this way, without thinking about the tension between you and Mingi. It feels good and safe to just be worriless, to feel the wind in your hair and be surrounded by the sound of your friend's voices mixing together.

Your legs are getting wobblier, but Yunho catches you before you fall and he lets you stay posted against him.

You’re just watching the conversation your friends are having without joining in when you feel two hands on your waist. You don’t have to look back to know that it’s Mingi. The smell of his cologne is familiar enough to alert you.

”I think I better get them home,” Mingis voice is warm and round behind your ear. For a second you feel a little bitter, you kind of want to shake his hands off of you and scoff at him because he’s intervening just when you’re truly starting to enjoy yourself without spending a single thought on him. Is that not what he wanted? You’re keeping the secret, you’re not drawing any eyes towards you two. He’s doing that all on his own.

Had it been three years ago, you think your friends had been protesting your leave. You’re all grown up now though, and everyone is understanding when Mingi wraps his arm around your waist, and you both wave goodbye.

Mingi helps you into his car. Tears for Fears is still playing when he turns the car on and starts driving, and you feel a sort of agitation that you can’t place. He doesn’t speak a single word for a minute or two, and the mood inside the car is unbearable.

”I don’t think anyone could tell,” you say. Mingis face is bare of emotion, and you find yourself with an urge to placate him. ”We did well, don’t you think? I didn’t make anything obvious.”

You don’t know what response you expect to get from Mingi, but there’s a palpable shock within you when he pulls the car over to the side of the road and turns to you.

”What?” you ask. Mingis eyes soften when they flick over your entire body, to then end up at your face.

”Did you really.. worry about that?” Mingi wonders softly.

”Huh? I thought-… Yes, I worried about it, because you did. I mean, you told me we needed to lay low.” You’re starting to get thoroughly confused and frustrated.

”I know, but I didn’t think you’d drink so much and cuddle up to Yunho because of it,” Mingi says, his tone quickly working up to a sharpness you’ve never heard in him before.

”Drink so much?” you gasp. ”I was just having fun! It had nothing to do with you! Not everything is about you, Mingi, or about us. I don’t worry about it as much as you do. Believe it or not.”

”I don’t worry about it,” Mingi sounds accused.

”Clearly you do though. You take me to this party and give me instructions on how to behave, then spend the whole time ignoring me. Just like you did all of last week. Clearly, you have to feel ashamed, or- or…” you trail off, feeling your voice crack. Mingi sucks in a deep breath and leans closer, putting his hand on your knee.

”Please,” he urges, and there’s something in his voice that breaks your heart. ”Please, don’t think I could ever be ashamed of you.”

”Then what, Mingi?” you ask quietly, starting to feel yourself break now. Tears are starting to well up and cloud your vision. You continue, ”Do you just not want me? I get if it’s different when we’re face to face, I know it might not be what you expected, I understand if you don’t find me-”

”Stop it!” Mingi is almost shouting now, startling you. ”It’s nothing like that, you have to believe me. Stop saying these things.”

His hand lifts from your knee to hold your face where he wipes away a tear from your cheek. You don’t know what to say, even though there’s a part of you that wants to keep insisting. Mingi isn’t offering any kind of explanation or even an excuse, he’s not saying anything to quell your worries, and his hands on you are not enough.

”Kiss me. Please,” you whisper. There’s more you want to say, like prove it, prove that you want me. Kiss me and mean it.

”I’m not going to kiss you when you’re drunk and I’m sober,” Mingi says, offering up a solemn smile.

”I’m not though,” you argue. This entire conversation has been sobering. You’re still tipsy, your head feels a little heavy and your vision is still floating but you think you can blame it on your tears as much as you can blame it on alcohol.

”Well, you’re drunk enough that I don’t feel comfortable kissing you.” Mingis thumb strokes over your cheek to comfort you. It’s enough to calm you a little, because that you can take. You don’t think you’d want to kiss him either if the roles had been reversed.

”Okay,” you mutter. ”Are you sure it’s not because you don’t want me?”

Mingi sighs, ”We’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re not-”

”I’m not drunk, Mingi.”

”Okay, okay. But I still want to do this tomorrow, when we’re both thinking clearly. We’re just misunderstanding each other, and this isn’t how I wanted it to go,” he tells you. He leans forward and kisses the top of your head instead, just above your hairline. It must be calculated on his part, to kiss you where your skin can’t feel the warmth of his lips.

”Okay,” you say again. This time Mingi lets out a little laugh at your dissatisfaction.

He starts the car back up and takes off to go home, leaving his hand on your thigh throughout the drive. When he pulls up to his house and you get out of the car your legs feel like jelly, and you realize you’re probably not as sober as you’d like to believe.

”Mingi?” you ask. He rushes to your side to hold you up, though that’s not what you meant. ”Can I sleep here tonight? You know how my mom is, she’d flip if she saw me-”

”I wasn’t planning on letting you go home like this, don’t worry,” he laughs.

So, with his arm around your waist, Mingi guides you inside and up the stairs to his room. It’s dark and you have to remind yourself to be quiet to not wake Mingi's family. While he leaves the room to fetch another blanket you sit down on his bed and look around his room.

It’s been a while since you’ve been here but not much has changed. You know for a fact that Mingi is still just as entertained by his action figures now as he had been at 13. It makes you laugh to see them all lined up on his shelf, right next to a couple of books that you had gifted him. He had forced his way through a couple of them and called you to complain about every choice the main character made.

You’re comforted by how much of his room remains the same. This is a place where you can remember and picture Mingi. By his big stereo, switching CD’s. Cutting out pictures of his friends to add to his collage wall.

Mingi comes back to his room with a blanket and a pillow that he throws next to you on the bed.

You’re watching his every move. When his eyes land on you he lets out a sound you can only read as disgust.

”Of course he gave you that,” he complains, more to himself than to you.

You can’t help but follow his line of sight though, finding that he’s looking at Yunhos flannel shirt.

”What’s so bad about it?” you wonder. Being under Mingis gaze always fills you with a sort of insecurity that has you twisting and turning.

”It's like, his move. Lending out his shirt. And then letting you lean on him like that..” Mingi mutters.

”Why would Yunho ever pull a move on me?” you ask incredulously.

”For the same reason I would, I assume,” he says. ”You’re really hot.”

A heat rushes to your abdomen and you can’t meet Mingis eyes anymore. Today has left you feeling anything but desired by him, but you don’t think he’s lying right now. He wouldn’t lie about finding you hot just minutes after refusing to kiss you.

”It wouldn’t matter what Yunho thinks of me. Like you said last night, you’re the one who has my nudes. Right?” you say.

Mingi sits down next to you, looking at his hands in his lap instead of at you.

”What if he wanted more than just your nudes?” he asks. This, too, feels like he’s asking himself the question. And you don’t know what to answer.

You don’t think Yunho poses any threat whatsoever, he’s just friendly and flirty by nature. But you let yourself think about what Mingi is implying for a second. What if he - or anyone else - would want more of you than Mingi does? Someone who could offer you a relationship that wouldn’t require secrecy. Someone who would bring you around his friends and hold your hand for everyone to see. Someone who would properly date you and want a relationship, as opposed to dirty phone sex at odd hours of the night.

You realize you’d always pick Mingi above all that, no matter if you had to have him only partially. If he was never yours.

You open your mouth to respond but shut it again when you can’t find the right words.

Mingi looks over at you. He speaks, ”Can’t you take it off?”

”Take it off of me,” you whisper back.

His mouth twitches into a small smile.

”It’d be a lot sexier if I wasn’t taking Yunhos clothes off of you the first time I undress you,” he still sounds displeased, but his hands work the shirt off of you anyways. He discards it to the floor, as far away as it can come.

”These are all mine,” you say, meaning the clothes you have on. ”You can take those off.”

Mingi lets out a drawn-out breath, something to collect himself. His hands pause at the hem of your top even though you’ve already given consent, waiting for you to nod until he starts pulling it over your head.

Silence permeates in Mingis bedroom as he continues undressing you. It’s just the wind rustling his curtains that disrupts the quiet. He guides you to lie down so he can unbutton your shorts to take them off. His hands are so gentle and his touch is soft, when he has finished taking your socks off and all your clothes are on the floor except for your underwear he leans down and presses a sweet kiss right above your knee.

”Take yours off too, please,” you say softly. He’s not quite as delicate with himself, he doesn’t make a show of it. You can’t help but stare though, trying to really commit this to memory since it’s the very first time you’re seeing him strip for you, even if you know it won’t be followed up with all the things you’ve talked about on the phone.

Your eyes flick all over him, down his toned arms and up his torso as he pulls his shirt over his head, across his broad chest. You watch his fingers work the button on his shorts open, revealing his dark underwear. He’s not hard, at least not fully, and it’s strangely intimate to be so close to his dick for the first time but not in a sexual manner. Everything about it makes your heart feel heavy, you’re somehow aware of each pump of it, how it’s speeding up at the mere sight of Mingi.

Mingi, your Mingi, that hasn’t ever been yours. Not really, not properly, but still somehow.

You want him on top of you so bad, to finally feel him in the ways you’ve dreamt about for a full year. Instead, Mingi climbs in bed with you and pulls you close.

He is soft and warm in all the spots your bodies are connected and intertwined. You fall asleep to the sounds of his breath coming out slow and steady.

You wake to a breeze of air over your face. At first, all you can hear is the chirps of birds outside and the distant noise of cars driving around. You don’t need to open your eyes to know that it’s the middle of the day, the sun is bright in that midday way, bright enough that there isn’t a total blackness even when you screw your eyes shut further.

You just turn around and try to escape from it by burying your face into the pillow. The texture of the pillow feels strange and unfamiliar, and the more you come to you realize it also doesn’t smell like your bedding. It smells like Mingi, you realize, and shoot up in a startle.

You don’t have time to wonder why the bed is empty next to you, because you can hear steps on the stairs and seconds later the bedroom door creaks open. Through a squint you can see Mingi in the same state you remember him falling asleep. In just his underwear he walks up to the bed and sets down a glass of water and a plate, before petting his hand over your hair.

”Good morning,” he greets you, smiling big.

”Mm, yeah,” you hum back, still drowsy. It’s far more comfortable to let your eyes close again and just lean into Mingi's affection.

”You okay? Are you hungover?” Mingi asks.

”Yeah, but not from drinking,” you murmur. ”It’s from you yelling at me.”

”I wasn’t yelling!” There’s an undertone to his voice, an actual worry and fear that you’d be feeling a certain way today after last night's conversation.

”I know you weren’t, Mingi. I’m just messing with you, I remember every bit of that conversation,” you assure him. He lets out a sigh of relief, his thumb stroking over your temple.

”That was going to be my next question,” he tells you. ”So you remember the whole night then?”

You nod your head under his hand.

”Do you want to talk about it?” he asks you.

The question stabs at something inside your sternum. Of course, you want to talk, in reality, there are a thousand times you’ve held yourself back from saying to him and there would be nothing more freeing than telling Mingi all of it. There’s just never a time and place for it though and you’ve come to terms that there never will be. It would take astronomical changes to allow you to say what you want. Yes, Mingi, I’m in love with you and probably have been all my life. Mingi, it took us sexting to make me realize you’re the only one I could ever picture myself with.

You had of course let yourself fantasize a couple of times, but the details of any imaginary and hypothetical relationship between you two would quickly obscure, and Mingi was often a perpetrator in that. It would present itself on days when you lived in the afterglow of a nighttime call. You’d walk on clouds with the memories of Mingi moaning your name, then check social media and be greeted with photos of him with his arm around your lifelong friends and strangers you would get nauseous picturing Mingi talking to. Your name wouldn’t even come up in conversation, he’d appear single to them because after all, he was.

So you wouldn’t often entertain the idea of being something more. You’d just treat it as a passing thought, boil it down to what it was, a neuronal connection gone to grief.

You guess you had hoped to see something in Mingi to completely deny these thoughts. Like, a first kiss that you wouldn’t be able to break away from. Or the moment you finally have sex for the first time and it being this out-of-body experience that ends with both of you crying and confessing your love. Like a scene out of a movie.

You could even have survived the opposite. If the first kiss had gone sour and the spark died before it even ignited. At the very least, you would have an answer to all your questions. Instead of being tethered to this middle ground where there’s an undeniable passion and need for each other, but a considerable distance keeping you apart.

Though there were things you’d want to say, there are none you could verbalize.

”I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” you say, finally. To convince Mingi of this, you open your eyes and roll onto your back so you can look at him. He looks unconvinced, so you continue, ”I think I was just confused and upset. I don’t know why. Maybe because you’ve barely spoken to me since I came back home. I had just… expected more.”

You find yourself surprised that you’re telling the truth. It’s not what you had meant to say, but it’s true and innocent enough. Mingis hand rests on the side of your face, where his fingers fiddle with your hair, and for a second his eyes focus on that, before coming back to yours.

”I don’t have any excuse,” he says. ”I guess I could say that I kept seeing your relatives show up at your house and I thought it’d be rude to whisk you away from all that just to fuck you. But I think the more time passed, the harder it got to..”

”Yeah,” you agree. ”To fuck.”

He smiles at your choice of words and nods.

”Have you not happened to notice I haven’t initiated a single kiss between us, Mingi? I’m nervous too. It’s different in real life. It was much easier on the phone to just do things,” you say.

”Would it make it easier if I told you I’d really like to kiss right now?” Mingi asks.

There won’t ever come a time when the prospect of Mingi wanting to kiss you won’t send a jolt of electricity through each and every vein in your body. Nor will there ever be an instance where you won’t act on that will, especially since it seems that there will be a finite number of them. As you prop yourself up and lean in to kiss Mingi you realize that, along with this being the very first time that you initiate a kiss with him, you’re also one kiss closer to the last kiss you’ll ever have with him.

Because there will be a last time. If you keep going like this there is no other possible outcome, there will simply come a day when Mingis's eyes set on someone else and your arrangement is concluded. There’s not an if, it’s simply a when, and every kiss from now on is going to lead up to that last one. You can’t decide if you should hold out and stave off that last one for as long as you can or fit in as many as possible until then.

All these thoughts disperse when your mouth meets Mingis and he kisses you back. It’s hard to think of anything other than his warm lips or his tongue softly licking against yours. It’s more playful this time compared to the last two, today you’re both feeling each other out and learning what to do, what feels good.

You find yourself out of rhythm at times, the position you’re in is a little awkward, and you fumble through a few kisses to lean closer to Mingi. You feel your stomach swirl when you realize that none of this deters Mingi, that you can in fact feel him smile and breathe out something between a hum and a moan every time you come crashing against his mouth. His big hand comes up to your jaw, long fingers curling around the back of your head to deepen the kiss.

Things get heady so fast with Mingi, he works you up so incredibly quickly, and it’s obvious from the sounds he’s making that he’s just as affected. He doesn’t pull away for a second, his hand keeps your head in place and he continues to clumsily kiss you as he guides you down onto the bed.

The air in Mingi's room is hot from the summer sun shining through his window. It’s not until now you realize that the only thing separating you from Mingis body has been his thin blanket. He starts peeling it away, and it’s then you remember that Mingi had undressed you the night before. A jolt of panic shoots through you now that Mingi can see you, entirely nude except for your underwear, in the warm, bright light of his room. You find comfort in the fact that he’s undressed too, but with Mingis eyes taking you in it’s hard to feel relaxed.

Mingi leans in for a long, passionate kiss, and against your mouth he muffles, ”You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your head is swimming, Mingi keeps on kissing you, getting softer and more careful as he moves down your neck and continues to lavish you with compliments. So pretty, kiss, gorgeous, kiss, breathtaking, kiss. And if you had any doubts, he squashes every single one when he kisses from your collarbone, over your chest and down your stomach, all the way down to your hips.

He plants his hands on each of your thighs, not grabbing or putting any pressure, but you can still feel the weight of them.

”Is this okay?” he asks quietly. He kisses just above the waistband of your underwear, and at the same time, his hands nudge your legs apart. Your breath catches in your throat and you can only nod and let his hands move your legs to where he wants them.

”What about your family?” you ask him, suddenly realizing the reality of where you are.

”No one’s home. It’s just us,” he says. ”So don’t hold back on me please.”

His shoulders are big and broad between your legs. The sun illuminates him so prettily, his tan skin glows, and every little hair on his body is lit up by the sun. The heat has left a thin layer of sweat on his skin and it highlights his muscles in just the right way. He’s just glowing, near angelic, and you’re moved with the need to worship every part of him.

Mingi is still so tender with all his kisses, there’s no sense of rushing as he takes his time by really letting his lips linger. His mouth trails along your entire thigh, stopping now and then to lightly suck your skin into his mouth and have a taste of you. He only falters when he gets to the junction of your thigh, to where your skin is covered by the fabric of your underwear.

You’ve been short of breath for a while now, but when Mingis fingers dip into the waistline of your underwear you cease to breathe entirely. Your head is rushing, watching as Mingis hands pull your underwear down your legs, leaving you completely naked. You’ve sent him pictures before, he knows what every little inch of your body looks like, but Mingi looks at you as if it’s the very first time.

A thousand thoughts whirl through your head between the seconds your underwear hits the floor to when Mingi springs into action. A thousand worries now culminating, whether he’ll realize that it was better over the phone, if he’s disappointed by what he’s seeing, or if he’s repulsed by how aroused you already are.

”You’re,” Mingi begins, stopping to press a kiss at the seam of your thigh. He adds, ”Beautiful.”

His eyes aren’t even on yours, he’s single-mindedly focused on what’s right in front of him. His breath is fanning across your entire crotch, tickling your inner thighs, and as you feel it get closer and closer you instinctively close your eyes and let your head roll back when Mingi finally puts his mouth where you need it most.

He’s still so gentle, using his tongue and lips to tease you and explore what you like best. It feels like hours pass of Mingi lightly sucking and pressing wet kisses all over you, he’s really and truly taking his time and you have to believe it’s for his own sake because he’s only building up a frustration within you.

”Mingi,” you whine, reaching down to grab hold of his hair. It’s an objectively insane feeling, to have his hair in your hand and head between your legs, after all this time of dreaming of it. It’s enough to have you getting close, even though Mingi is still lapping carefully at you, and it's nowhere close enough to what you crave.

When you start bucking your hips against his mouth it’s like he releases all restrain and just goes for it. His hands wrap around your legs at first, pressing them towards his head, to then wedging underneath your ass so he can get all of you into his mouth.

Mingi moans out ”You taste so good” with a mouthful of you at the same time you tell him how good he is with his mouth, prompting him to smirk against your pelvis. It really doesn’t take long for him to learn what gets you closest to the edge, just where he should put his tongue and where to apply some pressure.

”So good, Mingi, you’re so good. Oh my god,” you sigh. You tug on his hair hard enough for your fingers to cramp, and Mingi only moans against you. Every sound you make seems to spur him on further, Mingi only getting more eager with the way he’s circling his tongue around you.

His tongue is getting you closer and closer, your stomach is splitting in two to hold onto the edge and trying not to cum. You’ve been waiting for this for so long that it feels a shame to cum just minutes after Mingis mouth is on you, but there’s no holding back. His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush to his face, and the second you lift your head to look down at him between your legs you start orgasming in his mouth.

He understands what’s happening before you do, applying enough pressure to get you over the edge before letting up and licking you slower to help you come down. All while he keeps his eyes on yours, letting your fingers scratch his scalp. Mingi listens to every little noise you make and stops the second your heavy breathing turns into an overstimulated hiss.

”Mingi, Mingi,” you whine. His cheeks are flushed a deep pink and his lips are slick with his own spit and your cum, and you can’t stop admiring him. All you can do is pray that Mingi looks into your eyes and mistakes your all-consuming love as the afterglow of a great orgasm.

He pulls himself up enough to crawl on top of you, and though he’s just spent minutes between your legs, this feels a lot more daunting. He hesitates for a moment as if he’s unsure if he’s allowed to kiss you, so you wrap your hands around the back of his head and pull him towards you.

Mingi is breathing heavily from the effort he’s just put forth, and instead of letting him catch his breath you only grow more desperate. Your hands clammer onto his shoulders, pulling him against you, then down to his waist, and finally around his ass so you can pull him against your core. He’s got his underwear on, but you don’t let it stop you as you grind up against him. He’s hard and you’re still wet with spit and cum, it doesn’t take long before you’ve soaked his boxers and the barrier between you both is practically nonexistent. You can feel every bit of him against you.

”Mingi,” you moan into his mouth. ”Fuck me, please.”

He pulls away and sucks in a deep breath.

”Don’t you want me to… uh, prepare you?” He sounds small and insecure. You watch his brows burrow and his eyes flick across your face, and you’re struck by how much he looks like Mingi. Your best friend Mingi, who you’ve built up in your head as a confident sex god, even though you’ve always been aware that he’s more careful and vary than any other person you know.

You suppose you’d just assume that that version of him would disappear in the bedroom, that he’d be the same as he is over the phone when he’s telling you all the different ways he wants to fuck you.

”I’m- I’m embarrassed to say this, but I’m so worked up you could just slide inside me,” you tell him, and Mingi moans in response.

”Are you sure?” he asks. You pick up motion again, sliding yourself against the entire length of his dick.

”I’m not just sure, I’m begging,” you plea. You hook your fingers into his boxers, trying to tug them down even though you know the position you’re in won’t allow you to undress him. You just need him to act, now, you can’t wait any longer.

It happens fast, Mingi pulling his boxers off and getting back on top of you, to then lining up his dick to enter you.

”Fuck, I forgot how big you are,” you mumble. The sight of him in comparison to you, lined up against you, is enough to make you cum untouched.

This is what you’ve been dreaming about for a whole year, this very moment. For Mingi to push inside you, hook your legs over his shoulders and fuck you until you can’t see straight. Actually being here, with the tip of his dick against your hole, it feels much different. It’s not the actual sex you’re looking forward to, it’s the fact that he’s finally going to be inside you. It feels like you’re claiming him, that the moment is finally here and he’s going to be yours.

”Are you okay? Are you ready? Can I-?” Mingi asks, searching your eyes for uncertainty.

”Please,” you nod.

He starts pushing inside, watching his dick slide with ease until he’s got the entire tip in. The stretch feels amazing, you could take all of him in one go but the fact that he stops and leans down to kiss you as he slowly thrusts his entire cock inside is way better. And god, he kisses you as if he’s not currently buried inside you. His lips barely brush against yours, and the kisses are short and sweet. Finally, he pulls back to watch himself bottom out.

The sun is shining on the side of Mingis face, and this is just not at all how you had pictured it. In your fantasies, there had always been a dark bedroom and Mingis body had been on top of yours, only distinguishable by faint lights outside the window. It was quick, rushed, and dirty, maybe Mingis hand would be clamped over your mouth to keep you from making any sounds since it would have to happen at one of your homes. Sometimes you’d imagine it happening in his car, parked somewhere secluded at night, it would be bumpy and awkward and sweaty and the focus would just be on both of you cumming as soon as possible.

You hadn’t pictured it like this. Like, Mingi looking at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time.

His hair is messy from your hands grabbing it, and the sunlight lights it up like a halo. Time feels unmoving, you’re drinking in the sight of him and trying to memorize every small detail.

He starts thrusting carefully and slowly. His back is upright, leaning away from you so he can watch his cock go in and out of you. You can’t stop watching him though. He’s so beautiful, his hair is a mess, and beads of sweat are starting to trickle down his chest. You reach your hands up, caressing his skin.

You wonder if you’re breaking some sort of unspoken rule. The two of you hadn’t discussed or set any boundaries, but when you slide your hands over Mingis chest and stomach, you wonder if you should have. This isn’t just fucking, you’re worshipping him and looking at him with intense adoration. He’s going so slow too, really taking his time. You’re not fucking, this is making love.

”I’ve never felt this good, you feel so good,” he moans under his breath. He curls his hands under your ass, picking you up so he can get better leverage to thrust as deep inside as possible. The new angle makes him groan, ”Fuck, you were made for me, weren’t you?”

It has you sobbing with pleasure. Mingis fingers are digging into your flesh, and he fucks you at this torturous pace for tens of minutes. You can truly feel the drag of his dick inside of you, when he bottoms out all the way inside to when the tip of his dick is at your entrance.

”You’re so good, oh my god! So good, you’re so handsome, Mingi,” you praise him, causing Mingi to pick up the speed.

You’re grabbing at his arms and shoulders, trying to pull him down, to get him closer. He lets you down on the bed and leans down, coming chest to chest with you, shoving his arm under your head instead. Your bodies are flush with each other now, Mingis pelvis rubbing against you and getting you close to cumming again stupidly quick.

His mouth is right by your ear, pressing a few sloppy kisses to your neck and temple. He is moaning your name and though his voice is hushed and strained you can still feel it reverberate through his chest, right against yours.

It’s precisely that which has you cumming, the sound of his voice calling your name over and over, telling you how good you feel. Your ears start to ring when your orgasm rolls through you and Mingi only picks up the pace to intensify it. You can faintly hear him, somewhere far away now, this otherwordly being showering you with so much affection it has tears forming in your eyes.

”You’re so perfect,” he’s telling you, fucking you faster. ”Just for me, all for me, you’re all mine.”

Somewhere through it, you realize he’s picked up the speed because he’s close too, but he wants to make it good for you before he pulls out. His eyes are on you, watching your breathing return to normal and feeling your hands unclench from his shoulders, and only when he’s certain that you’re coming down from the orgasm he leans back and pulls out. He only manages to get his hand around his cock before he cums all over your stomach, cumming so hard he shoots all the way up to your chest.

Mingis other hand is grabbing your waist and you can’t stop looking at the way he’s marked you up. There are red marks on you from the tips of his fingers, and little marks from his nails all over your hips, and you’re covered in his cum. Just seconds ago he’d told you that you’re all his, and in this moment you feel it.

”Fuck, that was…” Mingi is the first to speak. ”Shit, let me get you cleaned up.”

He scrambles for his underwear, starting to wipe his cum from your stomach.

You’ve managed to blink away the tears that welled up when you came, but there’s still a sob within your chest that you’re fighting to choke down. Everything about what just happened was about a thousand times more intense than you had ever dreamt of. Had he not pulled away you think you might have confessed to him right then and there.

”How are you feeling?” you ask him, clearing your throat and hoping Mingi reads it as just being fucked out.

”Very good,” he responds, without a hint of hesitance or a second of stalling. There’s a faint laugh in his voice, and he’s starting to smile. Nothing about him looks like you currently feel.

”Oh,” you say, struggling to find words. It’s not like you had expected him to just bare his heart and pour out confessions. You’d just expected something more to follow, after all of that. You had made love. There’s no other word for it.

Mingi leans down and kisses you once, so chaste you barely have time to kiss back.

He gets up and pulls out a pair of new boxers from his dresser, stepping in them.

”Fuck, I made you breakfast earlier and forgot all about it,” he tells you. You look over at the nightstand, where your breakfast sits forgotten.

”Oh,” you repeat. Your head drops back down on Mingis pillow. You speak again, ”I think I’d rather have a shower.”

It’s all so thoroughly strange. Mingi clasps his hand in yours and pulls you up from the bed, and you feel perturbed. You’ve seen Mingi greet Yunho with more affection than the way he helps you up on your feet. At least he joins you in the shower, but you feel weirdly disconnected from him. Even when he jokes and suds up his hair into silly hairstyles you can only manage halfhearted laughs.

Your body aches to have him closer, to feel him pressed against you and to have his lips back on yours again. The kisses he’s giving you now feel cheeky, as if he’s kissing you just because he can, and not because he truly wants to.

You suppose there’s reason to feel thankful, because at the very least Mingi hasn’t rejected you. His casualty is worth a lot more to you than the possibility that he could have pulled back and realized that everything about this was a mistake. He ruffles your hair after the shower, and it stings, but each second you continue to remind yourself that this is how things are supposed to be.

He lets you have one of his shirts after the shower, and he cooks you a very late lunch, then Mingi has to leave for work. Your legs are still unsteady when you make the walk back home to your house.

You prepare yourself to be ignored again. You busy yourself with cleaning your room, reading a book, cleaning out weeds in the garden, sending out job applications, anything you can to make the hours go by. You don’t want to check your phone, but your fingers itch to see if Mingi has texted you.

Nothing.

It’s not until late that night when you know Mingi's shift has ended that he calls you.

”Hey,” you answer, walking over to your window. Mingis car is in the driveway, but you can't see him in his room.

”Hi there,” he greets you. ”Busy day?”

”Oh you know, the usual,” you say. ”Mom wasn’t too happy with me spending the night but she was very relieved to hear it was with you.”

You’re still dressed in his t-shirt, and throughout the day you've been bringing the collar up to your nose to smell him on it. You find yourself doing it now too.

”Her head would explode if she knew what you were doing at my house this morning,” he teases you.

”Good thing no one will ever know then,” you joke, though it is the truth. It was always meant to be a secret.

”Right,” he says. ”So, do you think maybe you could come over tomorrow? My parents will be gone, I start working in the afternoon again, I was thinking maybe-”

”Yes,” you interrupt him.

Mingi laughs, ”Okay. Uh, do I sound desperate if I say that you can come over as soon as you wake up?”

”A little, but I like it,” you giggle.

”Good.”

”I’ll see you tomorrow then!”

You sleep so much better when you know that you’re seeing Mingi tomorrow. You wake up feeling completely rested, and you’re giddy as you sort out your bedhead and get dressed.

Mingis parents aren’t home, and there’s a spare key resting atop the frame of the front door that you use to let yourself into their home. It’s still early, early enough that you know that Mingi is probably fast asleep in his bed. You try to keep your steps light as you trudge up the stairs and into his room. The curtains are drawn, only letting in a stream of sunlight that lights up a sliver on his bed. The orange morning sun is casting a few inches of light on his thigh, so you let it lead you.

It’s where you first press a kiss. He smells of sleep and Mingi, you inhale the scent of his skin between kisses you trail all over his thigh and over the front of his underwear. Mingi sighs softly in his sleep, hips twitching when your lips kiss the tip of his dick through the fabric of his boxers. You’re looking up to watch his face, but when he’s still asleep as you mouth over his entire cock, you crawl up and kiss his lips.

Mingi huffs and puffs, twisting underneath you. You continue to kiss all over his sleepy, confused face. He cracks an eye open, transforming from a groggy confusion to a content smile.

”Morning,” he mumbles happily.

”Hey,” you whisper, kissing the corner of his mouth. ”Can I suck you off?”

He lets out a drawn-out moan that tapers off into a sigh, nodding fervently. His hands are weak and his fingers fumble to find purchase in your hair when you pull his underwear down his legs and take him into your mouth right away.

He sounds so lovely, all raspy and deep from his sleep. Even though he’s just come to consciousness, Mingi makes sure to tell you how good you are making him feel. He moans your name, over and over, giving you so much praise it’s making your head swim.

It doesn’t take him long to get close, so you choke out permission for him to cum in your mouth, and Mingi listens eagerly. Even as he cums he’s vocal, talking you through it and reminding you to breathe all while he praises you for how well you take it. He’s so gentle it’s making you moan as you swallow, and when you pull off his dick you scramble to get his thigh between yours.

Mingis hands guide your hips over his thigh, setting the pace for you to hump him. He keeps the praise coming, and when he feels you getting close he pulls you down for a numbing kiss. You cum on his thigh while deep in a kiss, and Mingi holds you close to his chest as you come down from it.

Somewhere in the post-orgasm haze, you both fall asleep. It’s peaceful and quiet, Mingi lulls you to sleep with the sounds of his breath and his fingers drawing patterns on your back. When you wake up again it’s in a sweat. His little bedroom is swarming with heat, so you decide on a shower, where Mingi has your chest pressed against the white tiles while he fucks you until you’re cumming a second time, this time while full of his cock. He bites down on your shoulder to keep from cumming until he knows you’re fully satisfied, and only then does he pull out and let himself cum on your ass.

When you’re pulling his shirt over your head 10 minutes later while he cooks you lunch, you catch sight of marks on your shoulder. His teeth had dug hard enough to bloom bruises on your skin, and your mind reels at the fact that he has marked you up.

Mingi has you coming over the next morning too, after you’d spent the previous night sending him pictures of the bruises his teeth left on your skin. His responses had been sporadic as he focused on work, but it didn’t stop you from going into detail about all the things you want Mingi to do to you.

It’s like all the limits have finally vanished, neither of you are held back by the fears and worries of before. It’s just like it had been before you moved back, when you only had phone calls to rely on. Back then, the comfort had come from the fact that you didn’t have to actualize all the things you spoke about. You had time to feel each other out and discuss what you want, all without having to put yourself on the line for possible failure. Now, you’ve found reassurance in the fact that you do have a physical relationship.

You know each other in your bones. You can read all the queues his body gives you, and you know what every little expression on his face means. You can sense differences in his sighs and you know what his voice sounds like when it’s getting to be too much. There’s no room for doubt when Mingi is in front of you, you just intrinsically know what he needs.

The two of you fall into a routine. When morning comes, you skip over to Mingi's house and usually he’s still asleep, tired from his shift the day before. You wake him up with kisses or gentle touches, and if he’s hard by the time you get there, Mingi loves to wake up to you already taking care of him. Some mornings you simply lay beside him, tracing his face with your finger. His hair sticks to his forehead so you brush it back, giving soft kisses to the side of his temple. Your pointer finger follows the contour of his nose and lips, feeling the warmth of his breath exit his nose.

Even though he’s asleep and unaware of your worship, you can’t bring yourself to stop. It’s in these moments you can be fully truthful with your affections. Letting your hands linger on his chest for a moment longer, focusing on his heartbeat underneath your palm. You whisper things to him you’re too afraid to say when he can hear you, just to release yourself from the need. It satiates you enough, like this airing out of your system, enough to keep you going until the next morning when you once again get overwhelmed with the sight of his sleeping form blanketed by sunlight. There is only one thing you forbid yourself from saying, three words that you vow to never let yourself speak.

A full two weeks pass of this. Every day you explore something new, things you’ve spoken about on the phone over the last year. With Mingis parents working daytime, you have full freedom to be as loud as you want. Mingi also takes full advantage of a free house. One morning he bends you over the kitchen counter while breakfast is still cooking. His mouth is always right by your ear, moaning and telling you how bad he needs you, despite fucking you upstairs in his bedroom just an hour earlier. Another day he has you ride him on the couch right before he leaves for work. You love it most when Mingi randomly decides to go down on you, whether it’s in the shower or he makes you lie down on the kitchen table. When he’s got his mouth on you he’s possessive, making sure to mark up your thighs and hips. It happens so often that he sometimes ends up darkening the hickeys he left a few days earlier.

Then Mingis schedule changes, and he has to work in the mornings. It doesn’t stop you, but it puts a damper on things as you know them. You have to meet in the afternoons instead, and with Mingi's parents home you end up sitting through long dinners with his parents, reminiscing and talking. It makes sex a little difficult, and Mingi hates the fact that you have to be quiet. He picks you up in his car a few times, but quick head while parked at the edge of the woods is a harsh contrast to the hours of sex you’d been able to have a few weeks earlier.

You’re caught by surprise one day when your phone calls and you rush to pick up only to find Yunhos voice at the other end. You’re so surprised that you pull your phone away and check the name on the screen, and sure enough it’s Yunho's contact name.

”Hey,” you reply, trying to play off the shock.

”Not happy to hear from me?” he teases.

”Shut up, you know I am!” you joke back.

He laughs in return and makes some small talk, telling you how much fun it was to see you and asking you how you’ve been.

”But, hey, uh,” he interjects. ”You ended up leaving with my shirt, is there any chance I could get it back?”

”Shit,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut in embarrassment. ”You’re right, I totally forgot. Uh, do you want me to bring it by today?”

”That’d be perfect, thanks!”

When Yunho hangs up the phone, you chew nervously at your lip. Getting the shirt back to Yunho wouldn’t be an issue, it’s just that it’s in Mingi’s room somewhere, and asking him to locate it would probably lead to another weird moment where Mingi says something petty. You’re pacing around your room when your eyes land on his driveway and you remember that Mingi is at work. You’re just about to call Yunho and tell him today’s gonna be impossible, before the solution hits you.

Mingis mom opens the door to their home when you knock, and beams at the sight of you on their doorstep.

”Sweetheart! Hi there, Mingi is at work right now, I’m afraid,” she tells you while wrapping her arms around you for a hug. She always does this, even though you’ve been spending a lot of time over at their house recently, Mingis mother hugs you every time she sees you.

”I know, it’s just that I left something in Mingi's room that I need to get if that’s okay?”

So she lets you run up to his bedroom. You feel a little bad while rummaging through his room, but it doesn’t take you long to find Yunhos flannel shirt bunched up halfway underneath Mingis dresser. Mingis mom tries to convince you to stay for dinner, but you tell her you have to get going, and within moments you’re in your car on the way to Yunhos house.

It’s another picture-perfect day outside, the sky is a pristine blue and the wind is blowing just enough to bring some relief in this heat. Yunho is outside in his front yard, with the rear of his car jacked up.

”Hey, you!” you call, getting out of your car. ”Car trouble?”

You can tell by the fact that he has picked apart the entire wheelhouse that it’s not just something routine, but Yunho shrugs his shoulders.

”Not something I can’t fix,” he smiles. ”Dude, you’re quick. I called you, what, 30 minutes ago?”

You nod, sitting down on the tire Yunho has removed.

”Honestly, I was losing my mind at home. I’ve been doing jack shit for days now, I think I might die out of boredom,” you complain.

”Oh, so you’re saying you left the minute you got my call just because you had nothing better to do? It’s not just because you love me?” Yunho quirks an eyebrow, wiping grease from his forehead.

”Can’t it be both? And anyway, I had to go over to Mingis to get your shirt, so I didn’t leave ’the minute I got your call’,” you say, sticking out your tongue at him.

”It was at Mingi's house?” he asks.

Something comes over Yunhos face that you can’t pinpoint.

”Yeah.. I left with him during the party, and we went to his house afterward.” You hope he buys it as a reasonable enough explanation, it’s at the very least true. Just not the entire truth.

Yunho shrugs, and his eyes lose the edge they just had. He smiles, ”Leaving in one man's shirt to go to another dude's house, all in one night.. Impressive, I’ll give you that.”

”Fuck off!” you huff, kicking Yunhos shoe.

He laughs, slapping down a greasy hand on your knee to let you know that he’s just joking, even though you already know that.

”Although…” you trail off. ”Mingi did say that it’s your move.”

”Oh yeah, it is. I wasn’t expecting you to fall for it, though.” Yunhos's voice is still teasing, but not in the same way that Mingis usually is. You can tell that Yunho is just friendly, that there’s no flirting laced in his words or tone. It makes you miss Mingi.

”I don’t fall for things like that,” you retort, but quickly find your mind going to all the shirts Mingi has let you borrow these past weeks. You wear them all day, every day, even when you come back home after spending time with him. You even sleep in them, and you frequently bury your face in the collar to smell his laundry detergent. The few times he gives you a shirt he’s already worn you end up getting so worked up about it that you think you’d be getting yourself off while smelling it, if it wasn’t for the fact that Mingi now has you cumming at least twice a day.

So, perhaps you do fall for tricks like that. But only when it’s Mingi.

Yunho goes silent, and you can see that he’s chewing on the inside of his lip.

”What’s wrong?” you ask him.

His eyes flick over to yours for a second, then he looks at his hands. You’ve never seen Yunho this deep in thought outside an academic setting, and something about it is making you uneasy.

”You know,” he begins, but the words die as quickly as he says them.

”Yes?” you try again.

He pauses, looking up at you.

”You know that Mingi is my best friend,” he says. ”And I love him, I do, but sometimes he acts like an idiot. And I can’t- I just hate seeing it, you know?”

”Okay,” you mumble, only growing more confused with every word Yunho says.

”I don’t think it was right how he came here with you, then spent the whole night talking to everyone but you. But, he just gets so weird sometimes, right? And like I said, I love him, he’s my best friend, but- we just thought it would be different when you came back home. So, Wooyoung and I decided to see what would happen if I lent you my shirt, and-.. Yeah.”

”What… What are you saying?” Your voice is getting quieter. The cheery happiness from before has retired, and there’s something strange in the atmosphere now. You can’t understand what Yunho is getting at, but there’s a part of you that wonders and wishes. A part of you that can read between the lines of what Yunho is too afraid to say out loud.

”It’s not my place to say,” Yunho says, looking everywhere but your eyes.

”At least tell me what you intended to do with this shirt.” It’s still in your hands, his flannel, and your fingers are tightening around it.

”We just figured that maybe he needed a push,” he tells you, sounding so sheepish.

”You wanted him to get jealous?” you finally say it out loud. Yunho doesn’t meet your eyes, but it’s a clear enough answer. So you ask, ”What do you know about me and Mingi?”

”In all honesty? I don’t know anything. And it used to hurt me because Mingi is my best friend and I’ve known him since we were kids. But that’s what clued me in because I know for a fact that he would have told me if you were dating,” Yunho says. You’re holding your breath while listening to him. He continues, ”I, uh, I accidentally saw the preview of a text you sent him once. Something about.. well, that’s not important. But, I realized it then. We all thought it was just a matter of time, and that you’d make it official when you moved back home.”

You’re hearing every single thing Yunho is saying, but the words just won’t stick. You’re becoming more aware of the birds singing and the sound of the wind among the treetops.

”Mingi is in love with you,” Yunho says. At last. The rest of his words blur together. He has been, a long time, doesn’t know it. Yunhos mouth is moving, and you know what he’s saying, but the rational part of you that knows this can’t be true has stopped listening long ago.

Mingi is not in love with you. He’s just not, that can’t be true.

Yunho scrambles towards you, hands landing on each of your knees. He looks so concerned and his mouth is still moving.

”-you okay? What’s wrong?” You hear once your brain stops blocking your ears. You’re crying, tears falling from your cheeks down onto your hands.

”What did I say?” Yunho asks frantically.

And the confessions start rolling. You tell Yunho about everything, from that first night to everything that has happened since you returned back home. You tell him about the weird moment when Mingi drove you home after the party.

”Don’t you hear it though? He’s in love with you! My god, I think he always has been,” Yunho says.

You scoff, ”He ignored me for four whole months during my first semester away. He’s not in love with me, this is just.. out of comfort, it’s just easy.”

”You’re both in denial. You know what I’m hearing? That Mingi was so heartbroken when you moved away that he couldn’t even be a good friend. That didn’t just extend to you, by the way. He barely hung out with us during that time, and it only changed when you came home for Christmas,” Yunho tries to lay it out for you.

”You’re wrong. You’re wrong-”

”I can’t tell you what to believe,” Yunho says. His hand squeezes your knee, leaving dirty marks of grease on your skin. It’s a gesture of comfort, and you appreciate it for what it is. ”You need to talk to Mingi. Maybe disarm him by telling him that you’re in love with him first.”

The air feels different when you drive back home. It feels heavier, somehow. Yunhos words bear an incredible weight and no matter how many times you run them through your head they don’t get any easier to process. It would be different if it had come from Seonghwa or Hongjoong, who would say practically anything to comfort you. You don’t think Yunho would sweeten his words like they would, or even at all.

You sit through a quiet lunch with your mom, unable to get your thoughts in any other direction than the conversation you just had with Yunho. For some reason, you feel absolutely stuck there, and you can’t see a way for things to work. It feels as if time has been suspended in wait for your next move. The hours tick on though. You lay in your bed and watch the numbers on your alarm clock change. Seconds turn into minutes, and then hours, and your mind is still stuck in the same place as it has since you left Yunhos house.

You don’t realize when the clock indicates that Mingi is ending his shift. The numbers are just ticking, hypnotizing you. You startle when your phone calls and the pit in your stomach grows when you know that it’s probably Mingi.

Your fingers move on pure muscle memory as you pick up your phone and swipe to answer the call, then raise the phone to your ear. Through the phone, you can hear Mingis car running.

”Hello?” Mingi asks. ”You know, it’s usually the person who picks up the phone who speaks first.”

”Sorry,” you croak. You don’t even recognize the sound of your voice.

”Are you okay?” Mingi sounds so concerned it makes your stomach twist. It’s still the same Mingi you have known all your life, and he’s the same man you’ve been fucking the past weeks, but something feels as if it has fundamentally changed. You try to listen to his voice, read it for any hint of tenderness you’d have previously missed. You can’t make out any, it’s the same Mingi as always.

”It’s been a weird day,” you settle for.

”Then what do you say about changing into your swimsuit and we go to the lake? It’s so hot out, I can’t stand to be home. And maybe it can take your mind off of things?” he suggests.

”Yeah, sounds good.”

”I’ll pick you up in 5, better hurry!”

Mingi hangs up. Your head feels all fuzzy and distant, but you pull yourself out of bed and get changed. While putting your clothes over your swimsuit you realize you’re in one of Mingis t-shirts. Every single bit of this feels like a divine punishment. To be dressed in Mingis clothes and have marks in the shape of his mouth decorate your chest and the insides of your thighs, to be so thoroughly claimed by him but yet not be his, is agonizing.

You’re aware that Mingi would park in your driveway and come knocking at your door, wanting to impress and appease your parents at every turn. You just can’t deal with that today, so you hurriedly make your way down the stairs and out your door to wait for him outside. You’re just in time, because Mingi is making the turn up your street and it’s only half a minute before he’s pulling up to your house and you’re getting in his car.

”Hey, I missed you!” Mingi sounds cheerful, sporting a smile so big it’s splitting. You hate the way that time and space curl around Mingi each time you see him as if he presents to you in technicolor and slow motion. Your eyes pass over each feature, trying your best to handle what just seeing him does to your body.

Mingi keeps a pair of extra sunglasses in his car for you, and when you’re sat down he leans over to place them on your face. The gesture is enough to make your breath hitch, but he uses it as an opportunity to lean in for a swift kiss, and you feel as if you’re floating.

Today, Mingi has Fleetwood Mac playing softly throughout the car.

You’re just looking at Mingi with this pit in your stomach, this sense of impending doom sitting heavy in your abdomen. The world feels slow and strangely saturated. The seconds stretch on infinitely, allowing you plenty of time to watch the sunlight adorn Mingi's skin.

You’re aware that you can’t stop staring. When Mingi parks the car and you start making the short walk through the trees to get to the lake, your eyes are always set on him. From the towel slung over his shoulder to the sweat that has broken out and is trickling down the nape of his neck. You’re trying to make sense of the sight in front of you, the same Mingi you’ve made this walk with a hundred times, the only difference being that he’s had you in the most intimate and tender ways now. It forces you to rewrite history, the memories of your childhood innocence are permanently changed. If only you had known then, while sitting on the big rock and throwing pebbles out to break the still surface of the water if you had only known that the boy handing you rocks would end up being the man you fall in love with fifteen years later.

Your stupid, stupid heart. Sometimes you think the ribs, flesh, and muscle containing it won’t be enough to keep it in place. It beats so hard and fast it billows from your chest, through your arms, and out to the very tip of each finger. You have to flex them to stop that lovesick tingle from numbing you.

The water is beautiful. The lake looks just like you remember it, the wind is blowing slight ripples upon the surface and the trees are swinging lightly. Besides the gentle hum of nature, the place is completely undisturbed and it’s just you and Mingi here today.

You're placing your towels down and undressing in silence, barely glancing at each other. You sneak little glances at him in the corner of your eye, wondering what he’s thinking. Yunhos words are still echoing through your head, getting louder and more unbearable for every minute that passes.

Mingi is wading into the water before you know it, covered up to his knees, then thighs, then his waist, and eventually he points his arms and dives in entirely. He erupts back through the surface with a shriek that echoes over the lake, and you can’t stop yourself from laughing.

He rushes back up to where you’re laying on your towel, shoulders bunched up in reaction to the cold water. Mingi shakes his head above you to force droplets onto your bare skin, laughing loudly when you yell in protest. Things feel so extraordinarily regular, it’s as if you have transported back ten years in time. Even when Mingi gets down on his towel and leans over to kiss you, it still feels so normal. It just feels so right with Mingi, like this is what you’re meant to be doing.

Mingis's mouth is cold and wet from his dip in the water, and his hair continues to drip onto your face, but you find it hard to care when he wraps you up in a long, passionate kiss. He’s on his stomach on his towel now, as close to you as he can get. Your heart beats with a discernible nervosity at the fact that you are laid out in the open with Mingi making out with you. There would be quite a walk for anyone else to get here, and you would probably be able to hear branches breaking or even a car parking way before anyone could walk upon the scene and spot the two of you. The risk of getting caught here is low, but you still feel like you’re on display.

Mingis cold fingers wrap around your jaw where he keeps you firmly as his tongue enters your mouth. The kissing goes to your head very quickly, dulling all your senses as all your thoughts are replaced by what Mingi is doing with his mouth. He knows you so well that he pulls away seconds before you lose your breath, letting you regain it while he kisses the corner of your mouth softly. His hand trails over your chest and down your stomach carefully, feeling the way your ribcage heaves as your breaths get steadier.

Mingis eyes follow the path of his hand before he abruptly stops by your knee.

”What’s that?” he asks you. You have to crane your neck to see what he’s looking at. Not much remains of it, but there are still faint marks of dirt and grease on the top of your knees. Just on the outside of your leg, there’s an unmistakable fingerprint.

”Oh,” you mumble. Mingi detaches himself from you with a quickness that makes you lose your breath, and you scramble to get up too.

”I don’t- I feel like I don’t even need to ask who left that on you,” Mingi says.

”It was Yunho,” you rush out, wanting so badly to resolve this before Mingis thoughts spin and twist so bad that you can’t untangle them. It’s clear from the look on his face that your words and their haste only have the opposite effect.

”Yunho?” he questions, getting quieter.

”It’s not all what you think. He called me about that shirt he let me borrow a few weeks ago, remember? I went to his house to give it back and we got to talking. You know, just.. stuff, about life. I ended up getting emotional and he comforted me. I was crying and he put his hands on my knees, that’s all.” You read Mingis's face for any changes, but nothing happens. He only looks at you, taking in your half-truth excuse of an explanation.

”What is it that Yunho can comfort you about, but I can’t?” Mingi asks, his eyes staring into yours with so much intensity you feel like crying. You had expected everything but that. You’d rather Mingi accuse you of getting intimate with Yunho, that you’re lying and it’s a terrible cover story you’re spinning. You could defend yourself from all that, but not this.

”That’s not… Mingi, it’s not like that. I didn’t just choose to go there for comfort. It just happened, I just started crying, and that’s it,” you urge.

Mingis legs are drawn up to his chest and his arms are wrapped around them. He looks so small and vulnerable. His eyebrows are starting to furrow together, and you’re finding it hard to tell if it’s anger or sadness that is starting to show on his face. Both possibilities terrify you equally.

”Why?” he wonders, simply. ”Why did you cry?”

You can physically see the restraints he’s putting on himself to hear you out, to not race away with his worries. You wish it means what you want it to mean. That Mingis vulnerability was an act of love instead of self-preservation. He’s probably sat there worried at the threat of Yunho taking you away and replacing his role. That the fun you’ve had the past weeks, and the year before that, would be over, just like that. You wonder if he views it as a hindrance more than anything. Mingi has finally scored a way to have sex on the regular, without the commitment or worries of starting with someone new. What you have is a lot of comfort, and you suppose he doesn’t want to lose that.

Still, even this feels like a lot more than you deserve of him. If you can’t have Mingi in the ways that you want, you’ll have to do your best to preserve the arrangement you have now.

”It’s not important,” you mumble. You know it’s not a good enough answer.

Mingi lets the word hover in the air for a moment, pondering on whether he should let it go.

In the end, he decides to speak. ”There’s nothing you can tell me that would scare me off. You know that, right?”

”That’s not true,” you whisper, so quiet it’s almost a hiss. ”There is something I can’t ever tell you.”

Tears start to fall down your cheeks and it’s now a conscious effort to keep your sobs contained within your chest. The lake is still breathtaking, the wind is still and the sun is bright in the perfect blue sky. It’s a beautiful day to get your heart broken, at the very least.

Mingi stretches his fingers and you watch the tendons twitch and flex. You’re brought back to what you were doing earlier, shaking off your nerves.

”What if I say it first?” he says. You look up at his eyes.

”What?”

”That I love you,” he tells you. His eyes are big and dark, brimming with tears of his own. ”If I say it first, will you say it too?”

”Mingi-”

”I do love you,” he begins. ”It’s stupid, looking back, because I think I’ve loved you since before you left. I loved you that first night, I already knew it, and I felt so stupid when I woke up the morning after. Doing that with you when I was drunk out of my mind made me feel like shit. And then I felt even more like shit, because- because, it made me realize that it hadn’t been the way I wanted it to be. So I took comfort in the fact that it was over the phone, and I still had time to do it right. To start right, with you, I mean. I wanted our first time to be perfect. I knew I loved you when I kept thinking about it. But then, when you finally came back, it truly clicked. For a while, I had figured that I’d know how I felt about you when we had sex for the first time. But I was wrong because all it took was me seeing you to know that I’m in love with you.”

”Mingi,” you whisper, again, over and over. It’s all you can bring yourself to say, like a prayer, before you crawl over to him and press your lips to his. It doesn’t matter that it takes him a beat to respond, you don’t care at all anymore about how things get awkward or strange. You continue to kiss over his mouth until he’s ready to kiss you back, when time finally catches up to you and it dawns on you both that this is real.

You can’t stop kissing him, breathing out his name every time you part.

”I love you,” you mumble into his mouth. ”I’m so in love with you.”

Mingi smiles into the kiss. Your senses are overwhelmed with the taste of both your tears and the fact that you’re both now smiling and giggling, repeating ’I love you’s until the words merge.

He pulls you into his arms, tumbling over into the grass. He stops kissing you to just look at you, and you watch him too. Your Mingi, in the grass by the lake. Finally, your Mingi.

#mingi x reader #ateez angst #ateez imagine #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #mingi x y/n

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laylaysdelusions · 4 months ago

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Cherry

Azzi fudd x reader

Plot: a pretty and dominant girl feeds you a cherry in a dinner

The wind blows making you shiver. When the heat winds down so do you. You walk into the red dinner that’s you’ve been inside. A good stawberry milkshake feels right. The little bell dings as you enter.

You quickly feel a pair of eyes on you so you glance over. You see a stunning curly headed woman making eye contact with you. You break the contact suddenly in hopes of not getting distracted. “A stawberry milkshake please” you request at the black and white checkered counter. “That’ll be 4.90” the woman says. You pay the cheap price and receive your drink cheerfully.

As you look around for an empty seat you see it’s pretty cleared out. Just an old couple and what seems to be a their grandchild and ofc the beautiful woman from before. You feel her eyes on you again. Something draws you to her it’s like she’s magical.

You step your way over to her and decide to introduce yourself. “Hi..” you say with an awkward smile. “Hi pretty thing” she says and when her voice hits your ears your knees grow weak. The pet name makes it all even sweeter.

“You should probably pick up your jaw or it might stay that way” she says with her brown eyes looking directly into yours. “I’m Azzi by the way” she speaks with such smoothness it makes your cheeks turn the color of the cherry on your drink. You tell her your name with enthusiasm.

“Come sit down next to me” Azzi tells you and of course you don’t hesitate. You have never seen someone so stunning before. “Stawberry girl huh?” She refers to the milkshake in front of you. “Yeah it’s my favorite” you tell Azzi with a shy smile. She chuckles and plucks the cherry off the top. You turn your face towards her, confused. She takes your bottom lip and opens your mouth. She drags the cherry between your teeth. You know for sure your face had to have been as red as the cherry itself.

The light from the window falls over her face, leaving the perfect cast. “There you go, good girl” Azzi warmly whispers to you.

First azzi fic<3

#fanfic #wlw post #azzi fudd #i need her #azzi x reader #queer

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oracle-of-dream · 10 months ago

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Under Pressure

Summary: Jake is at a party with the rest of Enhypen. The boys are all looking for their partner for the night, but Jake feels hesitant to find someone. So the boys take it upon themselves to set someone up with Jake, to help him get there….

Notes: Enhpyen Vampires, Male Reader, Reference to Drunk Dazed timeline, idk what else

Wordcount: 3.6k

The night was cold and dark beside the street lamps that kept the street lit. You recheck your phone. It glowed the time, 9 PM, the time you were supposed to meet at this bus stop to ride out to the party.

You received an invitation hidden in your mail last week. A charcoal black envelope that read,

An Invitation To Our Bloody Birthday Party

And inside was the card with a neatly typed message.

You're invited to our bloody birthday party.

Sometimes, walking down the deadly path

Without fleeing from death itself

Can give rise to the most wondrous creation

We hope you will be able to come

The back of the card left instructions on where to find the transit bus to take you to the party. According to Google, it was some old mansion you hadn't seen before.

You didn’t want to go, but your friends got the same invitation. After being invited to the same party, the group decided you'd all go together. Even though the party felt strange and shady, your friends managed to coax you out of the house that night.

You texted your group chat, "Are you guys there already?"

You stared at your phone, waiting for a reply. Then you heard a soft honk in front of you. A bus was waiting with the door open.

"Are you getting on?" The driver asked.

You nodded and scrambled awkwardly into the bus. Other than the driver and you, it was empty. You took a seat toward the back, near a window, and put in your headphones. You played the first song in your playlist as you tried to distract yourself from the feeling of dread that hung on your shoulders. The bus ride was about twenty minutes, and you checked your phone every few minutes to check your messages.

Nothing, still.

They must be having such a good time that they're not looking at their phones.

The bus stopped down the street of a large house with music and red lights pouring out. You stepped off the bus, and it pulled away– the darkness of the lightless street taking over you. The only lights came from the single overhead lamp from the bus stop and the eerie red house.

You stepped into the darkness, along the sidewalk, toward the house. It was suffocating. Even the flashlight on your phone didn't make you feel any safer. And the sounds of wolves howling through the night in the distance make you almost break into a sprint.

Once you reached the house, you could see inside from the front door left ajar. It was full of people: dancing, drinking, laughing, and screaming people.

"The party is more fun on the inside, you know?" A voice tickled inside of your ear.

You turned around to see a handsome man in front of you with black hair and a sharp look in his eye. Judging from his taste in jewelry, he came from some serious money: Prada, YXL, and Louis Vuitton from head to toe.

He nodded to you, "You alright? Need something to drink?"

You shook your head. "I'm just trying to find my friends! They got here before me."

"Oh, I get you. I can help you look for your friends if you'd like. It's a big house. You can get lost pretty easily there," He smiled, his white teeth shining in the red light. "I'm Jay, by the way."

"Hi Jay, I'm y/n..."

He didn't hesitate to continue talking to you, "So, you have your invite? We can't just let anyone walk in."

"You're the bouncer?"

He laughed, "Not exactly. It's just my turn to watch the door. My brothers are inside enjoying the party, and it'll be my turn to enjoy it soon."

"You're brothers?"

"Yeah. It's my birthday tonight."

You let your jaw drop, "I-I didn't realize it was your birthday! Happy Birthday!" You awkwardly slapped his shoulder, trying to play it cool.

"Thanks. Why don't you go in and find your friends? If you see my brothers, tell them that Jake's gift is hidden somewhere in the house."

You nodded. You wanted to ask what Jay’s brothers looked like, but you couldn't help but feel that talking to him wasn't the best move. His eyes got sharp as if he wasn't looking at you but looking through you– listening very closely to something.

"Go on now. I've gotta greet some more guests soon," He said through gritted teeth.

You moved inside, worming through people and trying not to bump into anyone. Your friends were nowhere in sight. The air inside was foggy, like from a machine, but tasted sweet like strawberries. The lights made your eyes hurt at first, but it eventually passed. You ended up in a kitchen, one of the few quieter rooms in the house. Inside was a boy with platinum blonde hair holding a cup of red liquid.

"Oh? Someone lost?" He asked as he turned to face you. His eyes gave you the impression he knew something you didn't, and he wore a smirk on his face while speaking.

"Yeah. I was just looking for my friends," You replied.

"It's a big house. You should be careful you don’t get lost. Everyone is toward the living room and dining room. And, you can check the second floor, but you may walk in on some people enjoying the party," He giggled when he mentioned walking in on people.

"Oh yeah... that's no good," You were stiff with him. He was gorgeous, and you didn't know how to speak to him.

"You, okay? Need a drink to loosen up?" He held out his drink.

Shaking your head, "No, thank you. I like pouring my drinks for safety and everything."

He took a sip of it and offered it again. "See? Perfectly safe. So try some!" He pushed the drink closer to your hand. Somehow, the closer he got, the prettier too.

"O-Okay... One sip wouldn't hurt," You took a sip of the red drink. It tasted like strawberries mixed with club soda, but the carbonation was strong– and made you choke. "What's this again?"

He laughed at you, "It's just strawberry Fanta. Nothing special."

You stifle a cough to try and compose yourself, "Um, I'm y/n."

The man took another minute to calm down before replying, "Sunoo. It's my birthday today!"

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, "No way! Someone at the front door told me it was their birthday! Weird coincidence."

Sunoo tilted his head, "The door? You mean Jay, right?"

You nodded.

"He's my brother! My brothers and I celebrate our birthdays together, so today's all of our birthdays."

You feigned understanding of their weird birthday habit. "So, how many brothers do you have?"

"There are seven of us total."

"Seven–" Your eyes widened slightly.

Sunoo giggled at your reaction, "Yes. Me, Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Ni-ki, Jungwon, and Jake."

The last name rang out in your ears, remembering Jay's words. "Oh! Then, I was supposed to tell you that Jake's gift is hidden somewhere in the house."

Sunoo raised his eyebrow, looking you up and down, "Oh really? Did Jay give any hints on what it looks like?"

You shook your head, "Nope. Jay must want Jake to go on a scavenger hunt or something?"

He nodded in understanding, "Then I should go tell my brothers so they can get Jake to start looking. Good luck with finding your friends!" Sunoo waved goodbye as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with the thumping bass of the speakers keeping you company.

There were no new messages from your friends. You sent them another text, mentioning you're looking for them before you leave the kitchen.

Heading towards another open area, you spotted someone who looked familiar across the room. In a rush to catch them, you stumbled on something and bumped into someone. Looking up at the person you bumped into, there was a huge red stain on his white shirt. The man's face spelled irritation. He was tall, had dark hair, and his skin was white like snow.

"Can you watch it!? Are you drunk?" He pushed you off him before storming down a hallway.

You dusted yourself off and stood up. Looking back to where you saw the familiar figure– the figure was gone. You frantically scanned the room, searching, until you saw the figure walking upstairs. You rushed to follow it up the stairs– moving through the living room. You saw a guy with brown hair and cat-like eyes watching you as you ran by. Something about him felt off, but you couldn't place it and didn't have time to stop.

Upstairs, you found a hallway full of closed doors. You couldn't see the figure anywhere, but you were sure they'd gone this way. You approached one door and put your ear up to it. It was hard to hear the music, but you could faintly hear moaning from the other side. You moved onto the next door, which was silent. You carefully turned the knob and started to push open the door. Before you could open it completely, you felt a hand on your shoulder that pulled you around. A man with black hair and a striped black and white shirt stood before you, red liquid dripping from his mouth.

"Hey there, pretty boy. What are you doing sneaking around up here?"

He boxed you in, he had you pinned against the door, and his grip was like metal. "I–I didn't know I wasn't allowed up here, I swear!"

He chuckled, "Nonsense! It's a party. Nowhere's off limits!" He pulled you closer, "Do you wanna enjoy the party with me–how about in there?" His eyes pointed to the door you were leaning on.

"I'm just looking for my friend. I'm kind of–"

"Lost?" He cut you off. "Please don't say lost..." His voice was still deep and sultry, but you could hear a soft tone of hurt behind those last words.

"Not exactly. Just turned around."

His mood brightened as he focused back on you, "What's your name, love?"

"It's y/n."

"Well, y/n. It's my birthday tonight, and I think I'd like my gift from you now," The man got closer as he spoke.

"W–Well, my friend has the gift!" You lied. You forgot it was a birthday party, so you didn't think about bringing a gift in the first place.

"You can give me something I want," He put his hand on your face, stroking your cheek. "God, your skin is so soft. Your lips are so cute. You're my type..."

"And so is everyone else, Heeseung. Take it down a notch," Another voice from down the hallway spoke. The boy from before on the couch approached the two of you, his eyes scanning Heeseun, "You've had too much to drink, so walk it off."

Heeseung looked like he wanted to protest, but the shorter boy pulled him closer, "Don't forget. Jake's gift is here. He needs this, and we all agreed to help."

Heeseung sighed before turning to you, "Okay, sorry, lovely. We can't dance together tonight." He winked as he wandered back toward the stairs.

The other boy walked over to you, "You okay? He didn't do anything to you?"

"No, I'm alright. Thanks for the save from that creep."

"My brother is a bit of an attention whore if he drinks too much, it's a horrible habit. I'm sorry about that."

You mentally punched yourself for calling his brother a creep, "Sorry about the creep comment! I didn't know–"

"Brother or not, a creep is a creep," He sighed. "I'm Jungwon. It's nice to meet you, y/n."

"How'd you know my name? I didn't tell you it yet..."

"You said it when Heeseung asked, didn't you?"

You nodded slowly, "Yeah... I guess I did." Did that mean he was standing there for that long before stepping in? "So, I'm guessing it's also your birthday?"

The boy nodded.

"Happy Birthday, Mr..."

"Jungwon. And you can drop the mister."

"Happy Birthday, Jungwon."

Jungwon smiled, "Thank you. I hope you're enjoying the party and my brother didn't bother you too badly."

"I'm enjoying it. I just really wish I could find my friends..."

Jungwon scratched his head, "They might be in the room at the end of this hall, the door on the right."

"Oh! That's amazing! Thank you!" You dashed off to find your friends before they had a chance to slip away again. But then it hit you– You never told Jungwon what your friends looked like. Turning to look where he was, he disappeared.

You went to the door Jungwon told you about, putting your ear up to it, no moaning this time. You checked your sides. No Heeseung either. You opened the door and poked your head in. Two men were sitting on the bed, both facing away from you.

"Jake, it's easy. You can't go this long without quality food. We both know that. This party is perfect, and these people won't remember a thing the next morning. You'll just be a weird dream to them," The first guy said. He turned in your direction, noticing you at the door. He had an eyebrow slit and blonde hair with an undercut. "Jake, it's time. Happy Birthday," He put his hand on Jake's shoulder, squeezing it tight, before leaving the room. He brushed past you, smelling like a soft mint, and his eyes looking straight into yours.

You could hear his voice, but his lips didn't move, "Don't be a letdown..."

You looked back at the second man in the room– he looked at you shyly. He had wavy blonde hair and a wet look in his eyes.

He jolted to his feet, "I didn't know someone else was–"

You put your hands up in defense, "No, that's all me! I didn't mean to interrupt your moment or whatever!"

Jake squeezed one of his wrists, "Would you come in?"

You looked back over your shoulder, out the door. Your friends were somewhere around here.

Jake's voice was more stern, "Come sit."

Your body moved into the room and obediently sat down on the bed. You were sitting next to Jake but couldn't stand and walk out, and your legs wouldn't move.

"You're a little close," Jake muttered.

You nervously scooted away from him.

"I–I didn't mean to leave! Please don't go!" He begged.

You moved back.

"What is happening?" You nervously whispered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you do that..." Jake lowered his head sadly, "You hate me for that, don't you?" The look you gave him must've confirmed it as he shrunk into himself.

"Oh, I–I'm just a little confused. I'm not mad, I don't think." You assured him.

He sprouted back up. "Really? You're not mad? I didn't mean to do that– it just happens sometimes. My powers are fucked up since I haven't eaten in a while."

"There's plenty of food downstairs. I can grab you some."

He shook his head, "No, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"You met Heeseung, right? If he saw you walking around, he'd probably eat you on the spot."

"Eat me?" Your voice said disgusted, "I didn't know he was that creepy."

"My brother isn't bad! He's just had too much to drink." Jake said defensively.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment. Jake looked too nervous to speak, and you were still checking if your legs would work properly. A knock at the door broke the silence– a head peaked in slightly. It was Jungwon!

"Jake!" He called.

Jake looked at Jungwon, and as they locked eyes, it was just silence. It was like a conversation, but you couldn't hear anything, and their mouths weren't moving.

After a moment, Jungwon turned to you, "Hi y/n. I need a favor from you."

You nodded, "Anything. I still owe you for earlier."

Jungwon smiled, "Well, I'm going to use that now." He got closer and whispered to you, "I need you to seduce Jake."

You pulled away and looked at him in bewilderment, "Why!?"

"Lower your tone when addressing me," He commanded.

You suddenly felt small and helpless under his eyes, "Sorry."

"Jake. My friend here is interested in you, but he's a little shy. Could you show him a good time?" Jungwon emphasized 'good time' as clearly as he could for Jake. He smiled and shut the door as he left, locking it from the outside.

Suddenly, you were some sex sacrifice to his guy. And why were his brothers so desperate to get him laid?!

Jake turned to you, "Are you really into me?" His voice reverberated into you, commanding the truth from you.

"I'm not sure– I think I’m still mostly scared about not being able to control my body. I guess I just want to know what's going on..." You said frankly. You then realized your mouth was moving, "Why–"

Jake sighed, "I want to be honest and comfortable with you. Can I?"

You slowly nodded, cautious of his next move.

Jake moved closer, his hands resting on your thigh, "My brothers and I are vampires. And we feed on blood, just like the ones in the movies. But we've got some extra stuff, like commanding human minds."

You just stared at him, waiting for him to say he was joking. But he wasn't laughing.

"I–" Jake's face flushed pink, "I haven't fed on a human in a long time... and it's intimate."

"How long?"

"Like... maybe a hundred years?"

"Why?"

"That’s not your business," Jake looked up at you, deep into your eyes. "Please understand me..."

You immediately felt for him. Sympathetic even, "Of course I understand you, that's hard. I couldn't imagine having sex every time I was hungry."

He shook his head, "It's not sex! I'm not having sex with you to feed!"

"Okay! My bad!" You put your hands up in defense.

"I–I'm sorry. The hunger is making me moody."

"Can you eat like, not people?"

Jake nodded. "That's what I've always done. But after a while, it works less. I've started experiencing urges."

"Urges?"

"Like... if I'm not focused and I get hungry. I could devour a whole person if I get too hungry."

Your eyes widened.

"Well, not you! I won't do that to you!" Jake tried to hold you, but you shrunk away from him, "I also hate that. I don't like people looking at me like a monster. Heeseung lives for it, which is why he feeds the most out of us."

"Wait, all of you are vampires!? What about the people at the party? Are they vampires?”

Jake shook his head, "No. The party is how we stock up on blood for a long time. Luring in people, knocking them out, and then we drink some and store more blood elsewhere. The most that humans experience is a headache, like a bad hangover. They don't even remember us. Unless you're like Heeseung."

"What happened with Heeseung?" You shivered, feeling how he was so close to you.

"He... is a more traditional vampire. Drinking until they stop pumping, if you get me. But he believes sex is the best way for a human to end, to feel their high right before he digs in," Jake looked away as if remembering horrible memories.

"So, I just let you bite me, and I won't remember anything? I can still go home after," You asked.

Jake nodded, "Pretty much, but I don't like forcing people to–:

You rolled up your sleeve, "Is my arm okay, or do you have to be my neck?"

Jake hopped up, "You'd just let me drink from you?"

You nodded, "If I have to. I feel if I fight, I'd face Heeseung..."

"No, I'd never let him have you! You're nice!" Jake pulled your sleeve down, covering your veins, "I won't bite you unless you want me to. If you don't want me to, I'll sneak you out of the house and let you go."

You considered his offer closely. If Jake let you go, you'd remember the existence of vampires and probably ruin every vampire show for the rest of time. And if you let him bite you, then it's just a foggy memory. But then you remembered.

"What about my friends? If I leave, what will you do to them?"

"My brothers stick to our routine pretty seriously. So they should get the same routine as everyone else. A drain and release."

"Unless Heeseung."

Jake nodded, "Well, I can keep him off anyone else." Jake's eyes glittered in the moonlight from the window. They had an honest sense, loyal to their promises.

You sighed, "Promise me I won't end up dead."

"I promise. I'll guard you with my life," Jake smiled.

Laying back on the bed, you closed your eyes, "Okay... bite me then."

There was movement and warmth, and you could feel his breath on your neck. You couldn't help but shake and brace for the pain. But it never came.

You opened your eyes slowly, holding your head and slowly sitting up. You were in a bedroom with sunlight pouring in from the window. The room was familiar, but it wasn't your room. You moved to sit in bed, only to realize you weren't alone. A handsome blonde man was lying in bed with you, both tucked under the covers.

"Jake?" You whispered, remembering everything from the night before until you closed your eyes. "Why do I know who you are?

#oracle of dreams #kpop x male reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #kpop x male reader smut #sim jaeyun #enhypen au #jake x reader #enhypen jake #enhypen jaeyun #jaeyun x reader

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fatswaps · 11 months ago

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PLUMBER BODY SWAP

Minh was what many woukd refer to as, the perfect guy. He was smart, as shown by his exceptionally high grades. He had the looks of a supermodel, always the subject of awe for every girl and even some of the guys on campus. And, perhaps most important to the unfortunate events that would unfold, He was just a few months into his 18th age. The young man had everything he could ever ask for, and with such great traits, came perhaps the only aspect of Minh most couldn't stand- his disrespectful attitude. Minh really didn't shy away from treating those he seemed as unattractive in comparison to himself with the same resoect he'd show to an insect. But his pretty looks and large circle of acquaintances were enough to keep him surrounded by friends.

Though Minh would have his comeuppance one faithful night at a dorm party. The boys Minh was friends with were doing their usual activities such as drinking, making an overall mess and damaging dorm property. Markably, that night- it was the dormroom toilet which had been broken by the rowdy college boys. One of the pipes had been broken apart by one of the boys hitting it with a golf club in a not-so hilarious prank.

After the boys setttled down a bit, they soon realized they'd be forced to call the college plumber, an older guy called Steve. It was common for students to make fun of Steve for his big gut and in their eyes, "lowly" job of fixing their shitters. Once called over, the boys snickered and pushed one another to talk to the exhausted old guy at which point, Minh heroicly stepped forward and said "Hey... so, our pipes got broken. Guess you didn't do a very good job last time" he smirked, which Steve could only reply with an irritated sigh "You'll have to wait for tomorrow for me to fix it" he made his stance and was about to leave when the irritated younger man scoffed "What? Going home to eat some slob piggy?" He insulted the poor man, which was when he stopped in his tracks. "You know what, show me the way."

Smirking victoriously, Minh lead Steve to the bathroom but the moment he stepped inside- he blacked out and time itself seemed to become hard to decipher from space.

When he came to, Minh saw a familiar sight sitting on the stairway he'd led the fat plumber up to reach the bathroom where he heard his own voice say "Yeah, thanks for the job bro. Now piss off, this party is for young people". He didn't understand what was happening until he was pushed out the door- by himself!

Minh was confused as he fell to the floor outside his door room in the corridor. Taking a moment to recall what had happened- he soon realized everything got weird after he went into the bathroom with the plumber guy... speaking of, where was he?

It was at that moment Sing caught a reflection of himself in the mirror at the end of the hallway... that was not his body, that was NOT his pretty young face. That was the face of the 87 year old plumber he made fun of on a daily basis!

Having freaked out would be an understatement as the freshman-turned-old man screamed in pure fear and shock at the changes to his body. It was at this moment when he recieved a text... pulling his phone out of his now much tighter jeans' pockets- Minh read the texts in pur horror

"You probably noticed by now that I took your body kid. Well, tough shit. I was tired of being the fat plumber everyone shits on, now its your turn. Enjoy my 87 year old body, cause I'm gonna enjoy yours"

He saw a text being uploaded right after

"Oh and, don't even try to tell anyone what happened. I took some pictures of 'you' doing some pretty messed up shit to my poor college boy body and they could make you lose your job in less than a day, if not go to jail. Heh, good luck dickhead".

It had been around 6 months after the swap, and Minh had to adjust to his new life whether he liked it or not. The new Minh had already blocked his number and would give him the most humiliating smirk whenever the two saw eachother.

What took the most to get used to however was the disadvantages of obesity and old age. The old man suffered a great deal trying to get from anywhere to anywhere else. Even the most mundane tasks had him gasping for air due to years of smoking.

Showering was still so humiliating, seeing the fat rolls, his fatpad, the hairy body and ridiculously large moobs and belly. His balding head and old man beard- they all felt so wrong. Minh cried for quite a long time until his shower sessions turned into silent moments of pure shame

Another aspect of his body Minh could never come to terms with was his ridiculously small, constantly soft penis. With the horniness of an 18 year old freshman snuffed out, replaced by the body of a 87 year old man- Minh longed for his old vitality.... something he would never have again.

It was about 5 years into the swap when Minh's suffering came to an end due to a sudden heart attack due to his morbid obesity. The news spread around campus, and Steve- now fully in Minh's shoes, seemed quite unsympathetic, his statement about the old guy being "The fat fuck deserved it."

#bad ending #identity theft #male body swap #male weight gain #young to old #bodyswap

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silencesscreams · 1 year ago

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thin ice

hockey!james potter x ice skater!reader

summary: you and james go to the same training rink and always see each other. you eventually start talking and flirting, but what you didn’t know was that you’d see him at your best friend’s birthday party and get absolutely hooked.

warnings: fluffly fluff, petnames, f!reader, use of y/n a few times, she/her pronouns referring to r, drinking

pls tell me about any grammar mistakes, english isn’t my first language!!

he sure had a nerve.

first he bumps into you in the hallway and doesn’t even apologize,

and then he asks you to get him some water? what does he think you’re doing there?

“sorry, i don’t work here.” you said, looking at him with your brows furrowed.

“oh, i just thought that you worked here because of the matching uniforms, you know?” you were about to laugh at him but then you noticed the red on his cheeks. was this man blushing?

“i’m sorry, how many times did you ask girls from the skating team for water?” you giggled, and suddenly his face is even redder.

“lets just say i gotta apologize to a lot of girls. i’m james by the way. james potter.” he dropped his gloves as he went to shake your hand. as he bent down to pick them up, you read the name on his jersey. ‘prongs’. you didn’t know what it meant, but it was kind of cute.

“prongs? what does that mean?” you ask, curious about him.

“its my hockey name”

“hockey name? like an artist name?”

“sort of, its nicer to call for prongs than to call for james.” he explained.

“really? 'cause i like james better.” you said, grabbing your bag from the bench you were sat on. “well, gotta go. but i’ll see you later, prongs.”

“i didn’t catch your name!” he shouted as you walked away.

“guess you’ll just have to find out!” you said, smirking at him from afar.

james potter sure was interesting.

as time passed, he eventually figured out your name, but he didn’t really use it. you found out he loved pet names, and you eventually started liking them too.

sure, you weren’t close, but you really liked the ‘hey, hun, how are you?’s until you got something better than that.

“hey, love, how are you?” james asked as he filled his water bottle.

“hi, james, i’m good” you smiled

“so, i was thinking” your stomach started twisting itself into a knot. “could i maybe get your number?”

“yeah, of course.” your cheeks were getting hotter by the second.

“great, just type in” he smirked, giving you his phone. “i’ll text you later?”

“for sure.” you smiled.

once you got to practice, it was obvious something happened, especially because of the smile you couldn’t get rid of.

“what’s up, y/n?” pandora asked, as you sat down next to her.

“james. he asked me for my number.” you kept on smiling.

“you mean prongs? okay, score” marlene joked.

“please! we’re friends.” you insisted.

“like you don’t have the biggest crush on him.” pandora laughed and you shoved your face in your hands, blushing.

once james got to practice, it was obvious something had happened to him too. especially because he couldn’t stop smiling.

“spill it, prongs.” sirius said, without even looking at him for two full seconds.

“what?!” james got defensive and sirius glared at him. “i asked y/n for her number.”

“what’d she say?” peter asked, remus was clearly paying attention too.

“she just gave it to me, can you believe that?” he smiled.

“i actually can’t.” sirius joked.

“shut up!” james scoffed.

“we’re going to lily’s birthday thing, i’m sure she’ll be there too. if you wanna shoot your shot.” remus smirked at him.

“really?” james asked, a glimmer in his eyes.

james had never felt so excited about any girl before, he couldn’t actually describe it. there was just something about you.

you spent the whole week talking to james, texting, getting coffee after practice,

he took about two hours to get ready for lily’s birthday, he was so nervous when he got there he felt like he could faint. it also didn’t help sirius was laughing at him for a very long time, but when you got there? that was probably it for him.

he could’ve just fainted because of the dress you were wearing, red was definitely your color. and with that he couldnt stop picturing you in his team’s uniform.

as you said hi to your friends, mary pointed him out and you could’ve actually passed out. your stomach went into swirls and you waved at him from afar, when he smiled at you, that was probably the nail onto your coffin, because james potter was going to be the only thing on your mind for a long time.

he came over to you after about 15 minutes of overthinking all the things he said to you through text.

“hey, hun” he said, giving you a quick hug.

“hi, james, fancy seeing you here!” you joke, taking a sip from your coke and rum.

“well, what can i say? im a pretty unpredictable guy.” he joked, sitting next to you and playing with the straw on your cup.

“you want some?” you suggested because by the way he was looking at your cup, it seemed like he was craving it.

“nah, i’m driving tonight.” he said, a sad puppy look on his face.

“hey, y/n, weren’t you needing that drive home?” pandora asked, kicking your feet.

“oh, if you want to, i can take you home.” the dark haired boy suggested, smiling at you, again, and how could you say no?

“i’d actually love that, thanks” you couldn’t help but smile back.

“you can just drop me off here” you said as he stopped in front of the driveway. “thanks for the ride, jamie”

as you looked over to him, he was already looking at you. his eyes were focused on your mouth, and he knew that if he didn’t ask you now he probably wouldn’t.

“hey, i was thinking, my team’s playing next Saturday and i’d really like it if you’d come by and watch… if you’re free and want to, of course.” he was staring at the steering wheel. “it’s this casual thing, don’t worry, i actually think some of your friends are going and-“

“i’ll be there.” you assure him, james’ head quickly turns, hes facing you again.

now you both are just staring at each other, lingering. his hand went over to you and put back a strand of your hair, and so your heart was pounding in your chest very rapidly and you didn’t quite know what he’d do next.

“i really wanna kiss you now.” he whispered like it was the biggest secret he ever told anyone.

“okay.” you answered, quickly nodding, very nervous to say anything else.

“but i cant though, not yet, ‘cause i know you had a lot to drink.” you felt like he was mostly saying that to himself.

“good night, james, thanks again for the ride.” you felt kind of let down, but still gave him a kiss on the cheek before you opened the car door.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU COULDNT KISS HER? WHAT THE HELL JAMES??” sirius shouted out at the locker room.

“SHE HAD A LOT TO DRINK!” he was trying so hard to defend himself, peter shook his head in disbelief.

“shes out there, i think. i’ll kiss her as soon as we finish this, i swear.” james promised, putting on his gloves.

“its not us you gotta swear to, mate.” remus said, and james knew that.

“wait so he didnt kiss you because you had some drinks?” lily asked, confused. “THAT WAS A FOUL, COME ON REF!” she shouted out before you answered.

“i actually think its kind of sweet.” pandora commented.

“i feel the same, but i really wanted a kiss, and i didn’t even drink that much! did i?” you ask, nervously.

“i dont think so.” lily was up and clapping now, she was the most excited about the game of all people there, mary was just giggling at her girlfriend's enthusiasm.

you waved at james during the intermission, he blushed and waved back and you were incredibly happy. you were cheering when he scored, and eventually started shouting the same things as lily (because you knew nothing about the rules).

when they won the game, you cheered like a proud mother, it felt good to be there for him. as he stepped out of the rink, he was calling you over, as you ran to him, he was taking his helmet off and turned around to get the mouthguard and you thought that was the cutest thing.

“hi” you smiled at him.

“hi” he answered, pulling you in and immediately kissing you, his lips were soft and he smelled like strawberry two in one shampoo.

“is this okay?” he asked once he pulled back, you couldn’t bare to answer, so you nodded, and just pulled him in again.

“hm, could you maybe get me some water?” he joked, pulling back again

“you’re an idiot, james potter.”

later that same evening, as you watched him dip french fries in a milkshake, you realized that you were walking on thin ice, especially because you might be falling in love.

#lila writes #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fic #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfiction #james potter is my bf #i love him so much #MY BF HOCKEY PLAYER!!!#hockey!au #silencesscreams #hockey!james potter

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the-daiz · 10 days ago

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Speed-o'-sound Sonic wasn't fond of the cold.

He never was. He hated it. It was inconvenient. It made you more vulnerable, more dependent. Weaker.

In order to shape unbreakable ninja assassins, the village made sure to prepare them for all conditions and circumstances. One of them, being, of course, winter and its fanged white.

It was the training he loathed out of all. He didn't really hate any of his training, despite being in the lower class and having to undergo the most torturous exercises. If anything, he rather relished in them, took them on with manic enthusiasm.

The next morning he'd wake up with the usual blare of the morning alarm, and he'd drink in the sweet stings of his sores and bruises that stretched across the planes of his muscles. He loved knowing how strong he was getting.

In winter, the village would force them to train outside, bathe in the freezing lake, and sleep on the cold grass. They wouldn't even give them a futon. Only those who performed well that day were granted blankets, but they were practically useless due to how thin they were. It was almost a mockery.

Fortunately enough, they weren't so cruel to let them sleep on snow. Hence when the snow finally came and encased the green land, they would be allowed back into their shared rooms.

Regardless.

He hated the way his body shook with quivers under the moonlight, hated the hunger that made him curl further into himself and wrap his shivering arms around his abdomen tighter. He despised the fact that his classmates weren't struggling as much as he was. It was a genetic defect at best and a hindrance at most.

Even after so many nights, so many years, his body still hadn't adapted enough in deep contrast with the others.

Flash was a top performer at this point, and by some miracle hadn't discarded him and Sonic's 'companionship' of sorts. Flash alone knew about Sonic's incessant struggles. He noticed how quiet Sonic would get in winters, how his features would always foster a ghostly frown. Especially when they were eating their usual portions of tasteless stew, Flashy flash would steal a side glance at his friend, watching as he huddled into himself. Head low, back arched forward, shoulders high to level with his ears, and slim hand hurriedly taking one spoonful after the other.

Flash would wait to make sure that no one else was awake and all the mentors had gone off to shelter back in the village. Boldly, a boldness he had adopted from Sonic, he'd shuffle close to the shivering, silent mess of his friend, who refused to close his mouth so his teeth wouldn't rattle against itself

"Cold?" He'd whisper as he draped the light cloth over Sonic, then moved closer so they were both huddled beneath it. Sonic's eyelids fluttered open, brows still tilted in a deep sneer, frustrated by his state.

He shuffles closer to Flash. "This thing's useless." He refers to the blanket with a light quake in his hushed tone. The spindly thing did little to shield him from the icy breeze, basically cutting through the material.

Flash didn't mind the small puff of cold air hitting his face. He nodded. "Yeah. I only use it for some peace of mind."

Flash's arms outstretch and his hands press against Sonic's neck and back, drawing him into a quiet embrace. Sonic shifts closer with his companions's movement, his forehead resting on Flash's shoulder.

"Peace of mind." Sonic scoffs, leaning into Flash's warmth.

His curled body's trembles don't seize completely but ease under the arms enveloping him, the body curving around him.

The wrinkles lining Sonic's features slowly begin to smoothen out, and he concurs:

The winter's cold, but at least he's here. .

Sonic now understood the look Flashy flash spared him when he passed by the room, his gaze falling onto Sonic's sprawled form on the rusted bed, jaw clenching and hissing inhales as his hand clutched the mattress. At that moment, Sonic just so happened to open his squeezed eyes and meet Flash's oddly gaunt gaze.

Back then, it was unreadable. Now looking back, it probably was a parting glance. Not a 'goodbye' or 'farewell' glance. A parting glance.

That bastard.

He'd find him, and he'd settle the score with him. He hated him.

The city, with tall buildings and loud noises, was unkind to him. Not that it mattered to him. It didn't. He was unkind back.

His frame stiffens at the sharp pang shooting through his body. He sucks in a quick inhale between gritted teeth and carefully reattempts to lie down, trying not to place any form of pressure on the poorly bandaged wound on his side.

He was reckless and momentarily forgot about heroes, and greatly underestimated them.

And it was winter.

It was snowing, too.

At least he found a cave. But still, his body continues to shake vigorously.

He feels oddly empty. Not physically. Not because of the cold. Something gnaws at his insides. It strains at his heart and it laddens his already exhausted muscles.

And somehow it makes the cold bite, much, much deeper.

His face crinkles and constricts further.

The winter's cold, and he doesn't like that loneliness feels colder.

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galaxiasgreen · 4 months ago

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🍺🖤This Hell We Create

Sebastian x F!Muggle!Reader with eventual smut, minor Garrinis [E-Rated, 4.9k words]

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. "Evenin'." "Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?" His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you. "Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

An incident occurs when Sebastian Sallow is having a drink.

[MASTERLIST][PREV][NEXT] [read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

TW: alcoholism, grief, swearing, non-explicit sexual assault (this is not committed between Sebastian and the bar girl; I've marked the beginning and end of the passage with /////, if you wish to skip. Please take care!)

2: universal constants

The freckled stranger, Sebastian Sallow, breaks his four-month streak the day after you learn the truth.

"Has he come in yet?" you ask Bonny, one of the newer serving girls with a big heart – and even bigger bosom. It makes her popular with the older men, though she lavishes the attention. "Is he sitting in the garden?"

"Ain't seen a wink of him, miss," she says blithely. "Trust me, I won't be missing that muscled chest of his anytime soon, woooooo wee."

"Control yourself, Bonny."

"Don't know how you do. If it was me he was ogling I'd be all over him like Jesus on a Christmas turkey after his fortieth day in the desert."

You furrow your brow. "What? Ogling?"

She lets out a squalling giggle. "You ain't noticed the way he looks at you? I tell you what! You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know."

You flush deeply, and when she heads away to wipe a table, you glance down at yourself. You don't have a lot to boast about, frankly – you don't have enough money for fine clothes and your hair is raggedy on a good day, often thrown into a haphazard bun. What Sebastian Sallow has to look at, you'll never know.

Not that it matters. You wouldn't care – don't care – either way. You're glad Sebastian is getting help for his drinking problem and not squandering his time, money and potential. Still you glance to the barstool, his barstool, and recognise a pang of sadness at his absence. He's good company when he tries. You don't miss his attitude and poor life choices, but you do miss those kernels of goodness, like when he tries to make you laugh, or when he's happily entertaining conversation to pass the night.

He just needs to embrace them.

Don't give him too much credit. So he had one day of realisation? Ultimately it means nothing without the work. And it's not too late for today – he might come in later.

You sweep yourself down, retie your hair, and use the brass tap as a mirror to thumb away the dirt on your cheeks. For prosperity.

He doesn't come.

The next day, the door opens at precisely eight o'clock. Your head swings up from cleaning a nearby table. The man who strolls inside isn't Sebastian, however, but someone else – a new stranger. His fine garb, lacquered cane and pristine gold band on his ring finger are so at odds to the humble surroundings that you think he must've got lost on his way to the bank, the courthouse, or hell, bloody Buckingham Palace itself.

"Welcome to Ye Olde Hen House," you call. "Want a drink?"

His head cants, and then he's weaving between tables and chairs and Squiffy Joe. The stranger is tall and commands presence, but not in the way Sebastian does – this man is slender and lean, with coiffed dark blonde hair and a scattering of moles on his face. It's his eyes that draw you in the most, though, like waxy opals. They never quite focus on you.

"Good evening. I'm looking to thank you, actually. My name is Ominis Gaunt."

That rings a bell. Sebastian mentioned him once. Best friend, he called him, along with some other chap named Garreth.

"Oh yeah, one of Sebastian's?"

His lips press into a line. "I'd rather not be referred to as one of Sebastian's, but yes, we are reluctantly acquainted."

"What's this about thanks, then? Haven't seen him in a coupla' days."

"Precisely." His smile is genuine, but practiced. "He's trying to turn over a new leaf with his drinking habits, and I'm lead to believe you were the catalyst."

You snort. "I told him to sod off, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, I do like you. Yes, I'm afraid his sister's death hit him hard, and despite encouragement, I've never been able to help him overcome the grief. But you... you did. Without trying, no less."

You shrug. "Just told him to pull himself together or take his shit elsewhere."

"And I believe those words, coming from a near stranger, were exactly what he needed to hear, so I am grateful."

It's good to hear that you helped pull him from the pits – though that pang rolls through you again. You try squash it, but it resolutely shrinks until it's in a corner of your heart you can't reach.

"Sure you can't be grateful by putting money in my till?" you say to distract yourself.

Ominis lets out an amused sniff. "Very well, you've earnt it. A pot of breakfast tea will do."

"... Breakfast tea."

"Yes."

"In a pub."

"Yes."

"At eight o'clock at night."

"Do you always question your patrons' beverage of choice?"

"Only the bizarre ones. Sit at the bar, tea coming up."

You pour it for him. He uses his fingers to discern the coin value of his payment, and when he puts his cane aside, feels for the teacup's handle too.

"Thank you." He takes a sip, and the steam glistens on his skin. "Very nice."

"Just a Twinings blend."

He purses his lips, but does not comment – a move so unlike Sebastian you struggle to see how they're friends at all. Sebastian is beer, muscle and opinions; Ominis Gaunt is tea with his pinkie out, slender hands that have never seen labour, and quaint contemplation in near-silence. His accent is clipped and precise, each syllable like a dagger strike.

"You've been friends a long time?" you ask, too curious about this undrawn curtain of Sebastian's life.

"He works with me in law enforcement," Ominis says. "We're detectives."

Your eyes go wide. Sebastian is a bloody policeman?

"I take it by your silence that you're surprised."

It would explain why he's so... distractingly muscular. "A drunk officer?"

"He's been on extended leave since Anne was— since her passing."

"I see." Extended leave this long? Is that where your taxes are going? To keep Sebastian watered? "I'm glad he's got work, but can't see him enforcing the law for toffee. If anything it seems like he'd break it."

Ominis smiles with dark amusement. "I can understand the sentiment, but he is excellent at his job, though I'll never admit it to his face."

"Been doing it a long time?"

"Since I finished school. Sebastian is a more recent acquisition and works under me. I helped him secure the job."

"Really? What was he doing before?"

"Now that," he says, bringing the cup to his lip, "is something you'll have to ask him yourself."

You leave Ominis to his tea, though steal the occasional glance to check up on him. He doesn't need it, never speaks, never acknowledges anything around him. Halfway through his pot Bonny asks whether he's lost his way to Mayfair and needs a carriage called, but Ominis politely, amusedly, declines, and thanks her for her kindness.

"Another?" you ask, when all that's left of his teabag is mushy dregs.

He stands to replace his coat and tugs his hands into leather gloves. "Thank you, but I must be going. If you would," he says, before you wish him farewell, "I'd like to ask for a favour."

Suspicion erodes your curiosity. "With?"

"Sebastian is haunted by many demons." His voice is monotone, but ironically it's those unusual eyes that give him away, tightening ever so slightly. "I have no doubt he's trying to give up his addiction—"

"Stop there, Mr Gaunt," you say quickly. "I ain't no doctor. I run a pub. I sell drink. I can't get Sebastian to quit."

"I wouldn't ask you to. I only ask that you monitor his habits in my stead." He takes something out of his pocket and slides it across the counter. "His welfare is important to me, and I would like to be kept informed if he ever... relapses."

It's not a business card, but a scrawl of a landline number on... parchment?

"Please telephone if there are any issues."

Ominis couldn't be any more different from Sebastian, looks, mannerisms, attitude, yet this one request speaks of how much he cares. You smile, endeared at their brotherly relationship, and idly wish there was someone in your life that would care about you as much.

You got assets, miss, and oh Lord does he know.

Shooing the thought away, you stuff the note down your apron. If Sebastian collapses on your turf, at least the responsibility is on Ominis' shoulders. You can be a messenger. It seems a fair deal.

"I'll keep an eye out."

Ominis bows his head slightly. "I appreciate it, madam. Thank you for your time." He half-turns, then adds wryly, "I would say I hope to hear from you... but I sincerely hope I don't."

Sebastian Sallow appears three days later.

You're bone-tired, fighting the yawns that sprawl across your face. Owing to your parents, you went to sleep late – but his arrival wakes you like a slap. He looks different: fresh and clean, colour to his skin, and groomed, with a beard that no longer threatens to overrun his face. He catches your eye and heads straight for you, and you can't help but feel like he sees you, and nothing, no one, else.

"Miss me?" he says with that velvet tone as he takes his usual spot.

"Eh," you say, shrugging. "I only missed your money."

"And I only missed your beer. Stout back?"

"New shipment came this yesterday. Pint?"

But he raises one of his hands.

"No. Half-pint... please."

You make a face and switch to a smaller glass. Despite the reduced size it near-vanishes down his throat, Adam's apple bobbing frantically, and relief collapses his brow like he's broken the surface after too long underwater. His knuckles are white, clenched so hard, and two protruding blue veins converge at his wrist.

"Can I—" He takes a deep, shaky breath. "Another half-pint, please?"

You think about Ominis, and the note in your apron.

"How about a break first?"

After a beat, he nods.

"Beer garden's open." You tilt your head to the back door, where Bonny is slaloming through a rowdy group of patrons. "Might be nice to distract yourself with fresh air."

"Nah. Then I can't bother you."

"What makes you think you're bothering me?"

"Two things are universal constants, bar girl." He rolls his shoulder, and the muscles in his forearm strain. "How much I like to win is one of them."

"Uh huh. What's the other?"

"A man doesn't kiss and tell."

"Shame. Might actually be relevant to your so-called 'winning'."

"On the contrary, the more I bother you, the less you'll be able to stop thinking about me." He tilts his head. "And I'd take that as a very big win."

You snort and flick a wet cloth at him as you go to leave – but his breathy laughter echoes.

His schedule becomes erratic, unpredictable. One week you see him daily, nursing his beer and doing his utmost to bother you (his words)... then the next week he won't appear at all, space taken by another annoying, but less charming, alcoholic. You're loath to admit you miss him on those days.

"Heard Ominis paid you a visit?"

Today he's trying – with emphasis – to nurse his half-pint slowly. His fingers circle around the rim.

"Yeah." You snort, squeezing a cloth into a glass. "Oddball, sorry to say."

Sebastian barks a laugh. "Don't be sorry, it's true. Posh git."

"Is he blind?" Shit, that sounded rude. "Er, hard of... sight?"

"Yeah, but he can still see bullshit a mile away. Never fell for any of my pranks at school."

It did make you wonder how Ominis could be so competent in his field. A drunk detective, fine, plenty of those on the force, but a blind detective? That was unheard of.

"Maybe you're just bad at pranks," you tease.

"I'll have you know, in first year I got him stuck in a tree when he was fast asleep. No one found him until next morning after he yelled his voice hoarse. Don't give me that look. He dunked me into the lake next day."

The lake. What sort of school did he go to?

"He told me you're a detective."

"Sort of."

"You're his assistant."

"That's what he said? Prick."

You cross your arms. "So it's not true?"

"He's above me in rank, but I sure as hell wasn't his assistant." His eyes trace you up and down, warming your cheeks. "What else did he tell you?"

The note weighs heavy in your apron. Should you say something? Ominis made no request of keeping it secret, but you don't want Sebastian to feel undermined, or worse, babied. He may be a drunk but he's still an adult man and capable of making his own decisions, no matter how stupid.

You wet your lips and decide, against your better judgement, to share. "He asked to give him a bell if something ever happened to you."

You wait for a twitch of his expression, betraying indignation or hurt, but Sebastian merely shrugs.

"Typical bore. He's been trying to get me to quit since I started. Surprised he deigned to come here himself and didn't send Garreth instead."

"I think," you say, feigning shock, "he might care about you."

"Can't have that. You say he gave you his telephone number?"

You roll your eyes. "I said you were bad at pranks, didn't know you were unoriginal too."

"He can't retaliate if I'm not there."

"'Ello, Mr Sallow!"

Bonny sidles along the bar with a tray of empty glasses. Her massive grin ekes a more genuine smile out of him, which makes your stomach flip unpleasantly.

"Evenin'."

"Looking good as always," she winks, "don't he, Miss?"

His eyes meet yours, and they might as well be undressing you.

"Well? Don't I always look good, bar girl?"

You blush. "I— you look— pale."

"Pale?" Bonny leans closer, then tuts. "Oh, your face is a bit peaky! You under the weather? Poor lamb. Get that drink down yous." She skips off with her next round. "You'll be right as rain in a jiffy!"

You clear your throat when she goes. "I'm sorry. She's new—"

"It's all right, she means well." He stares at his drink like he means to down it, but instead says, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Looking out for me."

"I ain't done a thing, Sebastian."

His lips press to the rim of the glass, and it mists with his breath.

"Not yet."

/////

You're saved from answering by a high-pitched giggle. Bonny flutters a hand at a rowdy customer, a man in his fifties, belly so swollen with drink it flops out his shirt. He stands with his arms raised.

"Cor, you are a beaut, aren't you, Miss Bonny?"

She swipes the used glasses from his table. "You should drink more, ain't never been kinder!"

They laugh together. You shake your head, turn back to Sebastian. "Just don't fall asleep—"

The giggle turns into a shriek. Glass shatters. You spin back – Bonny has dropped the tray, shards glimmering all over the floor like granulated sugar. The patron raises his arms again, but this time she backs away, and this time there is fear in her eyes.

"N-No— don't touch—!"

"What're you on?" the patron bellows over her, all trace of comradery gone. "Clumsy girl, dropped your tray!"

You snatch a broom on the way over. "What's going on?"

But the man is angry now, pointing accusingly at her. "She dropped her tray! I tried to catch her! I did!"

You stand between them. "Happens all the time, no bother. Sit down, sir. Next drink on the house."

He backs down, satisfied.

You aren't.

Bonny's hands tremble when you turn to her, noting the way her face is drawn. It's like she sees the world in grey for the first time.

"You all right?"

"Y-Yes, Miss."

A piece of you breaks. "Sure?"

"R-Really, Miss, right as rain, I am." Her smile wobbles. "Just— I was silly, dropping them glasses—"

"Take a break." You don't touch her, but gesture to the stock room behind the bar. "Sit out back for a bit. I'll get Helene to stay with you, keep you company."

Tears fill her eyes. "A-Am I fired, Miss?"

"God above, no. Just... take deep breaths." You make sure you look her in the eye when you add, "It's not your fault."

But she moves sluggishly past you, eyes vacant.

"Isn't it?"

/////

Helene goes to her aid without complaint. You sweep the shards away and procure more drinks for the rowdy patrons, but your blood boils. You've been here eight years, you've seen the best of humanity... and you've seen the worst. Him, that pig – he's the product of a society that thinks their entitlement extends to taking what they want without ever accepting a no.

You bin the shards and almost collapse on the counter with exhaustion. Dealing with horrible customers is part of the job, but there's something especially vile about dealing with this sort.

The Pig laughs loudly with his friends – at the same time, only a wall away, Bonny is sobbing.

"I saw him."

You jolt at Sebastian's voice. God, you forgot he was there. His hands are shaking, but not from withdrawal – from anger.

"I saw him touch her." His voice is low and dark. "I should break his hand."

You wish he would. It would be but tiny retribution for what's owed, for how badly the Pig has irreparably altered Bonny's life. She's young, innocent – she doesn't deserve to fear the world because of it.

"It's our word against his," you murmur. "He won't face no justice."

Sebastian doesn't answer, just keeps staring at the man with hatred. Those kernals of goodness you know exist are now enveloped by black vines, poisoned by the desire for revenge, as dark and deeply-rooted as the stairs paved to hell.

"Don't do anything stupid," you warn.

"I wouldn't."

"You got that look in your eye."

"I always have this look in my eye."

Well, that's true at least. You lean towards him, voice crisp. "If you do anything in retaliation you will put Bonny in danger. And me too."

The loathing cracks. "You?"

"He's got a big group of friends! You think either of us will get off scot-free if their mate winds up in some alleyway with a black eye? Bonny won't talk, but they know I might – they'll know he got beat up because of me. You look like you can throw a punch, Sebastian, but you must not."

He hesitates. The black claw with its vice grip holds tighter. Then:

"I look like I can throw a punch?" He smirks, killing the moment. "Because I have muscled arms?"

Relief trickles through you. He understands. He's placated. He won't do anything – for Bonny... and for you.

"Don't get cocky about it," you sniff.

"You've been looking at my arms?"

They're hard to miss, especially with the sleeves rolled up, veins like cords, glistening with sweat and freckles and tattoos and good God you are blushing. It must be nice to be enveloped in those arms, in his protection. You turn away, clamping your jaw and feeling guilty about having such sordid thoughts after everything that's happened.

He takes the opportunity to flex them, and your traitorous eyes dip to them again, to the muscle contorting, straining against his skin.

"Don't do anything stupid," you snap again.

You put the conversation out of your head when you go into the back room.

When Sebastian comes that Saturday night, the pub heaving with customers, he brings a friend.

"This is Xander," he introduces, looking mightily pleased with himself. "Or should I say, Police Inspector Xander, Scotland Yard."

Panic bolts through you, and your gaze flickers to the stock room.

Xander ruffles, pretending to look put-out. "Off-duty, but yes. Hello, ma'am. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Off-duty or not, Sebastian has no idea what he's done bringing him here, no idea what he's risking. Play it cool. You shoot daggers his way, but they might as well be made of foam.

"Nice to meet you," you say through your teeth. "You know each other through work?"

Xander chortles. "Actually, Mr Sallow—"

"Please, you know I said to call me Sebastian."

"Quite! Sebastian and I met entirely by chance at the local farmer's market a few days ago. Turns out we both have a love of southern French cheeses! Say, did you try the Roquefort I suggested? Scoffed mine with my wife, I did."

Instantly you can tell this is all balderdash, because there's no way Sebastian Sallow, the drunken, tattooed stranger with more skeletons in his closet than freckles on his face, has any interest in cheese.

"I did," he panders. "I had some with those sourdough crackers from Harvey Nichols. Delicious."

Xander blusters. "Why, and I the exact same! How bizarre! Almost like you read my mind!"

"I've also," he brings out a round package made of... leaves? "brought some Banon cheese to try."

"Banon! Another favourite of mine!" He waggles a finger at Sebastian. "You know I never believed in fate and destiny, but I dare say some higher power has intervened to bring you into my life. God perhaps, or magic!"

"Magic?" Sebastian laughs. "As if."

There's certainly something rotten in the air, and it's not the Roquefort on Xander's breath.

Sebastian pledges to buy everything after Xander makes his order and finds a table. When he sidles to the counter, armed with a handful of coins, your faux smile drops into barely-restrained outrage.

"What the hell are you playing at, Sallow? Because I swear to God—"

"Sallow now? You remind me of one of my school teachers."

"Don't joke! The police cannot be here."

"Why not? You hiding something?"

"They just can't," you say quickly. "I know you've brought him because of that incident – he won't be able to do anything."

"He's off-duty." Sebastian is a lazy cat on a balmy summer's day. "Just here for a drink with me."

"He may have fallen for your French cheese nonsense—"

"I like rocky fort, thank you."

"— but I know you've got something up your sleeve."

"Staring at my arms again? You've got to stop that, bar girl. It's very perverse."

You grind your teeth together as you make the drinks. Sebastian is infuriating— no, infuriation, the very thing itself, rather than its pompous vessel.

"This isn't about your male ego," you snarl, when you hand both glasses to him. "It's about keeping Bonny safe."

His face changes instantly. "Is she all right? Is she here today?"

"No. I'm paying her some time off."

And good thing too, because the Pig has come every day since. He's over on the same table, laughing with the same group of friends, slurping at the same drink.

"If you get her hurt—"

"I won't." It's stony, hard truth. "On my word."

"Your word doesn't mean much to me."

He grins.

"It will."

After locking the stock room, you keep a close eye. He's left his barstool free to sit with Xander at the corner table, the two exchanging animated conversation over slices of Banon and sourdough crackers. All the hairs raise on your neck. Sebastian drinks and drinks, but it's easy to tell he's taking his time, doesn't indulge as much as he usually does. He's not trying to forget.

He trying to stay alert.

Whilst you're serving the local darts club, Sebastian stands, a swift movement you catch in your periphery. He mumbles something to Xander and heads towards the bar – but not to you, to Edith, one of the other barkeeps. You might've been hurt if not for the troublesome glint in his eye.

With too many customers you can't stop to chat, though you scrutinise Edith to see what he wants: five measures of straight vodka. A man trying to give up drinking does not order that many small glasses of pure alcohol... especially not when he and Xander, and the Pig and his friends, make five.

But you're too slow to stop him when he swiftly takes the tray from Edith's hands.

"You're busy, I'll carry it."

Sebastian turns his back to you – it's only for a second, but it's a second too long. Your trust whittles, you leave the darts club with half their orders and storm after him, catching his arm inches away from the table.

Muscle. You shouldn't notice, you're angry with him and he's about to do something reckless for God's sake, but his forearm is so hard and sturdy that a wild thrill runs up your spine. Imagine if he pulled you close, wrapped those sturdy arms around you, carding his fingers through your hair—

"Any excuse to touch my arms, bar girl."

You snatch away, blushing, irate. "Whatever you're about to do—"

"It's all in hand. On my word, remember?"

You trust Sebastian Sallow about as far as you can throw him.

... Yet you find yourself stepping away.

The Pig and his friends falter at first, but Sebastian is ignorant and cheery, almost like he's honoured to hand out the drinks.

"On me tonight, gentlemen," he announces. "Life is great, I got a promotion at work and I've finally scrounged up enough to finally propose to the bonny lass I've been seeing in secret. Achilles, you too, my friend!"

You end up hugging the wall close by as Xander and the men cheers to him. The Pig's friends are too drunk to notice Sebastian is a regular, too drunk to notice he was there last week. The Pig snorts as he raises his glass.

"Might do you better to leave it, boy. Women – ain't nothing good from them."

With a sinister smile, Sebastian downs his glass, and claps Xander on the back when he does the same.

"Well, gentlemen," Sebastian bows his head with a flourish, "my friend and I will leave you be. Do have a pleasant night!"

"I never have a pleasant night." The Pig hiccoughs. "Every time I go home, I wank myself off and cry because I can't get any woman to love me."

You go utterly still.

One of the Pig's friends chimes in with, "Me too."

"I use a sock," says the other.

"I just want a good fuck," the Pig mutters, though he turns red, like he's fully aware of what he's saying. "And not one I had to buy off the street. Bobbies are cracking down on my favourite spots, the bloody meaters."

Your gaze slides to Xander, whose face has turned iridescent with anger. You think the Pig and his friends will stop now – surely they can't embarrass himself anymore, surely they won't. But the truth spills out of them; they loudly confess their darkest, most humiliating secrets, crimes you never want to hear repeated, desires that make your stomach turn. The Pig declares to assaulting Bonny like it's nothing.

"And even she turned me down!" He sweats but doesn't stop. "The fucking audacity, after she flirted with me for so long!"

Xander marches forwards, brows cutting into his eyes, and produces his ID from his jacket pocket. "Police Inspector Achilles Xander of Scotland Yard. I think I've heard enough. All three of you will follow me to the station."

"What?" the Pig roars. "But I— we've done everything wrong!"

"I understand that perfectly well, sir!"

The Pig goes redder. "N-No, I— I buy prostitutes almost three times a week and avoid my taxes— fuck—"

"Really, sir! This is extremely inappropriate!" When the Pig flails, saying nothing, Xander harrumphs. "You'll all follow me outside as I call for backup! Sebastian, I apologise, we shall have to catch up another time."

The Pig and his friends hang their heads as they're escorted out the pub. Sebastian is more than contrite about cutting short the chat with his cheese companion – all an act – and when the door clatters shut, he reclaims his normal stool and finishes his beer in three long, languid gulps. His tongue flickers out, catching the froth at the corner of his mouth; it reminds you of the serpent in the Garden of Eden.

"What— how—" You swallow thickly, trying to keep your voice down. "How'd you get him to talk?"

"Don't know what you mean."

"Liar."

His smile is like an omen.

"Remember when I said I wasn't going to heaven? I meant it." He's quiet now, but exuding aggression in the way a lion's presence alone can subdue its pride. "Hell won't just welcome me with open arms — it will roll out the red fucking carpet."

But then his gaze softens, and you can almost believe all that anger, that power, those black vines steeped in vengeance... are a lie.

"You were right. Much as I wanted to drag him into an alleyway and beat him until his own mother wouldn't recognise his face, sometimes you have to work smarter, not harder. And I will never take kindly to sick bastards abusing innocent people." He takes a deep breath. "It's not much, but I hope Bonny finds some peace of mind now."

You're nearly speechless. "You did all that for Bonny?"

He seems to ponder the question.

"And someone else."

When he meets your eye, you're paralysed.

"If one universal constant is how much I like to win, then the other is how hard I'll fight for the people I care about." He says it gently, with a half-smile that makes your stomach flip. "I'll let you guess which one I live by more."

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