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ilovedinodino · 3 days ago

Text

Wanna bet?

synopsis: You and Haechan weren’t acquainted, but both of you were widely popular across the university—though for different reasons. Haechan was known as a fuckboy and a partygoer, changing girls every two weeks and being rude to everyone except his friends. You, on the other hand, were his complete opposite. Kind-hearted and distant, you had no relationships at all, turning down every confession and remaining unattainable. And so, it happened that you and Haechan unknowingly made a bet on each other. Where will your bets lead? Will you discover the truth? And, finally, who will win the bet?

pairing: haechan x f!reader

genre: slightly enemies to lovers, fluff, comedy, angst, suggestive

warnings: mentions of trowing up, haechan is insecure sometimes, idk what else..

playlist: conan grey - the cut that always bleeds

wc: 15,931

na: my first fic ever and I’m so scared ngl. any feedback in anon or here is appreciated😌

“Haechan, why didn’t you accept my gift?” a loud female voice echoes through the hallway. You, Ningning, and Karina watch as a girl runs after Haechan, clutching a box in her hands. The three of you roll your eyes and sigh, witnessing yet another dramatic scene.

It wasn’t the first time you had watched university girls chasing after Haechan. And it wasn’t the first time he had been seen with a new girl. Every two weeks— a new girl, a new fan, a new romance. And it annoyed you.

It’s not that you paid attention to him on purpose, but he always seemed to appear in front of you, making it impossible to ignore.

And what annoyed you the most was his rudeness to everyone at this university. More than once, you had heard him arguing with other students and irritating people. Jisung, your best friend, told you that he was actually kind and normal with his friends, but you didn’t believe it—you thought Jisung was just covering for him.

As Haechan walks past, the girl rushes between you, trying to catch up, but suddenly stumbles and falls to her knees. You quickly leaning down to help her up.

“Hey, are you okay?” you ask.

She lifts her head and reaches for the contents that spilled from the box— a letter, an assortment of candies, and a bracelet. Karina and Ningning kneel beside her, helping gather everything. Once you all stand, you steady her so she doesn’t lose her balance.

“Thank you so much!” she says with a grateful smile.

You gently pat her back.

“Be more careful…,” you say, glancing at the now-crumpled box in her hands before looking back at her. “And honestly? Forget about that jerk. He doesn’t deserve sweet and beautiful girls like you.”

She stares at you for a moment before letting out an awkward laugh, nodding slightly.

“Maybe you’re right… I stayed up all night writing this letter…”

You reassuringly squeeze her hand, but your eyes catch a movement behind her. A little farther away, a guy stands watching her intently, concern clear in his expression.

“More than that,” you continue, “I’m sure there’s someone far more deserving—someone who’s truly in love with you.”

The girl looks at you, startled.

“Who?”

“He should be the one to tell you that himself,” you say with a soft smile. “We’ll get going now. Toss the letter and keep the sweets for yourself, okay?”

She nods quickly, smiling at you. You and the girls walk away, leaving her alone—but not really alone. Someone is already waiting for the right moment to step forward.

“That idiot didn’t even bother to turn around. What do people even see in him?” you say irritably, crossing your arms.

“He’s handsome, comes from a wealthy family, part of the popular boys, a partygoer. I think that’s enough”, Ningning replies.

You sigh heavily.

“And he’s also rude, changes girls like clothes, does poorly in studies, drinks too much, and, honestly, he’s an idiot.”

“Does he really do badly in studies? I thought he had good grades?” Karina joins the conversation.

“He used to, but this semester he’s been terrible. I don’t know what happened, but he dropped in the rankings and basically gave up on studying”, Ningning explains.

You stop in your tracks and look at her in confusion.

“How do you know all this?”

Ningning blinks, momentarily stunned, then quickly starts rambling:

“Uh… Aren’t these just the rumors going around campus? I just heard about it! I mean, he is popular, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at her suspiciously but eventually nod and keep walking.

“Whatever. Let’s forget about him and all of them. Today, we’re finally going to that café we’ve been wanting to go.”

“Oh, right!” you and Ningning say at the same time.

Laughing, the three of you hug each other as you leave the university.

“Ah!” Haechan bursts into the room and flops onto the couch with a loud sigh. Chenle and Mark look at him in confusion.

“What’s wrong?..”

“Some girl has been chasing me all day with this box! I already told her this morning that I’m not interested and asked her to leave me alone, but she didn’t care! Because of her, another girl rejected me, thinking she was my ex!” Haechan flails in frustration, aggressively hitting the pillows.

Chenle and Mark sigh heavily and stop paying attention to him. They are already used to Haechan constantly complaining about the people around him, even though he doesn’t realize how annoying he can be himself.

“Why are you silent?” Haechan looks at his friends in surprise.

They don’t respond and simply take out two controllers.

“Hey!”

“What?” Chenle glances at him irritably. “We’re not interested in your stories.”

Haechan watches as his friends sit down next to him, shoving him aside, and turn on the TV.

“I am your best friend?”

“Unfortunately. Now, can you leave? We want to play.”

Haechan blinks, gets up from the couch, and heads to his room.

“Alright.”

But in reality, he wasn’t mad. He knew he often talked too much about himself and his experiences in excessive detail, so he understood his friends.

He also understood how irritating he was to everyone. But that was his choice—after a bad experience, he was afraid to open up to anyone and decided to create a completely different image when he entered university.

At first, his friends noticed his changed behavior and tried to talk to him, to bring him back to his senses, but it was all in vain. Haechan convinced them that everything would be fine.

Nothing was fine.

His friends didn’t even realize how much he was changing, how often he was going out partying. Back in school, Haechan had been the most level-headed among them and never did anything reckless—but that had all changed. What shocked everyone the most was that he started dating people left and right and sleeping with different girls.

“Haechan, why are you doing this?” Renjun asked one day while they were playing together.

“What? You just said you’d beat me here, and now—”

“I’m not talking about the game. Why do you drink so much and change girls so often?” Renjun turned to him, but Haechan just blinked dumbly.

“Isn’t it fun? I mean, I’m a guy and a student—it’d be weird if I didn’t do it.”

“But none of us do that.”

“Jeno does,” Haechan replied, and Renjun rolled his eyes.

“He just goes on dates—he doesn’t dump them after a few days like you do.”

Haechan just laughed.

“Let’s get back to the game.”

“Haechan, if—”

“Let’s just play, Renjun.»

After that, Renjun never brought it up again. But everyone knew Haechan had problems expressing himself—he was just scared that no one would like him for who he really was. And proving him wrong was difficult… and pointless.

The entire next day, Haechan walked around like a ghost, trying not to draw attention to himself, hiding under his hood. And he was doing a good job at it.

Lately, he hadn’t even noticed how exhausted he had become—both physically and mentally. He blamed it all on uni and partying, but in reality, the problem was within himself. He was draining himself with thoughts and stress. Mark, his closest friend, told him that it was all because he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, but Haechan thought that was nonsense.

Nonsense, right?

There was only one last economics lecture left, and unfortunately, he was running very late. He rushed through the hallway, searching for the right classroom. Lately, he didn’t care much about studying, but economics was an exception—he didn’t even have any grades for it. That meant he had to be there today and ask for extra assignments to save his own ass.

He was almost at the classroom when he crashed into someone, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Looking at the floor, he saw spilled coffee—clearly from the person he had bumped into.

His hood was up, and his bangs covered his eyes, making it hard to see anything in front of him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Slowly, still dazed, he looked up, ready to thank the stranger.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

Haechan hears a sweet, melodic voice and blinks, lifting his head—only to see you staring back at him.

“You?! Oh my God, you idiot! Watch where you’re going! You almost killed me and spilled my coffee!” you shout, shoving him hard.

Haechan stumbles back in shock, eyes widening at your reaction.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t see—” he tries to explain, but you cut him off immediately.

“Maybe if you took off your hood and actually cut your damn bangs, you’d be able to see! Now my favorite sweater is ruined!”

What?

“Well, maybe if you weren’t standing in the middle of the hallway glued to your phone, this wouldn’t have happened!

You blink in surprise, staring at Haechan as he suddenly raises his voice right back at you.

“I have every right to stand here! But can you even run through the hallways like that in a university?”

“I was late! And now, thanks to you, I’m even later! So just move and let me—”

“What’s going on here?”

Both you and Haechan freeze and turn toward the voice. Walking toward you from the right is Professor Kwon, the economics lecturer, his expression stern and unamused.

“Classes are in session. It is completely inappropriate to be yelling and causing a scene in the hallways right now.

“Sorry,” you both mumble at the same time, bowing slightly.

Professor Kwon’s gaze shifts to Haechan, narrowing in suspicion. “Lee Donghyuck? Why are you not in my lecture right now?”

Haechan straightens up, quickly trying to save himself. “I was on my way, but I—uh—bumped into her! Sorry, but she’s the reason I’m late!”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief before you smack his arm. “Are you kidding me?! You ran into me, you liar!”

“Enough,” the professor sighs, rubbing his temple. “Lee Donghyuck, get inside before I decide not to let you in at all. And you, miss, stop walking near the classrooms. If you have no more business here, go home.”

Neither of you dares to argue, quickly doing as you’re told. But before leaving, you and Haechan exchange one last heated glare.

“Idiot,” you both mutter under your breaths at the same time before finally going your separate ways.

“She was the one standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at her phone with her coffee, and then she blamed me for it. Is she insane?”

Haechan walks into friends dorm with Jisung, Mark, and Chenle. After kicking off their shoes, they head straight to their shared room.

“You spilled coffee on her. I’d be pissed too,” Chenle replies, making Haechan click his tongue in annoyance.

“It wasn’t my fault! I was in a rush. And she snapped at me the second she saw my face. She even has a weird name—Y/N? What kind of name is that?”

“Y/N?! She was rude to you? No way, she’s the nicest person in the entire university,” Mark says, making Haechan scoff in disbelief.

“Her? The nicest? Are you sure we’re talking about the same person?”

He tosses his backpack next to the couch and flops onto it. Chenle climbs on top of him, and Haechan instinctively wraps his arms around him.

“Wait… Y/N? Hold on, that’s my best friend from my group.”

All three of them turn to Jisung in unison. Haechan immediately shoves Chenle off and sits up.

“She’s your best friend? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“No, I’m serious!”

“Why do we never know about your other best friends?” Chenle exclaims, while Mark nods in agreement.

Jisung rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well… I just never had a reason to bring her up, so I guess I forgot.”

“And by the way, Haechan, I highly doubt she was rude to you. She’s an angel—she wouldn’t snap at anyone for no reason.”

“But she—”

“Isn’t she literally known for rejecting everyone. Mind you, she even turned down Sungchan! SUNGCHAN, HAECHAN!!!” Chenle practically shrieks, grabbing Haechan by the shoulders and shaking him violently.

“Alright, alright, I got it! Let go!”

Haechan shoves him off, and Chenle flops dramatically onto the pillows.

“You know, now that I think about it, I’ve never actually seen her with a guy. Maybe she’s just into girls?” Mark asks as he walks over and sits beside the others.

“No, she’s into guys,” Jisung replies casually, while Haechan furrows his brows.

“If she’s so popular, why don’t I know her? I literally know everyone in this university.”

The other guys burst into laughter.

“What?”

“You two live in completely different worlds, Haechan. You only know people from your own crowd, and as you’ve probably noticed, she’s nothing like you,” Mark explains.

“So what? She’s probably just another typical nerd who stays home and is nice to everyone. Boring.”

“Hell no, she’s fun, and she loves parties. She’s just careful and doesn’t do the stupid shit you do,” Jisung corrects him, giving Haechan a pointed look.

“Then why is she still single? Was Sunghchan not good enough?”

Jisung simply shrugs as he reaches for the bathroom door.

“Maybe she has high standards. Or maybe she’s just waiting for the one. She’s never told me,” he says before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

The sound of running water fills the room, and Haechan chuckles at his words.

“So picky? Ridiculous. I bet if it weren’t for the coffee incident, she’d be chasing after me like all the others. She’s nothing special—just putting on an act.”

Chenle suddenly freezes, and Haechan immediately notices, giving him a questioning look.

“You sure about that?”

Haechan remains confused.

“Yeah?”

“Wanna prove it?”

“What?”

“You really think you could get her if you tried?”

“All girls are the same—of course I could!”

“Wanna bet?” Chenle smirks, and Mark immediately frowns.

“Chenle…”

“Are you saying I wouldn’t be able to make her fall for me and actually date me?” Haechan raises a brow.

“Haechan, she’s never dated anyone in this university—”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Mark stares at him in shock, while Chenle’s grin stretches even wider.

“You’re going to lose, Haechan. I’m serious. She hates you, especially after—”

“My tactics have never failed me before, Mark. Don’t worry. I’ll even buy you your favorite meal with my winnings,” Haechan pats Mark on the shoulder before heading to his room.

—

“Then he called me an idiot! I heard it!”

You sit in the apartment you share with Ningning and Karina, recounting yesterday’s situation to them and Jaemin. A whole day had passed, yet you were still fuming. It had taken forever to get the stain out of your sweater, and even then, a faint mark remained.

“That’s insane,” Ningning says—before bursting into laughter.

“It’s not funny,” you pout, leaning onto Jaemin’s shoulder.

“How do you even friends with him, Jaemin? He’s awful,” you complain, taking a sip from your mug.

“He’s actually nice to us. The sweetest, even,” Jaemin shrugs.

“Then why can’t he be like that with everyone?”

“He’s got his issues,” he says, grabbing your drink and taking a sip himself.

A couple of hours later.

“No, but seriously, Y/N, he’s the worst player I’ve ever seen. No one lasts more than two weeks with him. It’s impossible—”

“Ningning, he’s just a dumb boy! I’m sure it’s easy to keep him around for longer than two weeks. Besides, it’s me. Don’t you believe in me?”

For the past hour, the four of you had been discussing Haechan. What started as casual gossip had quickly turned into a playful challenge—could you really date him for longer than two weeks? They all doubted you. But you insisted it would be too easy. And no matter how hard they tried to talk you out of it, you weren’t budging.

“Are you guys scared you’re going to lose?” you smirk, leaning back against the couch.

“Scared?” Ningning scoffs, glancing at Karina and Jaemin.

“You two should be talking her out of this. Why aren’t you?”

“She does whatever she wants,” Jaemin sighs, smiling. “There’s no stopping her once she sets her mind on something.”

Ningning clicks her tongue before shaking her head.

“Alright, Y/N. Let’s bet on it. But just so you know—we’re playing for big money. This is Lee Donghyuck we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s do this.” You stretch out your hand toward Ningning, who looks at the two beside her in disbelief.

“Am I seriously the only one betting against her?”

“I believe in her,” Jaemin says with a shrug.

“I just don’t want to waste my money,” Karina adds, making Ningning roll her eyes.

“Fine.” She finally shakes your hand, and a triumphant smile spreads across your face.

The bet was on.

After searching the entire university, you finally spot Haechan. This whole plan of apologizing just to get closer to him annoyed you, but it was necessary. So here you were, wandering through the campus, determined to find this idiot.

You step into an empty classroom, only to see a familiar figure sitting with his back to the door. The sound of your footsteps makes him turn around, his brows slightly raised when he sees you.

Without hesitation, you walk up to him and sit down.

“Hey.”

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize for what happened on Tuesday. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you. Sorry” you say, putting on your best attempt at sincerity. In reality, you’d much rather punch him in the face.

Haechan looks genuinely surprised before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“You don’t have to apologize. It was my fault—I spilled your coffee and ruined your sweater.”

You force a smile, though just thinking about your favorite sweater and that damn stain makes your eye twitch.

“Oh, it’s fine. I was planning to replace it anyway.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”

«…What?» You blink in confusion.

«I ruined yours, so I’ll get you another one. Just send me the one you want.”

You freeze for a moment, processing what just happened. Why was he suddenly being so… nice? Was this really the same Haechan?

Then it hits you—this is actually perfect. You were going to need his number eventually, but now you had the perfect excuse to get it without waiting another week.

«Ah… okay… Can you give me your number? I’ll send it to you.»

Haechan nods, and you take out your phone to save his contact. You’re about to leave when he suddenly adds:

«No need to rush. Pick something you like and don’t worry about the price.»

He smiles at you, and you feel like something is definitely off. But you quickly brush off the thought, nodding at him before walking away.

xxxxx: link

idiot: good taste😉

xxxxx: thanks ☺️

idiot: are you sure you really like it? You didn’t check the price?

xxxxx: yeah, I love it

xxxxx: why? What about the price?

idiot: I just expected it to be more expensive. I could’ve bought you something pricier if needed

xxxxx: no, it’s fine, I really like this one. Thank you

idiot: don’t thank me, I had to

idiot: by the way, you looked really beautiful today

xxxxx: huh? Thanks…

idiot: sorry, I just couldn’t hold back from saying it

xxxxx: haha, you’re cute

idiot: me? I’m cute?

xxxxx: honestly, yeah

idiot: I’m glad you think so :)

«Is she really that dumb?» Haechan scoffs, tossing his phone onto the bed.

«Who?» Chenle, lying on the bed across the room, glances at him.

«Y/N. She’s so naive. How did she reject every guy? It’s so easy to gain her trust.» Haechan turns onto his side, watching Chenle play on his phone.

«I don’t know, maybe she rejected them after some time. I’m sure you’ll be one of them.»

«No. She’s already falling for it, and I haven’t even done anything yet.»

Haechan turns onto his back, closing his eyes.

—

«Your beautiful sweater, miss.»

Haechan hands you a bag, and you take it from him. Only two days had passed, and he was already handing you your new sweater.

Did he get close to all his flings before dropping them like this? You wondered.

«Wow, you actually bought it.» You peek inside and smile at him.

«How could I not?» He grins, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You both tried hard to pretend to be sweet to each other. But because of the rumors about one another, you couldn’t help but wonder—what was wrong with the two of you right now?

«By the way… to be honest, Y/N, I’d really like to get to know you better.»

You flinch slightly. Why is everything happening so fast and so easily? You know he probably just wants to sleep with you and then disappear, but without this turn of events, your plan wouldn’t work. So you have no choice but to take the risk and let him do what he wants.

«Me? Really?»

Haechan nods. «Yeah, and if you don’t mind… would you like to go on a date with me? This Sunday?»

You smirk. This is going to be way too easy.

«Oh, um… if you’re sure about it, then yeah, I don’t mind!» You pretend to be flustered, lowering your gaze to the floor.

«Then I’ll text you what time to be ready, okay?»

You nod, and he waves at you before walking away.

«So dumb.» You roll your eyes and head in the opposite direction.

—

Sunday.

After that day, Haechan texted you the time and let you know he’d come to pick you up. You told the girls everything, and…

«You do realize he just wants to use you like he did with all the others, right?» Ningning trails behind you while you get ready.

«I know, but it’s only temporary.»

«Y/N.» She grabs your hand and pulls you closer. «Let’s call off the bet? I’m worried about you.»

You smile at your friend and hug her.

«Ning, this isn’t about the bet. I want to teach that rude guy a lesson myself. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, don’t worry. He’s just dumb, that’s all.»

«Are you sure?»

You nod, and she hugs you again.

«Just be careful.»

«You look really beautiful,» Haechan says as you approach him and his car.

You’re, to say the least, surprised to see that he actually owns a car, though it makes sense considering the family he comes from and what he can afford. Ningning even managed to tell you that he used to live with Mark, but after his parents gifted him an apartment for his 21st birthday, he moved out and has lived alone ever since, but he often stays over at Mark’s place.

You feel a little flustered and quietly thank him.

«You look good too.» And it’s true. In all your years as a student, you’ve never seen Haechan dressed like this—even at events. Actually, have you even seen him at any uni events? Since he’s a partygoer, he never really cares about how he dresses, but this time, he actually put in effort. He’s wearing a cardigan over a button-up with black jeans, and you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. As much as you hate him, you can’t deny that he’s really attractive.

Haechan opens the door for you, and you get in, already anticipating a night at some basic café where you’ll sit through the embarrassment of his conversation.

Haechan was surprisingly a great conversationalist. He wasn’t acting silly and talked calmly—you didn’t even know he was capable of that. To be honest, you always thought he was a complete idiot who didn’t know how to handle relationships, which is why he had so many almost-relationships with different girls. But it turned out that wasn’t the case.

He told you about his family, his friends, and just his life in general. How he once dreamed of becoming a musician but later decided it was a bad idea and chose to study IT instead. How, despite being good with computers, he was terrible at video games and so on.

The whole evening was filled with a good atmosphere, to the point that you almost forgot why you were really here. Haechan seemed like a genuinely kind and good person, making you momentarily forget about his real personality.

Now, the two of you were walking through a park, breathing in the fresh air, and continuing your conversation.

Haechan walks beside you and says, “I’m still surprised that Jisung never mentioned you. You’re not someone people should keep quiet about.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“You’re pretty. You’re kind, beautiful, and sweet. A good person. If you were my friend, I’d be telling everyone about you.”

You blush, but this time, it’s real. A part of you hopes he’s being honest, but this is Lee Haechan—he couldn’t be.

“Thank you. You’re a good person too, but I don’t get why you have such a bad reputation. Everyone calls you rude.”

Haechan flinches slightly. “I just… I just don’t trust people.”

“You don’t trust people?” You tilt your head, confused.

“Yeah. I only trust my friends and family. I had bad experiences with others, so I decided to be this way.” Haechan didn’t even know why he was telling you this right now, especially since it was so personal.

“But have you ever thought that if you gave others a chance, you might be able to trust them too?”

Haechan stays silent for a moment, and you decide to drop the topic. You continue walking in silence until you reach your apartment.

“Thanks for tonight. I hope we can do this again if you don’t mind,” he says.

“I’d love that,” you say with a bright smile. He smiles back, just as warmly.

You say goodbye, and he watches you until you disappear inside the building.

“Such a weirdo,” Haechan mutters under his breath before turning back to his car.

—

idiot: are you in the cafeteria?

xxxxx: yeah, why?

You stare at your phone, waiting for a reply, but instead, a hand on your shoulder startles you. You look up and see Haechan.

“This is for you.” He places a cheesecake and your favorite juice on the table. Your friends watch the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“What? Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I just want to keep you in a good mood during class. So, enjoy.” He pats your shoulder and walks away.

“What did you do to him?!” Karina hisses at you while you stare at the cheesecake, just as confused.

“I… have no idea? Maybe my charms are working.”

Ningning bursts out laughing.

“No, but seriously, this is weird. He never does stuff like this. Look around—the whole cafeteria is staring at you now!”

You glance up and, sure enough, every table seems to be drilling holes into you with their eyes.

You quickly look away and stab your fork into your salad.

“Damn, I didn’t want this kind of attention.”

“You’re already popular.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be famous just for being Haechan’s next girl!”

“Oh, baby, believe me, this is a completely different case,” you ignore Ningning and continue eating, letting everything else fade into the background.

“You’re trying so hard, it’s hilarious,” Chenle says, settling into a seat at the kitchen table, eyes locked on Haechan.

The guys had gathered at Jeno and Jaemin’s place after university. Jaemin was still at the gym and Jisung still at uni, but the rest of them were here.

“What’s going on?” Jeno asks, while Renjun also looks over with curiosity.

“He made a bet with Chenle that he could date Y/N.”

Renjun laughs hard, nearly falling over onto Mark.

“Y/N?” He laughs again, and Chenle joins in. “She rejects the most popular guys, and you think she won’t reject you?”

“We went on a date!” Haechan shouts.

“So what? She goes on dates with guys, then it’s over. No one ever makes it to the final stage, Haechan. And you, of all people, definitely won’t.”

“Wanna bet on that too?” Haechan challenges, smirking.

Renjun scoffs but is still grinning. “I don’t waste my time on childish things like this.”

“We bet $800.”

“What?” Renjun exclaims, eyes widening. “Well, damn, I’m in!”

Laughter erupts around the room, and Mark sighs before adding, “If Jaemin finds out you guys are betting on Y/N, he’s gonna kill us. And for the record, I’m totally against this.”

“Everything will be fine, Mark. Just… please, no one tell Jaemin or Jisung.”

Everyone nods in agreement.

—

Your second date takes place at an amusement park. You mentioned that you love them a lot, and Haechan couldn’t miss this chance.

“It’s so beautiful and fun here,” you say as you walk through the park. It’s Sunday, and there are a lot of people around. Haechan stays close to you, making sure not to lose sight of you and to keep you from tripping. He frequently places a hand on your back and gently guides you forward. You feel a bit flustered by it but don’t show it. The same goes for Haechan.

“Do you want to go on that one?” you ask, pointing at a ride that spins people around.

Haechan gulps. In reality, he’s a bit afraid of extreme rides and often gets nauseous from them. He does like amusement parks, but he tries not to go on too many rides—one or two at most. He thought you’d be the same and that he wouldn’t have to endure too much.

But how wrong he was.

“Haechan, let’s go there!” You grab his hand and pull him toward yet another ride.

Haechan wants to cry. He can’t handle another one—his stomach is churning, and he’s holding on for dear life, all for yo- for the bet. And you’re too happy, too excited, too adorable today for him to say no. Besides, he doesn’t want to disappoint you when he’s the one who invited you here.

And yet, he’s at his limit. If he gets on one more ride…

“Y/N, wait.” He stops you, pulling you toward him, breathing heavily from running. You look at him, starting to worry.

“Are you okay?” You place a hand on his cheek, and he flinches at your touch.

“Yeah, I just… I’m tired. Can we just eat now?”

You pout—you really wanted to go on that ride.

“Just once? I’ve always wanted to try it, but I never got the chance. Just one time?” You smile sweetly, holding up a finger. He sighs in defeat and nods.

One time. He prays he won’t throw up.

“Haechan, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well?” You rub his back as he hunches over the toilet, trowing up. The moment you got off the ride, he suddenly clutched his stomach and muttered that he was going to be sick. Acting quickly, you rushed him to the public restroom.

“I didn’t want to say no to you,” he finally says, wiping his mouth and sinking down to sit on the floor.

“Huh? I’m not a kid; you could’ve just refused.”

“You looked too cute, and I wanted to make you happy.” He chuckles, but you glare at him.

“Happy? Are you happy now?”

Haechan sighs and lowers his head.

“I’m thirsty…”

“Thirsty? Wait, I’ll go get you something.” You stand up, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you back.

“Stay here. We’ll go together later.”

“You sure? You look awful.”

He looks up at you and smiles.

“You make me feel better.”

You freeze.

This is all for the bet… right?

It was a dark evening, and you were sitting on a bench near the park. Haechan felt better after drinking some water and getting fresh air. Naturally, you didn’t go on any more rides or walk anywhere else. You just sat there quietly, watching the bright lights shining from the amusement park.

“Why didn’t you tell me that rides make you sick?” you break the silence.

“I… You were having fun, and I was the one who invited you, knowing I’d feel bad. I just didn’t know you liked riding them so much.” Haechan chuckles, but you stay silent. He notices and wipes the smile off his face before continuing.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it either. The last time I threw up at an amusement park was when I was eighteen.”

You turn to him.

“Because after that, you stopped going on rides?”

Haechan is surprised by your tone and slowly nods.

“Yeah.” He smiles again, trying to make it seem like a joke.

“You really are an idiot. Don’t lie to me again.”

He nods and turns back to the view.

“To be honest, I do go on rides, but only once or twice. I didn’t expect you to love them this much.”

“I’m scared of them.”

“What?”

“I’m really scared of them, but sometimes I push through my fear and force myself to ride, reminding myself that I only live once. And I thought you enjoyed them too, so I kept going, even though I wanted to stop after the third one.”

Haechan suddenly laughs—loudly, throwing his head back.

“What’s so funny?” you frown.

“We both forced ourselves to do something we couldn’t handle… for each other. It’s funny and kind of stupid.”

You scoff, and he grins.

“Want some ice cream?”

You nod, and he stands up, holding out his hand.

“Let’s go.”

And you take it.

—

You quickly step into the apartment, slamming the door shut behind you and leaning your back against it. You stand there for a few minutes, staring blankly ahead, until Ningning comes out of her room and looks at you with questioning eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Nings, is Haechan always this open with his partners?”

“Open? What do you mean?” Ningning sits on the couch and gestures for you to join her. You give in and flop down beside her with a heavy sigh.

“He told me about his fears… and some personal things.”

“Haechan?”

“Yeah.”

“I—”

“He never shares personal stuff with anyone.”

A sudden male voice interrupts, making you turn toward the sound. Jaemin walks in with a grin and sits down next to you.

“Jaemin? What are you doing here?”

“Came to play with Ningning,” he says casually as she nods and turns on the PlayStation.

“So… my plan is working, and he’s starting to like me,” you lean back, smiling widely before bursting into laughter.

Ningning looks at you in horror, then shifts her gaze to Jaemin, but he only shrugs and smirks before turning back to the game.

—

“Why is he doing this? Jaemin could easily see them,” Mark clicks his tongue as he, Chenle, and Renjun watch from the corner of the cafeteria. You were standing there with Haechan, who had just walked up to you like usual and handed you your juice. You had told him to stop because it was awkward, but he didn’t care.

“Especially now—rumors will spread, and everything will definitely go downhill.”

“Mark, stop stressing so much already,” Chenle laughs, nudging his shoulder. Mark had always been the voice of reason, constantly stopping his friends from getting into trouble. So it wasn’t surprising that he was desperately trying to put an end to this, especially knowing that you were Jisung and Jaemin’s best friend.

“What is he doing?”

The boys jump as Jaemin suddenly approaches them. He doesn’t react to their startled faces, just keeps his eyes fixed on you and Haechan.

“Why is he talking to Y/N?” Jaemin’s intense gaze burns into the two of you, and the boys start panicking. Chenle scrambles to come up with an excuse and is about to say something when Haechan starts heading back toward them.

Halfway there, he spots Jaemin and stops in his tracks. They stare at each other for a moment before Haechan decides to keep walking, approaching the group.

“What were you doing with her?” Jaemin asks directly, and the air around them tenses.

Classes had already started, and they should have all left by now, but no one moved.

“I was just talking to her.”

“About what?”

“Am I not allowed to talk to her?”

“I don’t see any situation where you would need to talk to Yoon, Haechan.”

Haechan freezes at the coldness in his friend’s tone, swallowing hard as Jaemin continues.

“If you’re planning to make her just another one of your girls for a few days, you better stop now.”

“I’m not planning that, Jaemin. She’s different for me.”

Silence hangs in the air as Jaemin completely ignores Haechan’s words.

“Don’t do anything stupid, and if you dare hurt her, I don’t care that you’ve been my best friend since childhood, Donghyuck.”

With that, Jaemin brushes past him, bumping his shoulder slightly before walking away, leaving Haechan standing there, staring at the floor, unsure of what to feel.

—

Idiot: hey, wanna go for a walk?

angry princess: rn? I don’t mind :)

You were strolling through the park, talking about everything and nothing. You still secretly annoyed each other, but your relationship had shifted slightly. Haechan used to think you were just a nerd and a weirdo, but over time, he realized you were completely different—just as Jisung had said. He didn’t have feelings for you, or so he told himself, but for some reason, he wanted to do everything for you. He convinced himself that he was only putting in so much effort to win the bet and rub it in that annoying Chenle’s face.

The weather was nice at first, but without you noticing, it started to change—dark clouds rolled in, and soon, it began to rain. Haechan took off his jacket and draped it over you.

“Sorry, I didn’t know the weather would be like this today.”

You had planned to spend the whole day outside, even wearing a skirt and a top, but luck was not on your side. As you made your way toward Haechan’s car, the rain turned into a downpour, and you both started running. Completely drenched, you jumped into the car, laughing at the situation you found yourselves in.

As Haechan settled into the driver’s seat and shut the door, you watched him closely. Feeling your gaze, he turned to face you. You stared for a long moment before reaching out, brushing his wet bangs from his eyes. He froze under your touch, his gaze locking onto yours.

Slowly, you started leaning toward each other. Haechan’s eyes flickered from yours to your lips and back again, as if silently asking for permission. You gave a slow nod.

Without wasting a second, he leaned in, pressing a soft, testing kiss against your lips before pulling away to gauge your reaction. Without hesitation, you grabbed him by the neck and kissed him properly.

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, both of you moving in sync as you melted into each other. Haechan wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. In this kiss, it felt as if he was finally doing something he had wanted to do for a long time, and you didn’t hold back either. After a few minutes, you both pull away, breathing heavily. You look at each other, and in his eyes, you see either the reflection of the streetlights outside or his own shimmering gaze.

“Wow…” That’s all Haechan manages to say, clearly at a loss for words. You laugh and lean back against the seat. A brief silence follows before he speaks again.

“I guess I should be grateful for not checking the weather. If I had, I wouldn’t have gotten a kiss from you.”

“Yeah, but we’re probably going to get sick—especially me.” You gesture to your skirt, and Haechan lowers his gaze.

“Oh, wait a second.” He reaches into the backseat and pulls out a black hoodie. Without hesitation, he drapes it over you and turns on the heater, making the car warmer. You look at him, surprised.

“Isn’t this the hoodie you always wear?”

He nods. “Yeah, it is.”

Silence fills the car again until Haechan breaks it.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You smile and nod, and just like that, you spend the rest of the rain-soaked night kissing in his car until the storm finally passes.

Haechan walks into his apartment, where his friends are already lounging on the couch, watching a movie. Mark had a spare key, and they had texted earlier about coming over in the evening, so it wasn’t surprising to see them there.

As soon as Chenle notices him, he practically yells, “Haechan! How was the date?”

Haechan stiffens at the question, his steps slowing as he heads toward his room.

“Nothing special, just the usual,” he mutters, trying to sound nonchalant. He quickly disappears into his room, leaving his friends staring after him in confusion.

The moment he shuts the door, he leans against it, pressing his hands to his cheeks. A huge grin spreads across his face, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “I kissed her.”

Realizing how loud he was, he slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyes darting toward the door as if making sure no one heard him. He could’ve gone out there and told them everything, declared his victory in the bet right away—but for some reason, it didn’t feel right. This moment wasn’t about the bet anymore. It was something just between the two of you, and he wanted to keep it that way.

After changing into something more comfortable, he falls onto his bed and grabs his phone. He types out a quick message before drifting off to sleep.

idiot: goodnight ��

idiot: let’s meet somewhere private tomorrow, I need to tell you something

idiot: sleep well :)

Haechan offered to be your boyfriend.

At the start of the day, you both agreed to meet in an empty room, and there, he asked you to be a couple. Of course, you said yes, silently praying that your relationship would last more than two weeks.

The first few days were quiet—you didn’t hide, but you didn’t flaunt it either. But then, one particular day turned into chaos. Rumors about your relationship spread like wildfire. Whenever you or Haechan walked through the hallways, people stared and whispered. You didn’t like the attention, but you had expected it, so you quickly accepted it.

What shocked everyone wasn’t just the fact that someone was dating—it was who was dating. Two complete opposites. Most of all, people couldn’t believe that you, the infamous untouchable, had given a chance to the university’s biggest player. That’s why the gossip was louder than ever.

Then, on the university’s website, someone made an anonymous post about you two. It gained tons of likes and comments. You didn’t care much about people’s opinions, but one comment managed to get under your skin.

catJlover: maybe they just made a bet on each other, and now they’re forced to “be together”? ;)

“What?” You frowned and clicked on the comment. It already had three dislikes, making you scoff. “Right, of course.”

catJlover: maybe they just made a bet on each other, and now they’re forced to “be together”? ;) (0 likes, 4 dislikes)

“Haechan! Why didn’t you tell us you two were dating?!” Chenle burst into the empty classroom where Haechan and Mark were sitting.

Haechan smirked and lazily lifted his gaze, noticing that Jisung and Renjun were following closely behind.

“Isn’t it more fun to find out this way instead of hearing it directly from me?” he grinned.

Chenle scoffed and sat on the desk in front of him.

“I can’t believe you actually won the bet,” Renjun said, making Haechan freeze. His eyes darted to Jisung, who stood silently next to them—his best friend, the one person he didn’t want to find out.

Renjun noticed Haechan’s panic and quickly reassured him.

“He knows. Chenle told him.”

“Why?” Haechan shot a glare at the younger boy, who only shrugged.

“He asked. He already had suspicions.”

Haechan hesitated before looking at Jisung carefully, his voice cautious.

“Are you mad?”

Jisung chuckled.

“Of course I’m mad, Haechan.”

Haechan lowered his gaze, but Jisung continued before he could spiral.

“I just hope you either end this without suspicion… or do what I actually want you to do.”

Before Haechan could ask what that meant, Chenle suddenly spoke up.

“Hey, you need to prove that you two are actually dating.”

Everyone turned to him with questioning looks.

“What? Everyone already knows we’re dating,” Haechan said, frowning.

“Only by words, right?” Chenle glanced around before hopping off the desk.

“You could’ve just convinced her to play along and split the winnings with her.”

“What kind of nonsense—”

“I don’t buy that she rejected Sungchan but agreed to date you.” Chenle crossed his arms. “I need pictures or at least to see a kiss myself.”

“Hey! You pervert!” Renjun smacked him, making Chenle hiss in protest.

“I’m not! Just think about it—it’s really weird that we haven’t seen them up close! I still don’t believe it, and I need photos,” Chenle grinned, making Haechan roll his eyes.

“Fine, you’ll get your pictures. But after that, you give me my money immediately.”

Chenle nodded but then added, “Actually, you know what? I need a video of you two doing it, because you could just do a quick peck, and that doesn’t co—”

Renjun smacked him again, this time harder.

Haechan laughed, grabbing his bag as he got up to leave.

“I’ll send them tonight.” And with that, he walked out.

“Tonight? That fast?” Chenle raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe they actually are dating… Well, at least for Y/N, it’s real.”

Jisung watched Haechan leave, biting his lip in frustration.

—

idiot: babe

idiot: wanna come over tonight?

idiot: I’ll order pizza, and we can watch a movie.

angry princess: come over? to your place?

idiot: yeah

angry princess: oh um

angry princess: I guess yeah, sure. Will you pick me up?

idiot: of course, when does your last class end?

angry princess: 5:45 PM

idiot: I’ll be waiting at the gate.

You sat on Haechan’s couch, waiting for him to return from the kitchen. The fact that he had invited you over to his place still caught you off guard. You had even texted your friends to ask if he did this with all his girlfriends, but Jaemin had quickly replied, saying no—he only let in the closest people. That made you uneasy.

You couldn’t figure out whether Haechan actually had feelings for you or not. But you quickly pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the most important thing—keeping this relationship going for as long as possible. You weren’t even sure what you felt about him. In fact, you had forbidden yourself from feeling anything more than hate.

Speaking of which—you don’t really hate him now. And it pissed you off.

He was too kind to you. Too attentive. He even remembered little details about you, which was surprising, to say the least. You felt lost in this whole situation but reassured yourself that it would all be worth it soon, and you’d spend your winnings on new clothes.

“Hey, sorry I took so long.”

Haechan walked in, placing two glasses and a plate of snacks on the table.

“I’ll order us some food now. What do you want?”

He sat down next to you—so close that your heart skipped a beat.

“I’d like a double-cheese pizza and a large fries.”

He smiled, nodding, and for a second, you caught yourself thinking that his smile was really cute.

—

Some time later, you were both sitting there, eating, watching a horror movie. Neither of you liked romance movies, though your reasons were different and understandable. So horror was a fair compromise.

The truth was, you loved horror movies. But you were also terrified of them. You expected to flinch and scream during the jumpscares like you always did.

The movie you picked was creepy and unsettling. You were doing your best to keep quiet, but—

“AHHH!”

You jumped as Haechan suddenly grabbed onto you, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“Haechan?…”

You hesitantly touched the top of his head. He slowly peeked up at the screen, clearly embarrassed.

“God, sorry, I wasn’t expecting that jumpscare.”

“That wasn’t a jumpscare?”

Haechan awkwardly leaned back, pulling the blanket over himself. You both continued watching in silence until a real jumpscare popped up. This time, he didn’t just grab your hand—he completely wrapped his arms around you.

You froze. The TV blared with horrifying sounds, but he didn’t let go. In fact, he only held on tighter.

“You know, if you wanna cuddle, you can just say so.”

Haechan pulled away slightly, looking at you. But before he could respond, another loud scream came from the TV, and he flinched right back into your shoulder.

You laughed, patting his arm.

“Okay, so you’re actually scared.”

“Aren’t you scared too?” he mumbled into your neck.

“I am jumpy, and yeah, I’m scared. But you’re freaking out so much that I don’t even get a chance to be scared first.”

You laughed even harder. Haechan pouted.

“I just didn’t expect it to be this scary… Let’s turn it off, please?”

He looked up at you with those puppy-dog eyes, and you widened yours in disbelief.

“What? Then what are we gonna do? I actually like the movie.”

“Kiss?” Haechan replied instantly, leaning in closer. “I missed you.”

You blinked, caught off guard. And he took advantage of your hesitation, pressing his lips to yours.

Right then, another horrifying scream erupted from the TV, scaring both of you. Haechan groaned, pulled away, and angrily turned the TV off. Then, he immediately returned to you, shifting positions—pulling you onto him.

That’s when you realized—he wanted you to sit on his lap.

“Come on, sit on my lap, please.”

You hesitated but eventually nodded, adjusting yourself onto him. His hands found your waist, fingers tracing soft patterns on your sides. He kissed you again, this time deeper, more insistent, more intoxicating.

Your hands moved up to his neck, pulling him even closer—though there was barely any space left between you two.

When you finally pulled away, you both just stared at each other, soaking in the moment.

“I wanna capture you on camera right now.”

You said it without much thought—Haechan just looked so good, lips swollen, cheeks slightly flushed. But the second those words left your mouth, something clicked in his mind.

A perfect opportunity.

“Then do it. My phone’s on the table behind you.”

You stared at him, shocked.

“Seriously?”

“Why not? We barely have any pictures together, and right now, you look really beautiful—especially after our kisses. I want to remember you like this.”

You blush but still reach for his phone, turning on the camera.

“Should I stay like this?” you ask, and Haechan nods.

You lift the phone, adjusting the angle to find the perfect shot. Both of you pose, and you snap a few pictures.

“Let’s take a kissing photo,” Haechan suddenly suggests, tilting your face toward him with a smirk before leaning in.

You freeze for a second but quickly press the shutter button as he kisses you. Afterward, he grabs the phone, scrolling through the pictures. They looked straight out of Pinterest—effortless, natural, and breathtakingly intimate.

Haechan grins victoriously, but more than anything, he’s ecstatic that he now has proof for Chenle—and even better, the photos turned out genuinely stunning.

“Wow, these are really pretty,” Haechan says, showing them to you.

You don’t react immediately, just staring at him with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.

You snap out of it, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just send them to me too.”

The rest of the evening is spent taking more photos and sharing kisses.

“Here, damn it.”

Haechan tosses his phone onto the table in front of Chenle, who instantly snatches it up, scrolling through the pictures. Mark and Renjun lean in from both sides, trying to get a look as well.

“So, does this mean I won the bet?” Haechan asks nonchalantly, grabbing a fork and digging into a salad that was already on the table.

“Hey! That’s my salad!” Renjun yells, shoving him off the chair.

Chenle, still scrolling, raises a brow. “Why did you take so many pictures?”

Haechan just shrugs, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“So you’d be absolutely sure. Besides, she loves taking pictures—I couldn’t say no.”

Haechan takes his phone back, scrolling through the gallery again with a satisfied smile.

“Did you send her the pictures?” Jisung suddenly asks.

Haechan hums in response, nodding. “Every single one.”

Jisung chuckles quietly, shaking his head.

“WHAT?! He never allowed anyone to take pictures with him! At least I’ve never seen any posts with his girlfriends!” Ningning practically yells, staring at your pictures along with Karina.

“Right!” You announce proudly, snatching your phone back. “And seriously, what do you mean he didn’t let people take pictures with him? Is he some kind of idol or something?” You scoff.

“Hey, I wasn’t done looking!”

“Wait, seriously?” Karina asks, narrowing her eyes.

You nod enthusiastically. “Yep, weird, right?”

“Super weird.”

“Yeah, but honestly, I don’t care. I already won the bet, so Ningning?” You tilt your head at her with a smirk. She huffs in frustration.

“It hasn’t been three weeks yet.”

“Well, it’s almost three weeks, so get your money ready.”

“Wait—he followed you?”

She clicks on his profile, checks his following list, and sure enough—your username is right there.

Ningning looks up at you with a shocked expression, and Karina covers her mouth in disbelief.

Meanwhile, you just stand there, confused. ”…Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

—

“Are you going to Johnny’s party?” You walk beside Haechan through the cafeteria, talking about your weekend plans. Johnny threw two huge parties every year, and this time, the date happened to fall at the end of the semester.

“Not sure. I don’t really feel like going this time. What about you?”

You and Haechan had been holding hands the entire time, and people still stared at you both. Of course, the rumors had died down a little, but they still lingered. Not that either of you cared anymore—probably.

“I can’t miss it, and I wanted to go with you this time,” he says with a smirk. “We’d be like the ultimate power couple there.”

You laugh, and he smiles, squeezing your hand. “I’ll think about it.”

And in the end, you agreed.

Haechan offered to pick you up so you could go together, but you wanted to go with the girls. He then suggested driving all three of you, which made them ecstatic—especially Ningning, who was already planning how she would interrogate Haechan the whole way.

“No, Ningning, stay quiet, or I’ll tell him not to drive us.” You point a finger at her while getting ready.

“Ugh, so boring! I need to make sure everything’s real!”

“I literally showed you our pictures!”

Karina laughs as you two argue.

“What if it’s AI? You know, technology is getting crazy nowadays.”

You click your tongue and shove her lightly. “Just be quiet the whole ride, okay?”

“Fiiine.”

Still, you had a feeling she wouldn’t last even five minutes in the car.

“What do you like about her?”

Fine.

“Everything? I can’t choose just one thing.” Haechan answers uncertainly as he drives you all to Johnny’s house.

You, Ningning, and Karina are crammed into the backseat because you refused to sit away from the girls—mainly because you wanted to keep an eye on Ningning. Unfortunately, she’s sitting on the other side of Karina, making it difficult for you to reach her. Not that it stops her from breaking her promise—she started interrogating Haechan the moment you got in the car.

“Not even one thing? That’s kind of suspicious…”

“Ningning!” You hiss at her, ready to smack her, but then Haechan suddenly says—

“Her voice.”

All three of you turn to him.

“My voice?” You echo quietly.

He nods, glancing at you through the rearview mirror. “You have a really beautiful voice. I’m in love with it.”

Karina and Ningning share a look, and you feel your face heating up. But before you can say anything, Ningning strikes again.

“Okay! The real question. Do you see a future with Y/N? Like, marriage? Kids? Dogs? Cats? A house on an island?”

“Ningning, shut up!” You practically yell at her, smacking her while Karina gets squished in the middle.

Haechan laughs loudly as he stops at a red light. You expect him to brush it off or joke around—after all, things between you two weren’t that serious.

But then he surprises you.

“Yeah, I do.” His voice is calm, like he’s just stating a fact. “I don’t know about kids or pets, but living with her and getting married? I’d like that. But we need to finish university and get jobs first.”

You stare at him in disbelief. The girls exchange shocked glances, but Haechan just keeps driving like he didn’t just drop a bomb on you.

The rest of the ride is completely silent.

“Be careful, and call me if you need anything, okay?” Haechan adjusts your bomber jacket on your shoulder, smiling at you.

You’re still stuck in your thoughts, processing what he said in the car. You just stare at him, too stunned to react.

“Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh—yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you if anything happens, yeah. Go to your friends.” You mumble quickly before hugging him and practically running off to find the girls.

Haechan watches you go, completely confused.

—

“I’ll transfer you the money tomorrow,” Chenle says, taking a sip of his cocktail.

“Money?” Haechan turns to him, confused.

“The bet. The money you won from the bet.”

“Oh… that money…”

“Did you seriously forget?” Chenle raises a brow.

“Looks like he’s actually in love,” Jeno comments, smirking.

Haechan flinches like he’s been doused in boiling water. “What? No. I don’t need her, and I’m not in love.”

“Then why have you been staring at her all night?” Jeno teases.

“I’m not staring.”

“Sure.”

Haechan frowns, sinking into his drink.

“You even let Y/N post the pictures?” Chenle suddenly asks, making all the guys grab their phones.

Confused, Haechan takes his out too and opens Instagram.

There it is—your post from that night, tagged with his name.

“With Donghyuckie💕”

His breath catches.

No one called him Donghyuck. He never let anyone do that.

He scrolls to the comments, and people are freaking out.

“Haechan finally let his girlfriend take pictures with him?”

“I was starting to think he was a virgin pretending to be a player.”

“Y/N is so brave for doing this.”

Oh yeah. You were very brave.

Haechan suddenly stands up and storms off to find you.

“Haechan!” Renjun calls after him.

Chenle watches him leave, sipping his drink. “Guess he wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t like sharing his personal life.”

Jisung hides a small smile from the corner of the room.

You wanted to go home. You didn’t know what happened, but you had drifted apart from all your friends, and everyone went in different directions. It had been exactly three weeks since you were with Haechan, and Ningning had given you the money after car incident. So, you finally decided to get back at Haechan for your hoodie and post your photos. He was known for not taking pictures with girls, and that bothered you more than anything. Besides, he had allowed you to take pictures and even sent you. He shouldn’t be against it, right? And honestly, you didn’t care anymore. You just wanted to end it once and for all, so you hit the “post” button.

“Someone liked your post!”

You smiled and leaned back on the couch. Then, a guy sat next to you. You opened your eyes and sighed. It was the guy who had been bothering you for a while. He kept trying to flirt with you, and you just stayed silent, praying he’d leave you alone.

“Leave Haechan. I don’t even get why you’re with him. Did he give you money? I can give you more! I have more than he does!” he says, moving closer and placing his hand on your shoulder.

“Move away from her,” you hear a rough voice from above, and you see it’s Haechan. The guy, seeing him, slowly pulls his hand away and turns fully to face him.

“Who are you?” the guy squints, then recognizes him. “Ah, it’s Lee Haechan!” The guy stands up and extends his hand, but Haechan ignores him and pulls you by the hand towards him. He places his arm around your shoulder, clearly protecting you, and glares at the guy across from him.

“You know, I’ll just wait until you break up with her like you always do, and then I’ll have my chance,” the guy winks at you and walks away. Haechan wanted to follow him after hearing that, but you stopped him.

“Forget it. That idiot has been chasing me for a year, and he won’t stop.”

“If he bothers you again, tell me immediately, okay?” You nod, and Haechan suddenly grabs your hand and leads you out of the house.

“What are you doing?” you scream, frightened, but Haechan’s strength is greater, and you can’t break free from him. As you walk, someone from the crowd shouts:

“Oh, it’s that girl of Haechan, Y/N, who posted their revealing photos!” The crowd turns toward you, and everyone starts screaming and whistling. Haechan stops and stares into space. You look around and see a crowd of drunken students. Then you turn to Haechan and hear him swear before finally pulling you out of the house.

Outside, he lets go of your hand and stands with his back to you.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s your deal?” he finally looks at you, and you get scared. He was serious, and his tone was harsh. “Why did you post the photos?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m your girlfriend. I wanted to do it.”

“You should have asked me for permission.”

You laugh. “You sent them to me. That’s permission.”

“Y/N…” He sighs and messes up his hair with his hand.

“Just delete them, okay?” He didn’t want to get angry at you, but the situation threw him off balance, and he didn’t know how to react. He felt exposed right now, like he was completely vulnerable.

“I don’t want to, Haechan.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to. It’s my profile.”

He stays silent, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. Are you a star, a K-pop idol or something?”

“It just makes me uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable when your girlfriend posts pictures with you?”

“It makes me uncomfortable when everyone sees me.”

“What? You’re literally popular in…”

“I know, and it pisses me off, Y/N!” You flinch as he snaps.

You flinch at his shout, not expecting such a sharp outburst of emotion. Haechan breathes heavily, looking at you, and you see his jaw clenched tightly.

“You don’t understand,” he continues, but now in a quieter tone, almost exhaling his words. “I hate it when people invade my life. My relationships. Me.” Haechan felt like everything he had built was falling apart and everyone had seen the real him. He created the bad boy image to keep everyone away, but then you came into his life and ruined everything.

You roll your eyes. “You’re acting like a child. It’s just a photo, Haechan, stop dramatizing.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation and looks away. “It’s not just a photo. It’s… I don’t want everyone talking about me and you.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Too late. They’re already talking. So what now? I’m not going to delete them just because you suddenly decided you’ve got star syndrome.”

Haechan looks at you again, but now his gaze isn’t just angry — there’s something in it that’s almost disappointment.

“Do you want to piss me off on purpose?”

“No, I just want to do what I want. Like you always do.”

You both fall silent, and the tension between you seems almost tangible. He doesn’t move, but you see his fingers clenching into fists.

“Fine,” he finally says. “Do what you want.”

He looks at you for a couple of seconds before suddenly turning and walking away, leaving you standing alone.

You watch him walk to his car, but you didn’t want to leave things like this. You told yourself you would finally let him go, but something held you back. You believed he was truly in love with you, and you had treated him this way. You ran after him. You grabbed his hand and turned him toward you.

“Haechan,” you see his glassy eyes, and your heart breaks.

“Sorry, I’ll delete the photos,” you say, and he suddenly hugs you tightly. You feel his tears on your shoulder, and you hug him back.

“I love you,” he whispers. You flinch, pulling away slightly to look into his eyes. He looks at you, and then you both kiss.

Can I come to your place?” you unexpectedly asked, and Haechan, already forgetting everything, looked at you in surprise.

“To mine…?”

“Yes, I don’t want to be alone today, especially since Karina and Ningning might not come either.”

“Yeah, of course.

You don’t know how it happened, but as soon as you entered the apartment, you and Haechan immediately started kissing and he pressed you against the wall in the hallway. Everything was calm and quiet until the door closed and you attacked each other. It’s surprising that you were thinking about the same thing all the way and now you were devouring each other.

You screamed when Haechan abruptly picked you up and carried you to the bedroom. There he laid you down and hung over you without tearing off the kiss. You stroked his whole body with your hands and pulled him towards you. Then he pulls away from you and, breathing heavily, looks you straight in the eye.

"You.. Haechan seemed scared and very embarrassed, which surprised you because it seemed to you that he was always confident in such situations.

"Yes, very much." you answer and pull him towards you, but he moves away again.

"Are you sure? If something is wrong, will you tell me?" You're taken back by his behavior

"Yes, I will," he nods and kisses you again.

Haechan’s Room. You open your eyes and see the ceiling of Haechan’s room in front of you. You slowly sit up and try to remember what happened last night. Without realizing it, you start kicking your legs and smiling, then lie back down on the bed, burying your face in the pillow.

“Oh my God, we did it. We were really together all night. Oh my God!” You shake with happiness on the bed but then suddenly sit up again.

“Wait, where’s Haechan?” You look around the room and listen carefully, wondering if the water in the bathroom is running or if he might be in the kitchen, preparing something. But there’s complete silence. You sigh, and suddenly a notification pops up on the phone—not yours, but Haechan’s. You look at it, then turn away, lying back down and wrapping yourself in the blanket. The notification comes again, then again, and again, and again.

“Oh my God!” You throw off the blanket and grab Haechan’s phone to turn off the sound, but then you see a message from some chat, and you notice Mark’s photo profile.

big (small) chenle: hey, are you both done fucking? It’s morning already.

big (small) chenle: we saw you two kissing by the car ;)

my boy: I’m pretty sure they’ve done, chenle…

big (small) chenle: so why isn’t he answering??

renjunnie: If they did, I would be so shocked that he went this far with the bet.

The bet?

Your heart drops, and you hear another notification.

big (small) chenle: Me too, dude. I didn’t want to lose money on him.

The bet.

The fucking Lee Donghyuck did the bet on you.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp pain in your head and start shaking. You drop the blanket and grab your clothes off the floor as quickly as possible, trying to escape this place.

Haechan enters the apartment, places a bag on the floor, takes off his shoes, and walks into the bedroom with a smile.

“Y/N, you’re awake…” but you’re not there. He looks around for your things, but they’re gone. Did you leave? That fast? He approaches the bed and looks for at least a note from you, but there’s nothing. Haechan grabs his phone, and there isn’t a single message from you. Instead, there are tons of messages from his friends’ group chat. He sits on the bed and scrolls through the messages on the lock screen.

He reads what his friends wrote with some irritation because he didn’t want to call your relationship a bet, especially not after last night. Once he’s read everything, he puts the phone back on the nightstand and lies down on the bed. He lies there for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling, wondering why you left so quickly without warning him. Did he do something wrong? Was everything bad? Did he annoy you? Did you realize you needed to break up with him? Or…

Fuck no.

Haechan suddenly sits up and grabs his phone. He rereads the messages and it hits him.

You saw their chat. You found out it was a bet. You fucking found out that he made a bet on you.

Haechan quickly dials your number and calls, but your phone is off.

“Shit…” He rushes to the coat rack, grabs his jacket, and heads for the door. When he opens it, he sees his friends Mark, Chenle, and Renjun standing there.

“I’m sorry, I tried to convince them not to go to you,” Mark says.

“Y/N at home?” asks Chenle, and then Haechan explodes.

“No, she fucking left because of you idiots!” The guys look shocked, and Haechan continues.

“She saw what you were writing about. She now knows we made a bet on her.” Haechan starts shaking, and tears fill his eyes. The guys quickly react, pushing him back into the apartment while closing the door. Haechan can’t hold it in anymore and starts crying, falling to his knees on the floor, covering his face with his hands. The shocked guys sit beside him, and Renjun hugs him to comfort him while Chenle runs to the kitchen to get water.

“Haechan, calm down…”

The guys don’t understand why he’s reacting this way to your departure, considering he did it all for money. They were sure he felt nothing for you and that he was doing all these strange things just to make sure you’d stay with him. But now, seeing him like this, they start to rethink everything.

Chenle brings the water and hands it to Haechan. He takes it with trembling hands and drinks it quickly. Renjun gently strokes his back, and Mark sits opposite, watching him closely, waiting for him to speak.

“We… we slept together yesterday…” No one answers, and Haechan continues.

“I didn’t think she’d agree to it… I didn’t understand why she even agreed to be with me… I never understood it, and it hurts that I used her, even though I actually have feelings for her.” Everyone freezes. Haechan never loved anyone since school, and he never admitted it. That’s why he changed so many partners. He wanted to love and finally find the one, but every time he felt like a failure. He was convinced he would stay alone for the rest of his life, that he would never meet anyone, so he gave up on himself and everyone, becoming someone he wasn’t. Only his friends knew how soft and kind he really was, but the fear of being himself ate him up, so he created a completely foreign image for himself.

This bet was supposed to be just another distraction and source of entertainment for him. But somewhere along the way, something changed, and from the very first date, he began to genuinely like you. He started doing things for you sincerely, not for the win, even though he denied it to himself and refused to acknowledge it. After the first kiss, he didn’t even want to tell his friends about it, because for him, that moment wasn’t a bet—it was something much more important and personal. He finally felt love.

The guys listened to him in silence, and they hugged him for a long time, comforting him.

“He used me.”

You sit down on the couch in the empty apartment. The girls weren’t home yet, so you sat there alone, letting your emotions take over as you talked to yourself.

“Fuck,” you groan, leaning back and covering your face with your hands.

“I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I used him too. I made a bet on him too. I’m no better than he is.”

You stand up and head to the kitchen to get some water to calm yourself down. As you pour the water, you mumble under your breath again.

“I knew what kind of person he was. I should’ve guessed he would do something like this.”

You bring the glass to your lips, but as soon as you feel the warm tears rolling down your cheeks, you quickly wipe one away with your hand.

“Damn it… he used me this whole time!”

You slam the glass down on the counter and rub your face with your hands, trying to pull yourself together, but you can’t.

This whole time, you wondered why he treated you differently. Why he acted like you were special. You believed he was truly in love with you, but in the end, he only treated you that way because you were a challenge.

You grab your phone, ready to text Ningning and Karina, but you hesitate.

“If they find out he had a bet on me… I’ll lose my own.”

No. You can’t tell them.

Your tears fall again as you sit back down on the couch, curling into yourself. Just then, you hear the soft click of the door opening.

You flinch and quickly wipe your tears away.

It’s Jaemin.

“Y/N? What happened?”

You hide your face, but Jaemin moves quickly, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms.

“Hey, I’m right here. It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer, just bury your face in his neck as he gently strokes your back.

“He used me.”

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. At the very least, you needed to tell Jaemin, knowing he would keep it a secret.

Jaemin freezes, his movements stopping as he hears your words.

“What do you mean…?”

You pull away slightly, looking at him with tear-filled eyes, and Jaemin feels his heart almost shatter.

“Haechan made a bet on me. I found out this morning when I was at his place.”

You wipe your tears while Jaemin stays silent, his hands gently rubbing your arms.

“But you know… I shouldn’t even be mad because I did the same thing. I used him too. It’s just… he acted so different. I actually believed it…”

“Do you have feelings for him?” Jaemin asks quietly.

You hesitate before finally speaking.

“We slept together last night.”

Now Jaemin’s heart completely breaks. He knew how hard physical touch was for you, even with friends. And now… an entire night with Haechan, who had only used you.

“That asshole,” Jaemin mutters, but you cut him off.

“Please don’t tell the girls. I at least want to get the money out of this.”

Jaemin nods, and for the rest of the day, he stays by your side, doing everything he can to distract you from the situation.

Two weeks had passed since that day.

You and Haechan hadn’t seen each other or texted even once. It was strange—there had been no real fight, no dramatic confrontation, yet you both silently agreed to ignore each other.

For you, it was a choice. You didn’t want to see him. For him, it was shame.

Before dating you, he had been in a dark place. During your relationship, he had felt healed, lighter, like a better version of himself. But now? Now he had fallen even lower than before.

He stopped talking to everyone. Stopped going to university. Stopped responding to his parents. Stopped gaming. Stopped leaving his room.

Stopped living at all.

His friends tried to pull him out of it, to get him to go outside, to do something, but he wouldn’t budge.

And you? You had tried to forget. Or at least to pretend you had. You went on with your normal life, spending time with the girls, keeping yourself busy. The money was still untouched, and they still didn’t know the truth. You had told them you and Haechan had a huge fight—because of you—and that’s why you broke up.

They believed you and left you alone.

Jaemin told you he wasn’t talking to Haechan either.

You were both suffering.

One Saturday evening, Haechan sat in the living room watching a drama. A romance, of course. Lately, that was all he could watch, imagining the two of you in place of the actors.

Tears pricked at his eyes as he buried himself deeper into his blanket. Then he remembered how you had once lain here beside him, wrapped in the same blanket.

His tears fell even harder.

Then, a knock at the door.

At first, he ignored it, assuming it was Mark or Chenle again. But the knocking grew louder.

“If that’s you, Mark or Chenle, just leave me alone. I’m not opening the door,” he called out, already turning away.

But then, a voice.

“It’s Jaemin.”

Haechan froze for a few seconds before slowly turning back. His hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitant, before he finally opened it.

Jaemin stood there, smiling.

Haechan blinked, confused. “Jaemin? What are you doing here…?”

“Can I come in?”

Haechan nodded, stepping aside and shutting the door as Jaemin walked in.

“I—”

“I know about the bet,” Jaemin interrupted.

Haechan stiffened, his head dropping as Jaemin stood with his back to him.

“She must’ve told you everything…”

“No. I knew from the start.”

Haechan’s eyes widened as Jaemin finally turned to face him.

“From the start…?”

“Yeah. Jisung told me.”

“But… he was in the shower when we talked about it,” Haechan mumbled.

Jaemin just shrugged and sat down on the couch.

“Are you mad?” Haechan asked, still standing near the door.

“At first, yeah. But then I found out Y/N had made a bet on you, too. So I wasn’t too worried—you weren’t the only one playing games.”

…What?

“She what? What are you talking about?” Haechan finally steps closer, standing directly in front of Jaemin, his face filled with confusion.

Jaemin smiles widely and lets out a small laugh.

“Haechan, did you really think you were the that only one?”

Silence falls between them, the tension in the air growing thick.

“What? Jaemin, what’s going on? Did you make a bet with her?”

“No, but I was the one who suggested it to her.” Jaemin sits down on the couch. “She didn’t know about your bet, and when Jisung told me, I was so pissed off that I wanted to go straight to you that day. But then I thought—why not make you taste your own medicine? She actually won, but she doesn’t even know it. You really fell for her, didn’t you?”

Jaemin stands up, looking directly at Haechan. Haechan doesn’t know how to respond. He just stands there, frozen in shock. Did you really do this? Did you go that far for a money?

“Do you think she would have posted your pictures if she didn’t mean it? She barely even posts herself.”

Tears start to stream down Haechan’s face again. He lowers his head, finally realizing that he deserved all of this. But at the same time… he feels relieved. Relieved that you didn’t suffer as much as he did.

“This all started because of you, Haechan. Because of your ego.”

“I’m sorry… I know I was an idiot.”

Jaemin steps forward and pulls him into a hug.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re a good idiot. We all know you can be better than this. And Y/N is suffering too, so instead of locking yourself in this room all night, maybe it’s time you go fix this mess.”

Haechan pulls away, looking at him in disbelief.

“Y/N is suffering? Why?”

Jaemin sighs. “You really are dense. I’m telling you—go to her and figure it out yourselves.”

—

Haechan came to the university.

That was all you heard throughout the morning, from every corner of the campus. Everyone was talking about it as if a god himself had descended upon this place. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much—if only people didn’t keep coming up to you with endless questions about your relationship.

“Where is Haechan?”

“Did you two really break up?”

“Do you actually love him?”

You clenched your jaw, your patience wearing thin with every passing second.

“Oh my god, can you all just back off? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The entire hallway turned to look at you after your outburst, eyes filled with curiosity and shock. You froze for a moment, embarrassment creeping up your spine—until frustration took over again.

“Stop meddling in other people’s lives!” you shouted, voice firm and unwavering. “Whatever happens between us is none of your business, even if we are insanely popular. Mind your own damn lives, and don’t ever bring this up to me or Haechan again!”

Your sharp gaze swept over the stunned crowd. No one dared to speak. The silence was deafening.

Feeling the weight of their stares suffocating you, you turned on your heel and rushed into the nearest restroom.

Even after you left, no one moved. The air was thick with the shock of your words.

At the end of the hallway, Haechan stood still, watching everything unfold. His heart clenched. He wanted to run after you—to hold you, to tell you that you weren’t alone in this. But he stopped himself. You needed space. And he refused to make things worse when he was the reason you had to spill your emotions like that in the first place.

Haechan entered the cafeteria, and as soon as he did, Chenle jumped on him.

“Haechan, I missed you!” He hugged him tightly, and Haechan laughed, hugging him back.

“I missed you too, Chenle.”

Still, Haechan couldn’t bring himself to approach you the whole day. He spent the day walking around alone, sitting with his friends during lunch. He told them every detail Jaemin had shared with him.

“So, I actually won the bet?” Chenle exclaimed, and Renjun smacked him on the arm.

“No, you lost. The bet was about dating her, and Haechan went further,” Renjun replied, and Chenle raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you supposed to agree? You lost too.”

“Yeah, but for me, my friend’s happiness and mental health matter more,” Renjun responded.

Chenle frowned and turned away.

“You’re making me look like the bad guy.”

“And besides, Y/N wouldn’t have slept with him just over a regular bet,” everyone turned to look at Jisung, who had been quiet throughout the conversation. After Haechan explained everything, no one judged him for telling Jaemin about this. They understood that you were their best friend, and what he did wasn’t that bad. He could have just told you directly. Jisung was always honest and couldn’t lie, especially to who was close to him, which his friends really appreciated.

“Really?” Haechan asked quietly, and Jisung nodded.

“Moreover, she wouldn’t even have kissed you. She’s too uncomfortable with physical contact from guys.”

Everyone sat in silence, and Haechan smirked, simply nodding.

It was evening, and the whole university was heading home. You said goodbye to your classmates and walked to the exit. As soon as you stepped outside, a heavy downpour began, and all the students were running in different directions, making noise. You stood under the porch, sheltered from the rain, unsure of what to do. You didn’t even have a jacket with you. You looked around to see what others were doing. Some people, being smart, walked out with umbrellas, others draped their jackets over themselves, while some lifted their backpacks over their heads. You sighed — it seemed like you’d have to walk out and just pray you wouldn’t catch a cold the next day. But deep down, you kind of liked it. You loved the rain and being in it, especially during your sad periods.

You took a step forward, preparing to get completely soaked, but suddenly, you noticed that nothing was dripping on you, even though you were already outside. You looked up and saw a transparent umbrella, then noticed a hand and…

Haechan.

You both stood there for a few minutes, looking into each other’s eyes. You couldn’t believe you were finally seeing him again after such a long time. He looked so handsome. His eyes were sparkling — you couldn’t tell if it was because of the rain or if they were naturally that way. He wore a hoodie, and his bangs didn’t fully cover his eyes, so you could see his face clearly. You even noticed the raindrops on his cheeks.

Wait, raindrops!

“Hey, you’re going to get soaked!”

You grabbed the handle of the umbrella and rushed to him, bumping into his chest. Now, you were both standing under the umbrella, and neither of you would get wet anymore.

“Do you want to get sick?” you looked up and met his sweet smile.

“Why are you… why are you silent?” you stuttered, not knowing how to react to your closeness, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want him to get wet, and you didn’t want to get wet either.

“I missed you and your sarcastic tone.” Your heart skipped a beat when you heard his voice. It was a little hoarse and quiet because of the rain, but you could still hear it. Around you, there was no one else left; everyone had run off, leaving just the two of you.

“Let’s talk, please,” he said again, and you hesitated, nodding.

“Hey!” you heard a male voice from afar and turned around.

“Is it you two again? Why are you standing in the rain? Go home faster! Lee Donghyuck, if you get sick, I’ll still wait for you in class, even if you’re will be dying! So don’t even think about asking for a sick note!” It was Professor Kwon. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud, covering your mouth, while Haechan just stood still and didn’t move.

He shouted back, “I promise, Professor Kwon, I won’t miss another one of your lectures!” Then, he grabbed your hand, and you both ran to his car.

When Haechan gets in the car and closes the door, an awkward silence falls. You don’t dare to look at him and focus on what’s going on outside. He, on the other hand, sits still for a moment and then breaks the silence.

“Sorry.”

“Hm?” You turn to him, and he remains still, continuing:

“Sorry for betting on you. And sorry that you found out in the worst way.”

You remember that day and can’t help but smirk. You weren’t mad at him; you were mad at yourself, because you fell for someone you shouldn’t have. You were the one who got involved in the bet, you agreed to everything. You let him take you.

“You don’t need to apologize, I was the one who used you.”

You decide to tell him the truth, but he shakes his head, interrupting you.

“No, this bet started because of me. If it weren’t for me, and my idiot friends, especially Chenle, none of this would have happened. Jaemin wouldn’t have made you do all of this.” He finally looks at you, and you see his eyes glistening, but what concerned you more was this: does he know?

“You know about me?… How?”

He nods. “Jaemin told me everything. He made you the bet after hearing from Jisung that Chenle bet with me on you. So, it’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”

You turn your gaze to the windshield, trying to process everything he just said. You zone out for a moment, and Haechan patiently waits, trying to control his own feelings.

“I guess it’s also my fault,” you say quietly.

Haechan looks at you. “I could’ve kept my distance from you and not gotten too attached, but… I got too involved. I even kissed you, and what’s worse, slept with you. I made that choice because I fell for you, but honestly, I hoped you felt the same, so I freaked out.”

“You fell for me?” Heechan’s eyes widen, and you do the same, both of you staring at each other in shock.

“I-I… damn, isn’t it obvious?!” You curse and suddenly yell at him.

“I don’t know! Don’t yell at me, I’m just shocked!” he shouts back.

“Wasn’t your plan to make me fall for you? So don’t be shocked and accept your win.”

“Actually, it was your plan to make me fall for you, and it worked, so just accept the consequences.”

You both fall silent for a moment, then burst into laughter.

“My god, we’re idiots,” you cover your face with your hands, and Haechan leans back against the seat.

“At least I know you like me, that’s all I need.”

You stop laughing, and he feels your gaze on him.

Haechan sits up straight, his eyes falling on your lips. You do the same, slowly leaning forward. He takes the initiative and kisses you. You grab his neck, pulling him closer. He hesitantly places his hands on your waist and back before you break away.

“Why are you so shy now?”

“I don’t know… It’s my first time kissing a girl I like after confessing to her.”

You’re surprised.

“But you’ve had so many girlfriends.”

“They didn’t mean anything to me.” He kisses you again, and you respond.

“Y/N. Can I be your boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Haechan deleted all his posts!”

“What?! Where?”

“What’s going on?” you asked Karina, and she showed you Haechan’s Instagram. Instead of his 23 posts, there was only one group photo with his friends. And he added one of your photos from your walk together.

You took Karina’s phone and blinked.

“Why did he do that?”

“I think the only answer is you,” Ningning answered with a sigh.

“Nonsense. Why would he do that for me?”

“I want only Y/N to watch me,” Chenle appeared and threw his arm over Ningning’s shoulder. She pinched him in the side, and he yelped.

“He said that, and you know, he had such lovesick eyes, it was even annoying.”

“Does it annoy you when your friend is happy?” Ningning asks.

“What? Of course not! Why are you all making me out to be a terrible person? I was just joking…” Chenle pouts, and you all laugh.

“You know, Nings, I knew from the beginning that something was off when you were telling information about Haechan’s friends and him.” You glance at her, and she blushes.

“I knew too! Who would’ve guessed that you’re Chenle’s girlfriend?” Karina supports you, but then Ningning exclaims.

“In my defense, I wasn’t his girlfriend yet! I even ignored him! He was just running after me around the university and telling me everything. But about the bet, he didn’t say a word!” She gives an accusing look to her boyfriend.

“Sorry, I couldn’t say anything! Especially to a near stranger.”

“A near stranger?!”

They stop, and Ningning hits him. You and Karina laugh, but then you hear someone’s voice.

“Y/N!” A person suddenly jumps on your back, and you realize it’s Haechan.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you,” he hugs you, and you sigh. Since you started dating, he hasn’t left your side. He literally follows you everywhere and always texts you. No one had ever seen this side of Haechan. He even started doing really well in studies and rose in the rankings, which amazed not only you and his friends but the entire university. He also became much closer with Jaemin again, even more than before. It made you happy to see the two your favourite people being together. He was still one of the most popular guys and in the spotlight, and after everyone found out that you two were back together, the rumors only grew. You became almost the most popular couple. But sometimes this brought problems. His fan girls would approach you and almost threaten you, but Haechan quickly found them and made sure they wouldn’t bother you again. And indeed, they stopped bothering you.

“Why did you delete all your posts?” Haechan tilts his head.

“Posts? Ah, why do I need them?”

“Um, I don’t know? You posted them before, so I thought they were important to you.”

“I posted them for attention, but now I don’t need that. Well, except from you, but I can just send you my photos privately. And it’s way better than Insta posts,” he winks at you, and you roll your eyes. You take his hand, and you both walk down the corridor. By now, you’re alone, since your friends went to their classes, and you two have a shared one.

“You know, I can’t believe I didn’t notice you before. It actually makes me angry,” Haechan says, and you smirk.

“You were obsessed with yourself.”

“No, I just hated that subject so much that I kept sleeping through it.”

“Yeah, and now you’re not sleeping, but staring at me.”

“How can I not look at the best and most beautiful girl in the world?”

“Okay, enough, this is getting too corny.”

“I don’t really care, you know.”

You sigh but laugh quietly. You reach the door, and he opens it for you, letting you pass.

“After you, milady.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” you walk into the classroom, and Haechan smiles and follows you in.

You both won something better than the bet.

339 notes · View notes

littelovelunette · 3 days ago

Note

vi with bratty reader but make it fluffy >>

Playful Brattiness

Vi knew you were trouble the moment you shot her that smug little smirk.

Arms crossed, chin tilted up, challenging her with nothing but the sheer force of your attitude. She loved it. Most of the time.

Right now? Not so much.

"Baby, quit being a little shit and get over here."

Vi sat on the couch, legs spread, arms resting on the backrest, looking every bit as exasperated as she was amused.

You, however, were standing on the other side of the room, arms behind your back, swaying innocently. Too innocently.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you sing-songed, batting your lashes. "I’m being an angel."

Vi raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. That why you stole my gauntlets and hid them somewhere?"

Your grin widened. "Could be."

She groaned, running a hand down her face before pointing at you.

"Y’know, for someone who loves getting picked up and carried around like a damn kitten, you sure do push your luck."

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest.

"Me? Pushing my luck? I would never."

Vi rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind them.

"Alright, smartass. You had your fun. Now, come here before I make you."

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to, but because teasing Vi was just too much fun.

"What if I say no?"

Vi tilted her head, a slow smirk creeping across her lips.

"Oh, you wanna play it like that?"

Your heartbeat picked up, knowing that look meant trouble—but the good kind. Before you could react, Vi was already on her feet, closing the distance in a few quick strides.

You let out a squeak, trying to dart away, but she was faster, easily scooping you up over her shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Vi! Put me down!"

She laughed, giving your ass a playful squeeze. "You had your chance, brat."

Spinning on her heel, she marched toward the couch and flopped back down, pulling you into her lap and wrapping her arms securely around your waist.

You huffed, crossing your arms, but you couldn’t hide the way you instinctively curled into her warmth. "This is unfair."

"Yeah? So is hiding my gauntlets. Where’d you put it?"

You shrugged, cheek resting against her shoulder. "Maybe I’ll tell you if you give me a kiss."

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. "Unbelievable."

Still, she cupped your face gently, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips. You melted instantly, and she knew she had you right where she wanted.

When she pulled away, her smirk was smug. "Now spill."

You groaned dramatically but grinned, finally relenting. "Fine. They're under the sink."

Vi snorted. "God, you’re lucky you’re cute."

You just nuzzled closer, content in her arms. "I know."

Vi sighed, pressing another kiss against your forehead, knowing full well that despite all the attitude, you were absolutely worth it.

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austinbutlerslovers · 2 days ago

Text

Hideaway

Label Mature 18+

Summary After a long press tour and back to back filming schedule Austin goes completely off grid. He takes you with him to a secluded mountain town where he temporarily recharges in solitude away from the spot light.

💝Romantic Smut💝 Austin sweet • calm • affectionate • overworked • hiding away • at peace • couples dynamics• passionate p in v • cream pie • aftercare

Inspo Based on his last sighting in Colorado-written in a few hours bc he’s officially Missing 😭

Hideaway

It’s quiet in Colorado.

The kind of quiet that fills your lungs with crisp mountain air, where the only sounds are the rustling of trees and the distant rush of a river somewhere down the valley.

Austin wanted this— a break from the flashing cameras, from premieres and press tours, away from always having to be “Austin Butler” instead of just… being Austin.

A secluded mountain town in Colorado is where he decided to temporarily slip out of the spotlight of fame.

Here, he’s just your boyfriend.

The two of you have fallen into an easy rhythm —waking up slow, cooking breakfast in the rental villa’s cozy kitchen, running errands like any normal couple.

He pulls on an old hoodie and a well worn pair of jeans, his trucker hat perched low over his blue eyes as he blends in with the locals.

No one recognizes him when you stop at the little general store or have a fresh pressed juice from the small town café.

It isn’t until you’re at a major grocery store, wandering the aisles hand in hand, that someone finally clocks who he is.

A fan stops mid-aisle, her eyes going wide.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, looking between the two of you. “You’re Austin Butler.”

Austin, ever the gentleman, grins warmly, tilting his head slightly. “I am,” he admits, his voice as soft and easy as ever. “Nice to meet you.”

She fumbles for her phone, nearly dropping it in her excitement. “I—um—can I get a picture? I’m such a huge fan.”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation. —He always obliges, he always makes time.

He takes the photo with her and even asks if she wants to check it to make sure she likes it before flashing her another easy grin.

“Thank you so much.” she says clutching her phone looking up at him star struck.

As she leaves practically beaming you shake your head, watching him with fond amusement. “You really are the nicest person ever aren’t you,” you tease.

Austin grins slinging an arm around your shoulder as you head for the checkout. “I figure, if I can leave someone feeling better than before they met me, I must be doing something right.” He says giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Back at the secluded rental villa, nestled against the mountains, you finish putting the groceries away while Austin stretches with a sigh, rolling his shoulders before plopping down to lay on the oversized couch.

“You look so comfortable,” you tease, as you sit beside him, tucking your legs under you.

He hums, tilting his head back against the cushions, his blue eyes half-lidded in pure contentment. “That’s because I am,” he says, his voice low and lazy.

You slowly lay on top of him, running your fingers through his hair, the shaved cut from his last role finally growing back, thick and soft.

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, a low, satisfied hum sounding from his chest.

“How does it feel having a little hideaway?” you ask quietly.

Austin exhales slowly, like he’s actually taking in the question, considering it.

Then he opens his eyes, looking at you with that wise, thoughtful expression of his.

“Like I can breathe easier,” he says. “Like I don’t have to be anything but here with you.”

His words melt something inside you, and you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. He kisses you back, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to do nothing but give you his affection.

Later at night, the two of you make drinks—whiskey for him, something a little sweeter for you—and you slip into the hot tub outside.

The villa sits at the base of the San Juan Mountains, the jagged peaks stretching into the endless star scattered sky, the dark silhouettes vast against the deep blue.

Austin leans back, stretching his arms along the edge of the tub, his head tilted up as he takes in the view. The steam rises around you both and he sighs, glancing over at you with a lazy smile.

You lean toward him, your legs brushing his under the water. “You glad we came here?” you ask.

He reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’d go anywhere as long as I’ve got you,” he grins, squeezing your hand gently. “But yeah… I love it here— I love being with you.“

Your heart swells at the sincerity in his words. “I love being here with you too,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again.

This kiss is longer, deeper, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck as he tilts his head, drawing you in closer.

The warmth of the water, the crisp night air, the way he kisses you—it all becomes intoxicating.

You pull back slightly breathless. “You want go inside?” you ask.

He smirks slow and teasing “Yeah” he says his eyes heavy with desire for you.

You head to the master bedroom, the glow of starlight spilling through the windows, casting soft shadows across the room.

Your wet swimwear is discarded and forgotten on the floor as Austin lays on top of you, his body warm and solid against yours.

His lips move over yours, deep and unhurried, his hands cradling the back of your neck as he presses closer, kissing you like he never wants to stop.

His breaths grow heavier, his chest rising and falling against yours as he nudges your legs apart, making space.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look down at you as he lines himself up. “Look at me,” he whispers, his voice low and thick.

You do, and the moment your eyes meet his, he pushes in slow, filling you inch by inch. His lips return to yours as a soft needy moan escapes you, captured by his kiss.

His hands trail down your sides, fingers gliding over your soft skin before cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples in slow, gentle circles.

He lifts slightly, watching your face as he pushes in deeper, his hips angling just right.

The sensation makes you moan, your hands clutching at his arms, the pleasure building with every slow, measured thrust.

His blue eyes darken, the heat in them making you even hotter, and your moans turn into soft, desperate whimpers as the pleasure inside you reaches its peak.

He feels it—the way your body tightens around him as you come, the way your legs pull him in even closer as you moan his name.

His hand braces against the bed while the other slides under your back, pulling you flush against him with every thrust.

His abs flex as he drives deeper, his rhythm faltering as he nears his own release.

His breaths turn ragged, little moans slipping past his lips, making you gaze up at him in pure wrecked lust.

His focus is entirely on you, his pupils blown wide, his expression raw with need.

And then, with one final thrust, his hips twitch forward, his body tensing as he spills deep inside of you, a low guttural groan rising from his chest.

He lays down heavily on you as he rides it out, pushing into you one final time, his breaths becoming a soft broken moan as he fills you completely.

For a moment, he stays there, chest rising and falling against yours, his skin warm and slick. His forehead rests against your temple, his breaths mingling with your own as he slowly comes back to himself.

Then, with a deep exhale, he presses a soft kiss to your lips before carefully pulling out.

The loss makes you whimper, and he soothes you instantly, caressing your hip as he eases off of you.

He lays on the bed beside you, his body heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction and you shift closer, wrapping a leg over his waist, placing your hand across his chest where his heart beats steadily beneath your palm.

Austin hums, content, his fingers trailing lazily up and down your spine, grounding you both in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

You tilt your head up slightly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as you can see how at peace he is. “Are we ever going to go back ?” you grin.

Austin lets out a soft, lazy laugh, his fingers slipping into your hair, trailing gently. “We’ll go back.” He smiles.

You kiss his jaw, tightening your leg around his waist a little more as he pulls you closer.

“Let’s stay here just a little longer then,” you smile.

Austin sighs happily, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Just a little longer.” he agrees softly, his hand still tracing gentle patterns along your back.

As you gaze through the floor-to-ceiling windows together, the stars shimmer brightly above the jagged Colorado peaks, and wrapped in the warmth of Austin’s embrace, you both fall into a deep peaceful sleep.

End 🏔️

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writeriguess · 14 hours ago

Note

Hey hey! If you haven't already, may I get a good ol' shoujo like classic confession from Bakugou?

A Spark of Truth

You were standing by the window, absentmindedly watching the rain as it tapped lightly against the glass. It had been a long day, and you were just trying to clear your head. The sound of footsteps grew closer, and you turned to find Bakugou standing at the door, a rare, serious expression on his face.

"Oi," he called, his voice rough but not as brash as usual. "We need to talk."

You raised an eyebrow, heart suddenly pounding in your chest. He never spoke like that unless something was on his mind. You gave a slow nod, stepping aside to let him in.

He stepped forward, but didn't say anything at first. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his fiery gaze focused on you, yet there was an odd vulnerability in his eyes. You couldn’t quite place it, but it made your stomach do flips.

"Look," he started, and his tone was rough, like it always was when he was trying to hide something. "I don’t... I don’t know how to say this shit without it sounding stupid."

Your chest tightened at the unfamiliar words, and you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. Bakugou never spoke like this unless it meant something serious.

He took a step closer, his hand gripping the edge of the desk as if he needed something to hold onto. "I’m not good at this, okay? But I need you to listen." His eyes softened for a moment, and you could see the hesitation in his expression, the way he was trying to find the right words.

And then, with a deep breath, Bakugou let it all go.

"I like you, damn it. A lot. I’ve been trying to ignore it for the longest time, but I can’t anymore," he muttered, his voice low and full of frustration. "You’re always on my mind, and I hate it. I hate how it makes me act all... like this. But I don’t care anymore."

You were frozen in place, unable to fully process what he’d just said. Did Bakugou, the boy who could never seem to express himself properly, just confess to you? Your heart was pounding in your ears as his words settled in your chest.

"I’m not good with feelings, and I sure as hell don’t know how to do this the right way, but… I’m here, and I’m telling you now." He stepped forward again, closing the space between you. His hands reached out, fingers brushing your arm like it was the most delicate thing he’d ever touched.

A quiet tension filled the air, the kind that could break you if you weren’t careful. And then, slowly, hesitantly, Bakugou leaned in, his lips brushing yours—just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

"You’re the one who makes me lose my mind, you know that?" he whispered, his forehead leaning against yours.

You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, but it didn’t matter. His confession was all you needed to know.

"I like you, too," you whispered back, your heart fluttering as he let out a low, contented sigh, holding you closer.

And just like that, the walls between you two crumbled, leaving only the quiet comfort of mutual feelings and the rain tapping gently on the window.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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slowburningechoes · 3 days ago

Text

on my mind

Ah!! Here it is, I hope you all love it. Pls keep in mind an exhausted doctoral student wrote this with little reviews/edits hehe

Summary: After months of secretly pining over Wilson, you find something suggesting he might feel the same way. Despite it all, curiosity gets the best of you and what you get is far beyond anything you ever fantasized about.

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: very self-indulgent smut, 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) / brief mention of past infidelity, mutual pining, sexual fantasization, slight age gap, fingering, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, office sex, desk sex, threat of exhibition, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), body worship, breeding, soul connection, porn WITH plot and feelings

Word Count: 7.8k

here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred site

Wilson didn’t have the best romantic track record when you reflected on it, standing outside his office, debating whether or not to knock.

That was what Cameron had told you on the first day consulting the team as a new psychologist at PPTH, when she caught you trying not to stare.

You had been so engaged in observing how the diagnostic team battled through a differential before he arrived. The quick exchange of wits and sly remarks was so enthralling, you couldn’t look away. Until something else distracted you…

The door swung open, and in walked a man who carried himself with an effortless kind of charm. His brown hair appeared perfectly tousled, but still neat enough to be professional, like he had absentmindedly run a hand through it just before coming in. His white coat, crisp and clean, hung open just enough to reveal a comfortably fitting dress shirt and a tie that was loosened ever-so-slightly.

As he stepped into the conference room, he seemed to be already three steps ahead in the conversation he was about to join — like this heated exchange was something he’d been witnessing for years. He paused, silently observing Foreman and House trade intellectually sarcastic banter. As the exchange died down, his eyes met yours. His sharp features softened as he looked at you with curiosity, the hint of a dimple appearing as his lips curved into a playful smirk.

“You know, House, I’m impressed,” he joked, tapping House’s cane with his foot. “It only took you this long to admit you need some serious psychological help.”

His warm brown eyes flicked back to you, winking, amusement lingering just beneath the surface.

A scoff escaped House, followed by a characteristic retort, “I’m not admitting anything, Wilson. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting jealous watching someone else take the job you volunteered for all these years.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite knowing so little about their dynamic. Apparently, you were not alone in this reaction, as the rest of the team seemed to find House’s response amusing, likely because it was true.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology,” he said, rolling his eyes at House’s comment. “You must be Dr. Y/L/N. I’ve heard good things from your new colleagues.”

His hand extended towards you welcomingly. Despite a flutter of nerves beneath the surface, you shook it, hoping your feigned confidence wasn’t too obvious.

“Y/N’s fine,” you responded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dr. Y/L/N has always felt a bit too formal for me.” Your gaze held his for a brief moment, feeling the subtle weight of the connection. A soft gasp escaped your lips, despite trying so desperately to keep it in.

“Y/N,” Wilson repeated softly with a smug smile.

He held your hand just a moment longer than necessary. When he finally released it, the hold he had on you remained. There was something magnetic about him, making it impossible to draw your gaze away as he repositioned himself against the wall. You blinked a few times to ground yourself, quickly glancing down at the file in your hand before instinctively looking up at him again. His eyes caught yours and his smirk deepened ever so slightly, as if he’d caught you giving away exactly what you hadn’t meant to. He appeared to take quiet pleasure in the fact that, for just a moment, you were completely distracted by him… but you were certain that was just wishful thinking getting the best of you.

It was then that Cameron leaned towards you, voice in a low whisper, “Careful with that look — you don’t want to end up in the ex wives club.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not only at the fact that he was divorced but that it seemed to be more than once.

Cameron nodded matter-of-factly, subtly mouthing the word “three” as she held up the same number of fingers under the table before gathering her things to head to the patient’s room.

While you felt the warning in her comment, it didn’t deter you much over the coming months. After all, it was highly unlikely that Wilson would even share your feelings. Despite this, there was something magnetic about his presence, and you often found yourself running into him, both accidentally and — more than you would like to admit — on purpose.

You had bought each other lunch in the cafeteria on a few occasions and took time to chat at least every couple of days. Even when you didn’t run into each other for a few days, both of you exchanged small reminders. One time, when you spent all day managing a patient in psychosis from the emergency department, he left a sticky note on your desk that read, "Missed you at lunch. Hope your patient is doing as well as possible. Also, House is being insufferable — rescue me soon?" A few days after that, after Wilson had an emotionally exhausting morning with some of his late stage patients, you had appeared at his office door with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it (sickeningly sweet), offering no explanation other than a casual, "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." These exchanges became regular but still made your day every time.

There were quieter moments too, ones that lingered in your mind long after they happened. A late-night conversation in the breakroom when both of you had been too exhausted to keep up pretenses, speaking in hushed voices over lukewarm chamomile tea. A touch that lasted a fraction longer than necessary when he passed you a patient folder for a consultation he requested. Playful glances exchanged across the hallway after House made some inappropriate joke at his expense. Small pick-me-ups scratched onto sticky notes and left on desks or forgotten items.

But today, something a bit different occurred. By the time you finally got back to your office late in the day, you found a vanilla bean scone from the café waiting for you on your desk, a thoughtful surprise he had left earlier that morning. It was nothing out of the ordinary until you saw, across the brown paper, scribbled in pen, a note that read: Saw this and thought of you. Can’t seem to stop doing that lately. Come by my office soon?

At first, you thought he was just being normal Wilson — friendly, with the touch of flirtatious he has with everyone. That was until you read it a few more times and those moments over the past few weeks replayed in your mind over and over. You had been thinking of him incessantly from the moment you first saw him, but always tried to keep it professional. His note to come by sounded charged in your mind, more suggestive than any of your previous conversations. You contemplated his intentions for longer than you would like to admit, but figured you would never truly know unless you asked.

Which is exactly how you ended up here, in front of his office, two cups of coffee in hand, torn between knocking and shamefully walking back to your office. The hum of the hospital growing quiet as the typical business day came to a close.

There was no way he was serious… was he? It was probably just some stupid bet he had made with House. God, that would be embarrassing. Maybe you should just leave the coffee and accept that your relationship would only ever be a friendship. When all those inner arguments (and more) failed to motivate you to turn and head to your office, you thought back to that conversation with Cameron. Even if he was serious, it was unlikely to last. You didn’t want to end up hurt like so many times before… but you were interested to see where this went.

Curiosity is what did you in… so, you knocked. So, what if it’s what killed the cat? “Come in!” his voice called, slightly muffled from the other side.

You hesitantly step inside, jumping a bit as you hear the door click behind you. You had barely stepped into his office before Wilson glanced up from his desk, his expression shifting from slightly stressed to pleased when he saw it was you.

“And here I thought my afternoon was going to be boring,” he said, standing to meet you by the door.

You lift the coffee cup slightly, before handing it to him, “Just returning the favor.”

He raised his brow in curiosity, leaning back to rest against his desk. “Oh, is that all?”

His feigned disappointment was laced with more flirtation than you had noticed before.

You shook your head silently, glancing down at the floor as you felt an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks.

“Your note,” you say, barely above a whisper, “...intrigued me.”

That got his attention, pausing from taking a sip of the beverage you brought.

“Oh?” His smirk turned curious as he scanned you up and down. “How so?”

You hesitated, but only for a second, “You’ve really been thinking about me?”

You brought your eyes to meet his as you finished your question, masking your nerves by tightening your fingers around your cup of coffee. When your eyes met him, the look on Wilson’s face was a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

“Well, that depends,” Wilson responds, sitting the cup down and crossing his arms across his chest. “Would saying yes make me seem endearing… or deeply concerning?”

You tilt your head, feigning consideration as you build your confidence. “Hmmm… that depends on just how much you’ve been thinking about me.”

A moment of silence passed as Wilson pondered his answer, breaking it with deep breath and a step towards you.

His grin deepened, and he leaned a little closer, admitting. “More than I should, really.”

Your stomach fluttered. You hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, so effortlessly… or even at all. The part of you that wondered if the note had been some bet was fading, but you couldn’t help expressing your doubt even as your heart pounded into your throat.

“You’re not just… messing with me, right? This isn’t some House-ordained social experiment, is it?” Your voice was softer than you had desired, hesitation dominating your tone. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but you knew better than to take things at face value when House might be involved.

Wilson studied you for a long moment, his expression nearly unreadable, except for the flicker of something undeniably heated in his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is noticeably lower than before, still smooth and warm. “No, no… this isn’t some bet. If House was putting me up to this, don’t you think it would’ve been months ago?”

He did have a point.

Wilson tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watched you consider his argument. Then, he slowly brushed his fingertips against the edge of the desk he rested upon, fingers tapping twice, as if considering his next words carefully. Or maybe he was just giving you time to process the shift in the air between you, which had become quickly thick and charged.

"Though if it was, I would’ve lost already," he stated matter-of-factly, bringing himself to stand up right, taking a step towards you. “Because this is painfully real for me.” His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for just a beat too long at your lips before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "What is, exactly?"

Wilson exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound richer, deeper than his usual easy amusement, “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, any idea of what he meant absent from your mind.

"The way I catch myself looking for you even when I know you’re not there.” Wilson’s breath came slow and measured, but you could feel the tension humming beneath it, the weight of his restraint barely holding. “The way I think about you when I know I shouldn’t.”

Wilson stepped even closer, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he thought silently. Your breath caught as you shamelessly notice the veins in his arm becoming more pronounced, the subtle flex of his hand accentuating the tension coiling beneath his skin.

"I tell myself to stop," Wilson admitted, his tone almost confessional. "That it’s unprofessional, that I should focus on work... But then you walk into the room or I hear your voice, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything else."

“Wh-what do you think of?” You asked breathlessly, looking back into his eyes.

He didn’t respond at first, a conflicted look replaced his previous vulnerability. Wilson took the coffee from your grip, gently placing it on the desk next to his before stepping back towards you. He appeared deep in thought, the crease between his brows deepening as they furrowed and he brought his hand to briefly cover his mouth. His warm brown eyes flickered over your face, searching, as if debating how much he should give away.

Then after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, slowly and steadily, “It was small things at first. How the first day we met, your quiet laugh was so genuine and radiant.” Wilson cautiously raised his hand to barely brush fingers through the hair that hugs your cheeks. “Or how you sucked in a little breath when I said your name for the first time…”

You dart your eyes away from him, feeling simultaneous embarrassment and surprise. “I, oh — that wasn’t subtle was it?”

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, a knowing smirk appearing across his lips.

“Not at all,” Wilson teased, bringing his fingertips to caress your neck. “Should I keep going?”

You nod quickly, likely a bit too enthusiastic. His arms came up by your ears to brace the door behind you, making your heart thud in your chest even harder.

A low hum came from his throat before continuing, “Then I started to notice how your perfume would linger after you left me.” He held still for a moment, stiff with restraint. “It’s so intoxicating… I swear it follows me all day.”

As Wilson finished his sentence, his face buried into your hair and one of his hands dropped to grip your hip. Your breath hitched at his touch as his breath warmed you, shifting from beside your ear to the curve of your neck.

“J-James,” you gasped, a near moan as his breath tickled against your skin, lips so close to touching flesh.

“I’ve tried not to think about all of it, Y/N,” he whispered deeply, barely audible. “I promise, I really have.”

The hold he had upon your hips moved to nest in the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, stay professional,” Wilson explained with a tone of desperation, bringing his eyes back to meet yours. “But then I’d always end up coming back… asking you to lunch or finding something, anything, that I could use to get a consultation from you.”

“So, what you're saying is... you’ve been using work to get closer to me?” You let a playful smile slip through, despite your nerves standing on end.

Wilson’s gaze softened, sincerity behind his eyes. “Is that so bad?” His voice was low, almost questioning. “Because, honestly… I couldn’t help myself. Every excuse I found — every consultation or referral or accidental cafeteria meet up — was just an excuse to see you. To be close to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The air around you seemed to thicken with the confession, and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his words pressing against you. His honesty disarmed you, and you found yourself drawn in closer, despite the unspoken tension.

“And you know what?” Wilson asked, his hand in the small of your back spreading open to feel you even closer. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

“I —,” you breathe, a chill crawling up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Of course you did.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Wilson said with a bit of bite in his tone.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, tilting your chin just enough to where you could not avoid his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was softer now, rich with quiet amusement. “The way you look at me when you think I won’t catch you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Wilson only hummed, bringing his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

“Or how you always seem to find a reason to stay just a little longer when we talk,” he continued, his face looming closer to yours. “Like you don’t really want to leave.”

You never realized he had been paying attention to any of that, or really that you had acted on your internal feelings so obviously.

Wilson’s fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist, bringing your body flush against you. His body was soft and warm against yours.

You swallowed hard, words unsaid stuck tied in your throat. There was no escape from the truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself, gripping just enough to steady yourself.

“I do,” you admitted, voice hushed. “I - I think about you… all of the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. Relief washes over him, relaxing the tension in his shoulder and softening his facial expressions. however, the look of desire in his eyes did not fade.

“I thought so,” he murmured, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. Instead, he sounded almost relieved. “And how do you think about me?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. It was so very “Wilson” — turning your own question back to you.

Your fingers stroked against his tie as you thought, evading his gaze. “The same as you — I think about you when I shouldn’t be,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m supposed to be working. I think of you whenever something good happens… or something bad, and I need to tell someone. When I see something and I wish you were there to see it too.” You bite your bottom lip, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin. Then, you barely mumble, “And — I think about you when I’m alone at night...”

Though your voice trails off at the end, Wilson’s body language shows that he heard exactly what you said. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his grip at your waist tightening for just a moment, relaxing again as he exhaled slowly. As he opened his eyes, they were darker, his pupils blown with an unspoken hunger, yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

The weight of your quiet confession hung between you, making the whole room charged. For once, he didn’t have a quick-witted remark, no teasing quip to defuse the moment. Instead, he reached up, his knuckles brushing along your cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. There was no real warning in his tone, but rather a slight hint of desperation.

You tilted your head into his touch. “Why not?”

His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for just a second too long before he looked back into your eyes. “Because,” he said, pausing momentarily, his face riddled with confliction, “...it makes it very, very hard to resist you.”

A rush of heat engulfs every inch of your body, making it nearly impossible to think. Before you can, your fingers dance across the fabric of his tie.

“Then don’t,” you respond quietly, the last bit of uncertainty melting away as the words escape your lips.

He didn’t move, which you had somewhat expected him to. You could feel the weight of his restraint, so tense it could snap at any moment. His jaw was clenched, as though he was just barely holding it together.

You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to crumble — you needed him to.

With a sharp breath, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie. You thought for only a split second before pulling him down to you with a sudden, desperate urgency that surprised both of you. Before could even think to hesitate, your lips, finally, crashed into his.

The moment your lips met, it was as if a dam had broken inside him. You felt the weight of everything Wilson had been holding back in that kiss — the hunger, the frustration, the overwhelming need. His hand that cupped your lower back pulled you in tighter, while the other cupped your cheek, ensuring you couldn’t break away from his kiss. Wilson’s lips were so soft yet demanding, the hint of sweet coffee on his tongue as he coaxed you open, exploring you with a raw intensity. His breath was hot against your mouth between kisses. A low, needy groan came from him as he deepened your embrace, motivating your entire body to react, heat pooling in familiar, secret places.

The rhythm of the kiss became frantic, desperate, each movement clumsy and raw, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You could feel the loss of control in every touch, every trembling sigh that escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer with need. He obliged, his fingers tracing feverishly from your back to your waist, skimming upward to your ribcage, then to the curve of your breast, each touch sending jolts of heat through your body.

Then, Wilson’s lips reluctantly left yours, only to trace the line of your jaw with messy kisses, his breath erratic. “Y/N,” he said between kisses, nearly begging. “I can’t… you have to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, against his request. “Not a chance, James,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. The next words felt like they were ripped from your soul, a silent plea to let go, to fully give in to what had been brewing for months before. “Don't stop. Please – don’t stop.”

Wilson’s lips found yours again, rougher this time, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Wilson pushed you further against the wall, lifting you up just slightly so his hips aligned with yours.

There was an undeniable ache between your legs, where the heat had gathered earlier, beginning to throb and grow slick with need. Your desire for friction was so overwhelming, you hadn’t even noticed your hips rolling into his with desperation until Wilson groaned, low and guttural, separating your kiss once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asked, his words soft and just centimeters away from your lips.

“I’m sure,” You nod with reassurance. “Because this,” you whisper against his cheek, the heat of your breath brushing against his ear, “is just the beginning of what I think about when I’m alone.” The words were more than a confession, but also a promise and a challenge all at once.

“Christ, are you trying to kill me?” Wilson muttered, words laden with shock.

He dipped his head lower, pressing open-mouth kisses from your lips down the nape of your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands began to explore further, tugging your blouse from its tucked position, slipping his finger beneath the fabric. The built up tension made his touch sting, sending a shiver down your spine and the heat beneath your legs becoming practically unbearable.

“Please, James,” you whimper, a handful of his hair and the other dipping down, applying friction in an attempt to relieve your need.

He drew back, studying the quiet plea upon your face and your hand trembling against your still-clothed center, attempting to find satisfaction as you rocked your hips. You could only imagine how pitiful you looked, but it was entirely overwhelming for Wilson. His breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees, lips parted with desire and his brown doe eyes looking up, with an expression that was almost fawning.

Wilson reached behind you to find the handle of his office door, which he clicked into the lock position. Still on his knees, he watched you silently for a few more seconds, admiring the look upon your face. Your brows furrowed in desperation, soft grunts escaping your lips, as you unsuccessfully searched for your release. He stared up at you, soaking it all in.

Then, suddenly, both his hands gripped the fabric on the outer sides of your thighs, shifting your skirt upwards to your waist and revealing your shamelessly soaked panties. The sudden rush of air hitting your sex made you gasp, chills climbing up your stomach and hardening your nipples.

Before you could fully process the atmosphere overwhelming your senses, Wilson brought his pointer finger to slowly glide over the damp spot of your underwear, running perfectly between your covered folds. As he reached your clit, your breath hitched, prompting a teasing smirk to grow across his cheeks.

“Now,” he sighed, still basking in the sight. “I’m going to show you what I’ve thought about doing to you,” he paused, placing a gentle kiss against your mound, before continuing slowly, “…Every. Single. Time. You wear a skirt like this.”

A moan escapes you as his fingers hook on either side of your underwear, pulling them down to expose you entirely. Instinctively, you kick them off your ankles.

“God, you’re so…,” Wilson places careless kisses against your thighs, admiring your bare pussy before him, “so perfect.”

You look down at him, reveling at the sight of your pussy on full display. Just as you wrap your fingers in his hair, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against your clit, bracing your back with one hand, and spreading your thighs open with the other. Your legs go weak as his tongue darts out and begins lapping at you relentlessly. The mix of his soft lips intermittently sucking your clit and the deep pressure of his fingers digging into your flesh, is so consuming that you absentmindedly tighten your grip on Wilson’s hair. You begin pushing and pulling him while bucking your hips into his mouth, fighting desperately to reach your climax.

He can sense your need, which is reflected as his tongue begins to flick more methodically against your clit in addition to providing suction. His dominant hand joins his mouth, one finger massaging your entrance before slipping between your folds. Your body responds almost immediately, becoming even more aroused as he introduces a second finger, pumping you with a complementary rhythm to the one he is devouring you with.

The sensation is so overwhelming that there are tears in your eyes, and cry-like whimpers escape softly from your mouth. “P-please, I’m so close.”

He maintains his pace, but curls his fingers just enough to find the exact spot where you needed stimulation most. Looking down at him, seeing his mouth full of you and his pupils blown wide with desire is too much to handle. His lips provide deep suction against your swollen clit and the tension burning in your stomach releases. You are overcome with pleasure as you ride out your orgasm on Wilson’s face, his fingers and tongue still putting in work to ensure he can lap up every last drop.

When you were finally able to catch your breath, your legs were impossibly weak. You steadied yourself against Wilson’s body as he rose to his feet, a look of teasing satisfaction on his face.

“You taste so sweet," he hummed, his voice low and lustful. He pulled you flush against him, the heat between you both rising with every second. As his tongue flicked against yours, you could taste yourself mixed with him, the fire inside you burning brighter with every passing second. He groaned softly as you deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You pulled back, barely able to catch your breath, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. "You know, I did expect you to be a giver," you teased, running your tongue over your lips. "But that… that was better than anything I ever imagined."

“That’s because I’ve been obsessed with the idea of what you’d taste like…,” he breathed, his words thick with need, “And the scent of you… God - I’ve been dreaming about it, craving it, for months now.” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, the raw honesty in his admission pushing you to pull him down by his tie, lips crashing together again in a messy, heated kiss.

You broke away after a few moments, breathing heavily, a smile curling on your lips as you slowly pulled his tie loose. “Well, since one of your fantasies has been fulfilled," you sighed, tone heavy with teasing lust, “it’s only fair that one of mine gets to be, too. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. There were so many thoughts that had run through your mind — so many fantasies you’d envisioned over and over again, but there was one that had played over and over in your mind far more than the rest.

For a moment, he was mute with anticipation, admiring how your fingers began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. By the time words finally break from his throat, one of your hands is caressing down his chest, the other grazing along the waistline of his pants.

“I’ll give you anything, whatever you want.” He assures, reaching to cup your cheek. Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracks as he pleads in a near whisper, “Just tell me — but don’t stop touching me, please.”

His plea is so raw, so desperate, it makes your heart race, your pulse quickening in response. You can feel the weight of his need, how much he’s willing to surrender, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through you. You can’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment hearing the vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

You let your fingers trail over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. A slow, teasing smirk grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know.”

His breath catches, his pupils dilating as his gaze flickers to your lips. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the anticipation thickens.

“Tell me... tell me what you’ve been thinking,” he mutters with desperation.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, your words a slow, tantalizing whisper, “I’ve been imagining you… having your way with me, right here on your office desk.”

The words hang in the air and you watch as his body reacts, muscles tightening and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"I’ve imagined you pushing me onto this desk, your hands all over me, taking control, claiming me,” you hum, bringing your hand to brush against the bulge in his pants. “No hesitation. Just you, making me lose myself in you."

A deep groan escapes his lips, your words and touch unraveling him. Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut as he tilts his head back as if he’s struggling to regain some sense of control. Then, without warning, his lips crash against yours. His kiss is frantic, starved for you. His hands grip you, sliding up your back, threading through your hair, pressing you so close it’s like he wants you under his skin.

"You have no idea," he moans between kisses, breath hot and uneven, "how many times I’ve wanted this, too. How many times I’ve thought about throwing everything off this desk and putting you right where you belong — right under me.”

The words send chills down your spine, desire coiling tight in your stomach. His hands are already moving, feverish and impatient, pushing under your clothes, dragging his fingertips over every sliver of bare skin he can reach. You gasp into his mouth as his grip tightens around your waist.

Then, in one swift motion, Wilson’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. The sound of scattered papers and objects hitting the floor barely registers before he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, feverish and insatiable, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing, like he’s trying to devour every gasp, every moan.

His hands roam with an urgency that borders on worship — gripping, kneading, learning every inch of you that he’s been deprived of for far too long. Then, with a low, needy groan, his fingers find the hem of your blouse, tugging it up, over your torso, leaving your top nearly bare before him. The fabric is barely gone before his lips descend, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. A sharp gasp comes from your throat as chills scatter across the tops of your breasts, your skin prickling at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of his breath.

Wilson takes a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze raking over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the sight before him. His chest rises and falls, his lips still parted from your last kiss. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move to his belt. The slow slide of leather through the loops is deliberate. His knuckles graze his waistband as he pulls the belt free, the flex of muscle beneath his sleeves hinting at the tension coiling just beneath his skin.

As Wilson tosses his belt to the ground, the air feels thicker, heavier, expectation crackling between you, leaving you breathless with want. You have truly never felt this aroused in your life, your heart rate quickening, muscles tense, and every sensitive part of you swollen with desire. You never expected that you would ever really be laying on top of Wilson’s desk, watching him undress and waiting for him to take advantage of your body — let alone that he had thought about it, too.

As he moves back towards you, slacks now undone, you can’t help but notice the outline of his prominent erection straining beneath his boxer briefs. You reach out to touch him, but he meets you first — his hands slipping under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin before drawing the fabric down your legs. As the garment falls to the ground, Wilson kisses up your legs and to your torso, caressing every part he does not touch with his lips with his fingertips. Eventually, he meets your breasts, still guarded by your bra, placing kisses along the valley between them. He then cups both of them with his hands before sliding behind you to unhook the final bit of clothing that was keeping you from being completely nude before him.

As Wilson pulled the thin barrier of fabric from your body, his warm hand replaced the supportive cups that protected your tender breasts. His eyes linger on your chest, admiring as it rises and falls, thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. Your breath seizes in your throat as he takes one into his mouth, suction pulling between gentle flicks of his tongue.

As much pleasure as you feel in this moment, you can’t help but remember Wilson’s bulge, hard and twitching just underneath a layer of cloth. You sit forward, propping yourself up on your forearms, prompting a perplexed look from Wilson who was reluctantly releasing his mouth from your breast.

“Everything okay?” he inquires, catching his breath.

You do not answer him with words, instead you lean forward and bring your palm to press softly against his bulge. Wilson’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in a struggle between ache and pleasure as a grunt escaped him. He was full and swollen as you gripped him firmly through his briefs, precum staining the fabric darker.

You kiss his chest softly as you sneak your hand beneath his waistband. His flesh was hot as your fingers danced across his erection, which jerked in response. You wrap your hand around him, savoring how strained and tense his thick cock feels, before bringing your thumb to glide down the slit.

“I need to feel you inside of me,” you insist with a begging tone, eyes fluttering up at him with need.

Before any words come from his lips, his dick is already out and Wilson is stroking it with painfully slow, drawn-out motions. The head of his cock is swollen and flushed and a prominent vein on the underside is near-throbbing with with every motion.

“God, yes,” he groaned in agreement with your request, before pulling you down closer to the edge of the desk. “Spread yourself open for me, beautiful.”

Without taking time to think, you separate your legs, bringing your fingers down to glide through your slickness. Wilson revels in the sight, but still moves towards you — his earlier restraint melted away entirely. Placing one hand on your thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to massage between your labia, tip grazing against your clit, sending shock-like waves of pleasure through you. He stays there for a moment, gliding himself through your folds, properly preparing both of you before lining up with your entrance.

You lock eyes, both of your faces twisted with anticipation and desperation, as he begins to sink into you with a pace so slow and deliberate it is nearly excruciating. At the same time, you were grateful for this patient approach, as the thickness of his cock stretches you out, creating the perfect mix of pain and pleasure across every inch of your body.

“Y/N,” Wilson cries in a hushed whisper, nearly half-way inside of you. “Y-you’re so tight a-and warm… damn.”

You moan in satisfaction at his words, hands searching for something to hold onto as you unravel beneath him. Seeing your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, Wilson reaches one hand down to intertwine with yours. There is something intimate and touching about how he holds your hand as he presses deeper into you, true care mixing into this moment of raw lust.

As he bottoms out, feeling the base of his dick against your pussy, your free hand clings to his back, fingernails digging into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Wilson fills you perfectly, stretching you just enough to still surround him like a sheath. You have never felt this full before, which makes you even more aroused, bucking your hips to grind your clit against his groin. It must look utterly pitiful, but you can’t help but search for friction.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me out so good,” you whine, pitch higher than before and laced with pleasure.

Looking up for reassurance, you see Wilson’s face is blown with pleasure, slack-jawed and brows knit together, pupils blown. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, slowly pushing the first full thrust into you.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your walls attempting to cling to him with every entrance and exit.

Despite the pace being steady and his strokes being deep enough you feel them in your stomach, there is something so soft in the way Wilson fucks you — more as if it wasn’t fucking at all, but more like making love. His eyes look over you with admiration, like he’s soaking in every motion of your body, and the hand not holding yours roams freely across your skin, frequently nestling fingers against your aching clit. When a cry escapes you as he begins rubbing it in figure eights, he presses a kiss to your lips — not only to muffle the sound but as an indication that he loves to make you feel this way.

He whispers against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “You feel amazing, better than anything I ever dreamed…” You feel him trembling with overwhelm as he continues breathlessly. “I-I’ve never felt — fuck — any pussy as perfect as yours.”

“James,” you gasp, feeling his dick hit against the most sensitive area inside you. “Please, keep going… r-right there.”

Wilson nods eagerly, in surrendering agreement, “Anything you want, my love. I’ll do anything for you.”

He keeps true to his promise, continuing the same pressure and angle of his thrusts until you’re completely undone beneath him — vision blurry and every inch of your body nearly numb with pleasure. The only thing keeping you grounded is your back against wood and his hand still holding yours.

You can barely form thoughts, let alone words when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them needily and grunting enough that low vibrations hum against your chest. Every inch of you was buzzing with pleasure, but you felt the familiar pressure grow deep within you.

“I - I’m going to cum,” you manage to say, looking down at him with pleading eyes.

Wilson releases his latch from your breast, barely taking time to catch his breath when he provides a pressured reply, “Please, please cum on my cock. Shit — I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

His permission is all you need to let go as he keeps up his pace, working your clit relentlessly with his free hand. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of heat rushes across your trembling thighs, walls clenching around Wilson’s thick cock as you cum. The pressure slowly lessens and your clit is throbbing from overstimulation when you come back to reality, your mind still foggy in bliss.

“That was so fucking hot,” Wilson whines, face scrunched with the sweet agony of pleasure. You can tell he’s close, before he even tells you, through strained breaths. “Y/N — tell me where I can cum. I’m so close, please.”

“Cum in me,” you beg, consumed with feverish need. “I’m on the pill. Baby, please — fucking fill me with your cum.”

A guttural groan leaves Wilson’s lips as he hears your request, his dick twitching inside of you. “Christ — yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”

With a few more strokes, you feel him become rigid inside of you and his breath hitches in his throat as he releases inside of you. The warmth of his cum coating your walls sends a rush of bliss throughout your body, a soft yet satisfied smile growing across your face.

You both try to catch your breath as you come down from your shared high, soaking in the last seconds of being physically one. As Wilson’s tense body relaxes, he nearly collapses on top of you, bare chests still heaving and sweat-laden pressed against one another. You’re both exhausted, yet idyllically happy. You run your fingers through his now-damp hair as his breath slowly returns to a normal pattern.

The quiet hum of the room settles around you and the faint rustle of fabric begins to fill the air. You both begin to dress, but the heat between you lingers, tangible and unspoken. As you pull your skirt up over your hips, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, you instinctively glance at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense, almost reverent, as if he wanted every moment, every movement, etched into his mind. The tenderness in his stare is enough to make your heart race like he's memorizing every inch of you, this closeness, this shared silence.

You gather your hair, pulling it into a ponytail, a vain attempt to fix the mess it’s become. As your fingers complete the final loop, Wilson steps towards you, cupping your face with his hands and bringing you in for a tender kiss. His thumb traces your cheek with a tenderness so light, it feels almost like a whisper. Your fingers weave through his hair, drawing him closer, as if you’re aching to be closer, wanting to melt into him, as if he hadn’t just been inside you. The moment is quiet and brief — but feels like an eternity. You both linger in it, savoring the silence that speaks volumes.

As the kiss ends, the absence of his lips on yours leaves a hollow ache, but it is almost immediately remedied when he speaks. “Come home with me?” Wilson asks, his voice wrapped in a quiet, inviting warmth.

His eyes search yours, steady and sincere, yet there’s something more behind it, something vulnerable like he’s offering you a piece of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long... wanted you,” he says in a near-whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “Now that I’ve had you... I can’t stand the thought of letting you go.”

The sensitivity in his voice makes your heart race, his words carrying all the unspoken hopes you’ve both held onto these past few months. You let the moment stretch between you, just enough to collect yourself, but not long enough to let the fear of doubt slip into his mind.

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” you respond quietly, your voice filled with affection as you press a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. We’ve both waited long enough for this, haven’t we?”

A soft, almost disbelieving smile appears on his face, as he threads his fingers gently around yours. “I’m so glad you said that,” he sighs in relief, his voice thick with sincerity.

“I’m yours, James,” you assure him, squeezing his hand in return. "I have been for a long time.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs in a pleased tone, a look of admiration beaming down at you.

“I think you’ve shown me that tonight,” you reply with a slight tease. The months of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, all seem to settle into this one moment—solid, certain, and undeniably real. “Take me home?”

His smile deepens, tender and unguarded as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, opening his office door.

The silence as you walk hand-in-hand down the hall is no longer heavy with anticipation but is instead filled with something quieter, more certain. Peaceful.

Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, stinging as it contrasts your flushed cheeks. Wilson pulls you close as you walk, his thumb tracing soft circles against the back of your hand. Neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of contentment and understanding. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, a language all its own.

When you reach his car, he pauses, turning to face you as if needing to see you clearly beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. His gaze lingers on your face, soft and searching, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips, sealing some still-unspoken promise.

“Home,” he whispers breathlessly, the single word carrying more weight than it should. As you settle into the passenger seat beside him, heart thrumming in your chest, you know, deep within you, that you’re finally right where you’re meant to be.

#james wilson #house md #james wilson smut #james wilson x reader #house md fanfiction #house md fandom #james wilson fanfiction #dr wilson #gregory house #house fanfiction #house fandom #x reader #smut

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aventurineswife · 1 day ago

Note

Kinich with Reader repairing some of his damaged clothes and making them good as new? Doesn’t even have to be because of a major event like the Abyss invading, could be that he was just doing his laundry and didn’t realize a thread had gotten loose and the piece of clothing started falling apart. 😅

Fixing What’s Torn

Summary: Kinich brings one of his heavily damaged shirts to you for repairs after realizing it’s on the verge of falling apart. Though his reserved nature makes him reluctant to ask for help, he quietly observes your skill and precision while mending his clothes. The interaction reveals a softer side to the stoic hunter, hinting at his growing appreciation for small acts of kindness and connection.

Tags: Kinich x Reader, Fluff, Slow Burn, Quiet Intimacy, Practical Bonding, Character Growth.

Warnings: Brief mention of Kinich’s self-reliance and reluctance to depend on others.

The quiet hum of the forest served as a backdrop to the scene. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the ground in shifting patches of gold. You sat cross-legged on the worn wooden bench outside your modest home, a small sewing kit open beside you. In your lap lay one of Kinich’s shirts—if it could still be called that. The garment was riddled with loose threads and frayed edges, the result of both his rugged lifestyle and, as he begrudgingly admitted, his lack of attention to laundry maintenance.

Kinich stood nearby, leaning casually against a tree. His arms were crossed over his chest, his piercing eyes watching you with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. The stoic hunter was clearly unused to relying on anyone, even for something as small as this.

"You didn’t have to," he said, his voice low and even. "I could’ve just—"

"—worn it until it completely fell apart?" you interrupted with a teasing smirk, threading the needle with practiced ease. "I don’t think even you could pull off a shirt in that condition, Kinich."

He huffed, glancing away as a faint tint of embarrassment touched his cheeks. "It’s just a shirt."

"And this is just a needle," you replied, your hands deftly stitching up a particularly bad tear near the sleeve. "Relax. I’m doing you a favor, not signing a contract with Ajaw."

At the mention of his companion, Kinich’s wristband pulsed faintly, a golden glyph flickering to life before dimming again. He glanced at it briefly but said nothing.

You continued working in silence, the rhythm of your stitching steady and calming. Despite his gruff exterior, Kinich hadn’t outright refused your help—though you suspected that was more out of practicality than gratitude. Still, the fact that he’d brought the shirt to you at all was a small victory.

"You’re good at this," he remarked after a while, his tone surprisingly genuine.

You looked up, meeting his intense gaze. "Years of practice," you said with a shrug. "You’d be surprised how often people around here need their clothes patched up. Not everyone has your skill with traps and hunting, you know."

Kinich tilted his head slightly, as though considering your words. "Still," he said, "it’s... precise. Takes patience. Not bad."

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. It wasn’t much, but coming from someone as reserved as Kinich, it felt significant. "Thanks," you said softly, returning your focus to the garment.

The quiet stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Kinich seemed content to watch, his sharp eyes tracking the movement of your hands. The steady pull of the thread, the neat rows of stitches—it was a kind of craftsmanship he could appreciate, even if it wasn’t his own.

As you finished the last stitch and tied off the thread, you held up the shirt to inspect your work. "There," you said, satisfied. "Good as new. Or at least, as close to new as it’s going to get."

Kinich stepped forward, taking the shirt from your hands. His fingers brushed yours briefly, and you noticed the callouses on his palms—a testament to years of hard work and survival. He held the shirt up, examining the repairs with a critical eye.

"...Not bad," he repeated, though this time there was a hint of warmth in his voice.

"You’re welcome," you said with a grin, packing up your sewing kit. "Try not to destroy it again too soon, okay?"

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "I’ll try."

As Kinich turned to leave, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "If... anything else needs fixing, I’ll let you know."

It wasn’t much, but from him, it felt like a genuine acknowledgment of your effort. Smiling to yourself, you watched as he disappeared into the forest, his repaired shirt slung over one shoulder.

Maybe Kinich wasn’t as distant as he seemed. Beneath the cold, pragmatic exterior, there was someone who valued the small gestures—someone who, in his own quiet way, was learning to let others in.

#x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin kinich #genshin impact kinich #kinich x reader #kinich x you #kinich #kinich x y/n #fluff #slow burn #practical bonding #quiet intimacy #character growth

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bonnie-the-butcher · 15 hours ago

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Rip Tide | Chapter X

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 10.312 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Lil bit of tooth-rotting barry fluff to wash down the tension of the last chapter. Honestly, I love him so so so much. He's the best character, the outer banks writers actually robbed us. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

It takes you a moment to process the situation.

No remnants of moonlight ever peek from your windows, but the distant lamp of your porch buzzes precariously, bathing just the left half of Barry’s face with a glow as pitiful as his expression. – Please, sweetheart. – His hand brushes the doorframe beside you, lighter still in hand as he shifts closer, dragging the smooth plastic across your arm in a slow, sloppy plea. – Look, I know— I know I fucked up. I just— His breath is ragged, heavy. Almost acidic. – I freaked out.

– Are you drunk? – His eyes widen. It's so dark you can barely make out his pupils from his irises, but as soon as he looks away, you know what his problem is. – You’re high. – The disappointment in your voice is palpable. He steps away, and then steps closer, hands sifting nervously at his sides. – Barry, for fuck’s sakes,

– I’m sorry. – He whispers, both hands on your arms now. – I’m really sorry. I just— I don’t know, look, I was stressed out.

– I’m sure turning and running while someone died in my arms was very stressful for you.

– Please. – He breathes, and you get a clear whiff of the alcohol in his system as he steps closer, almost stuttering as you instinctively recoil from the smell. – Look, please, sweetheart, I know I fucked up. I came here to apologize.

– And you did. You can leave know.

He doesn’t let you move. Holding on tighter, Barry makes you look him in the eye. The lights on the porch flicker right then, just enough that you can see how much his pupils are blown. – Let’s talk about it, okay?

– There’s nothing to talk about.

– Yes, there is! – His grip tightens, fingers pressing against your skin. – C’mon, sweetheart, please. – His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to reel you in. Like the blood on your hands was just his problem, not yours. – You don’t gotta look at me like that.

You stare back, jaw tight. – Like what?

– Like I just kicked your goddamn puppy. – He breathes out a slow, humorless laugh, tilting his head just slightly. That easy, effortless charm—his default armor—still lingers, but it’s cracked now. His pupils are too wide, his shoulders too tense.

His thumb traces one slow circle against your arm, absentminded, jittery. – Look, I know I fucked up, alright? I panicked. I ain't proud of it, but I ain't never been built for that kinda shit. That ain't me.

Barry exhales through his nose, shaking his head with that same exasperated, half-drunk, half-high smirk—but it doesn’t land. Not this time.

– C’mon now, sweetheart—

– No. – You shove at his chest, frustration clawing its way out of you, burning, ugly, real. – No, you don’t get to charm your way out of this one, okay?!

His mouth opens, but you don’t let him speak. The words are pouring out, sharp and reckless.

– You always do this, Bee! Always! – Your breath hitches, your voice going hoarse with the weight of it. – Whenever shit gets tough, you run! You leave me holding the bag, then you ignore me for DAYS, no calls, no texts, no “hey, I’m alive, actually,” no nothing! And you come back, with your little smile and your apologies, and I’m supposed to just— Your voice cracks, and you hate that it does. – This is BULLSHIT, Barry! BULLSHIT!

Barry flinches. Not much. Not enough that anyone else would notice. But you do.

For a second, just a second, his bravado cracks. His expression falters, his fingers twitch against your arms like he wants to pull you closer and push you away at the same time.

– I ain’t never ignored you. – His voice is lower now, rougher. There’s no teasing lilt, no half-assed charm. Just something weary.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. – Oh, fuck off, Barry—

– I mean it— No, don't look at me like that, okay?! I wouldn’t ignore you. If you called, if you needed my help, I woulda—

– When did you ever answer my calls after this shit, Barry? No, honestly?! WHEN?

– Don't talk like that. You can’t say that! – His grip tightens, grounding, desperate. – I stayed away 'cause I knew if I came back too soon, I’d just fuck it up worse. I’d say the wrong thing. Do the wrong thing. I was tryna give you space, a’ight? I was tryna—

His words stumble over each other, cut short like he doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. Like he’s afraid to.

His lips part, but nothing comes out.

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

Then, almost tentative—

– You ever think maybe I ran 'cause I knew I couldn't fix it?

– And I did? – It isn’t just a crack in your voice anymore, it just collapsed. You can feel the weight of the entire week crashing upon you, every fuck-up, every fight, ever blow-out. All the things you had to deal with, the things he wasn’t there to help you with, amounting within your chest, pressing against your ribcage. You can barely breathe. – He was dying, bee. I was gonna kill myself if he’d died right there in my hands Barry, I couldn’t deal with that guilt, man!

He scoffs, shaking his head, tongue running along his teeth. – You think I don’t know what it looked like? You think I ain’t been playing it back over and over in my head, trying to make sense of it? – He exhales sharply. – Shit, sweetheart, I barely even remember leaving. One second I was there, the next I was gone. And you were just—

He stops. Swallows. Looks away, the muscle in his jaw flexing.

– You were just sitting there, holding him like the whole world hadn’t just cracked open.

The words feel too honest, like they slipped out before he could shove them back down. The porch light flickers again, just enough to highlight the tension in his face—he looks gone. Hollowed out, horrified.

For a second, he just stands there, chest rising and falling unevenly, thumb still tracing that absentminded pattern against your skin.

Then, voice lower, almost pleading—

– Just—just let me make it right.

– That’s not the point, Bee.

– Yeah it is! It is! I’m here now! I can—

– But that’s just it! You’re here now. When the dust settles, when you can just say an apology and get forgiveness free of charge, that’s when you’re here! But when I need you, you vanish!

Barry’s breath stutters—just a fraction—but it’s enough. You see it. Feel it in the way his grip tightens, like he can physically hold the conversation together, keep it from slipping through his fingers like everything else.

– That—that ain’t fair, – he mutters, voice hoarse, like he’s already lost the argument but can’t bear to let it go. – I didn’t mean to vanish, sweetheart.

You laugh, sharp and hollow. – Yeah? Well, you did.

His jaw clenches, the muscle twitching like he’s biting something back. He hates this. Hates being cornered, hates that he has no smooth exit, no half-smirk or lazy drawl that can fix this.

– I didn't know what the fuck to do! – He bursts, voice cracking at the edges. – You were— Jesus, he was lying dead there, he weren’t even moving, you were just—

He stops, running a hand down his face like he can wipe the memory away. Like he hasn’t been seeing it every time he closes his eyes.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. Unsteady. Exposed.

– I ain’t never been scared like that before.

Your chest tightens.

He exhales hard, like he’s bracing himself for a hit, like he knows you won’t let that slide.

– I'm sorry, Bee. I really am, but— You shake your head, throat thick. – You think I wasn’t scared? You think I didn’t need you right then?

Barry’s lips part, but nothing comes out.

– You could’ve stayed. That's what fucks me up. – The words barely make it out, shaking with everything you haven’t said. – You could’ve— I don’t know, just— sat there and did nothing. Lied to me. Told me he was gonna be fine, even if we both knew he wasn’t. But you didn’t even try, Bee. You just left.

Barry flinches. Actually flinches.

He drags a hand over his mouth, eyes flicking away, to the ground, to the porch light, anywhere but you.

– I know. – The words are low. Like they cost him something.

– Then why do you keep doing it?

The question lands heavy, shoving the breath out of both of you.

Barry just looks at you. You don’t see the swagger, the easy smirk, the teasing warmth. He’s a little boy again, that kid you met at the supermarket, sitting alone behind the refrigerators, waiting for a mom that never returned.

For a second, the room is silent. Just the buzz of the porch light, the distant hum of cicadas.

Then, barely above a whisper—

– Because I don’t know how to stay.

And suddenly, it’s not just about this.

It’s not just about that night, or the drugs, or the mistakes, or Rafe. It’s about all of it. Every time he’s slipped away when things got too real, every time he’s left you picking up the pieces. It’s not just habit—it’s who he is.

And maybe—maybe he hates that about himself as much as you do. You stare at him, the weight of those words sinking in slow, like lead in your chest.

Because I don’t know how to stay.

Like it’s just that simple. Like it’s just a fact of life. Like it’s something he’s already accepted about himself. Like that line doesn't kill you, like it doesn’t tear you apart.

You shake your head, breath uneven. – That’s not good enough, Bee.

Barry exhales through his nose, slow and tired, like he already knew you were gonna say that. Like he already knew he didn’t have an answer that would fix it.

– I know.

– Then fucking do something about it! – Your voice cracks again, but you don’t care. You shove at his chest, and this time, he actually stumbles back a step. – You act like this is just—just some part of you that can’t be changed, but it’s not, Barry! You’re making a choice every time you walk away! Every time you leave me standing there, waiting for you to come back!

Your throat tightens, a lump wedging itself so deep you can barely breathe around it.

– Do you even realize what that does to me? – Barry looks like you just knocked the wind out of him. – You don't, do you? That’s cause you have other people. But I don't, Barry! You’re the only one I got!

His mouth opens, then shuts again. His fingers twitch, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

And you’re shaking now, all of it catching up to you at once. The fear, the frustration, the gut-wrenching ache of realizing that you’re always gonna be the one waiting.

– You can’t keep leaving when shit gets hard, man. You can’t. I need you. I need you with me. Fuck, Barry, I just need you to be here! That's all I'm asking for! – You press the heel of your palm against your forehead, like you can physically push back the tears threatening to spill. – I can’t keep doing this with you, Bee. I just can’t.

Barry stiffens.

And for the first time since he showed up, there’s something almost panicked in his expression.

– Don’t say that.

It’s quiet. A whisper.

But it hits you like a gut-punch.

You let out a shaky breath, wiping at your face. – Why not? You gonna run away again?

Barry swallows hard, dragging a hand over his mouth. His gaze flickers—over your face, down to your hands, back up again.

He’s unraveling, but not in the way he usually does. Not in anger, not in frustration.

In something softer.

Something terrified.

He takes a slow step forward, careful, cautious. Like he’s walking a tightrope. Like he’s afraid you’ll bolt.

– I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if you’re not waiting for me anymore.

That breaks you wide open.

Your breath stutters, chest rising and falling like you just ran a mile, but you haven’t—you’ve just been standing here, bleeding out in front of him, watching him do the same.

And the worst part?

You believe him.

That’s your fatal flaw. You always believe him.

You believe that he doesn’t know. That it’s never even crossed his mind that one day you might not be there. That one day, he’d turn back and find nothing waiting for him.

Because you always are.

His fingers flex at his sides, restless, like they’re waiting for permission to reach for you. His mouth parts slightly, and when he speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

– I know I ain't what you need me to be. I know I don’t always show up right, or say the right shit, or—or stay when I should.

A breath comes out of you. Heavy, charged. You feel as if it lingers between you when you open your mouth again, almost scared to look him in the eye.

– I don’t care if you show up right. I don’t. I like you much better when you’re fucking up then when you’re not around. – Barry stills, his breath catches, eyes flickering to yours. – I don’t need to miss you to like you Bee, I already like you.

His breath hitches, eyes softening. In the dark of your room, his shoulders ease the littlest bit. You see the flame then, the warm orange glow that comes from your lighter as he flicks the switch, once, twice. Illuminating his tightening grip around the cheap plastic. – Yeah? – The word comes out small, almost unsure.

– Yeah. – It should be obvious. It's all you think about. All you worry over. – God Barry, you’re my best friend! – The words seem to knock something out of him. He looks down at his hands, at your lighter, thumb playing with the switch again. – Shit, man. You’re my only friend. All these pieces of shit out here, they ain’t worth a damn.

His eyes drift up to you again as you turn around, pacing with your hands in your hair around the three or four feet of open floor your tiny room has to offer. You feel the weight of his gaze, the words lingering just out of reach.

– I went to look for you at your job today, – He says, almost hesitantly, as if he’s confessing a sin. – that— That kook, with the eyebrows, he told me a server got you fired. – You breathe and nod, falling down on your bed, the exhaustion crystalized within you. – It was Kie, wasn’t it? She got you fired.

You huff, almost a laugh.

If your father was dead, he’d be sitting in hell, laughing his ass off. – So everyone saw that coming before I did, huh?

Barry’s face darkens, but he has the grace not to say what you both know: that you’re a fool. You oughta’ve been blind for Rafe Cameron and Barry both to see the flaw in someone’s character before you did.

You exhale the disappointment in you along with your breath, feeling the springy bed dip and creak as Barry sits down beside you.

– She’s a kook. – He leans back against the wall, still playing around with the lighter. – And she's your brother’s friend. That’s like, the square root of snake.

You can’t help the laugh, but you don’t feel the humor.

– I always do that, don’t I? I always go for the worst possible person, and everybody tells me they’re fucked up, and I still have the nerve to be surprised when they fuck me over.

– That ain’t a bad thing.

Though you appreciate the kind words, you’re not too impressed by the lie in them. – Yeah right.

– Nah, I’m serious. You see the good in everybody. – He laughs then, his hand warm against your knee. – Shit, you saw the good in me.

– You are good, Barry. – His lips part slightly, like he’s not sure how to take them. – You’ve been good since we were kids.

He scoffs, shaking his head. – You didn’t know me. Before, I mean. I was shit.

You let your hand rest against his, over your knee. You can feel the fresh cuts on his knuckles. He always boxed his hands raw when he was stressed out. – I know you now. – He looks at you, almost hopeful. His ears move like a bunny rabbit’s as he zeroes in. – As long as I know you until we die, I’m fine with the shit you did before we met.

He exhales slowly, turning his face away as he clutches your knee tighter, and wipes his face.

There's a beat of silence between you then, and for a moment all you hear is his breathing and the sound of his sniffling.

– I’m sorry I left you there. – His jaw clenches, like he’s trying to shove the words back down, but they keep coming. – But I’m here now. – He exhales sharply, shaking his head. – And I swear to fucking God, I ain’t going nowhere. Not this time.

The promise settles in the space between you, thick and uncertain, but you can feel the weight of it in your bones, tangible, true. You search his face, looking for something—anything—that might tell you if he actually means it.

And then, in true Barry fashion—

He ruins it.

– Well, maybe if the cops show up, then I gotta go. – He tilts his head, smirking just slightly, like he's testing the water, seeing if he can pull you back from the edge. – I can’t go to jail, y’know? I’m too pretty, they’d be fighting over this booty like it was Pearl Harbor or some shit.

You blink at him. Once. Twice.

And then, against all logic, you snort.

It’s short, barely anything, but Barry pounces on it, his grin widening.

– Oh, don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t pretend you ain't charmed.

– I will literally strangle you.

– Kinky.

You smack his arm—hard—but there’s no real heat behind it, and he just laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe he got you to crack.

The tension in your chest loosens, just slightly, the weight of the night settling in less like a knife, more like an ache.

And Barry sees it.

He exhales through his nose, voice dipping lower, warmer, turning his hand over your knee to hold yours. – There’s my girl.

Your stomach twists, and you look away before he can see how hard that lands in you.

You shake your head, exhaling slow. – You’re fucking horrible, you know that?

He grins, rocking back on his heels. – Yeah. But you love me anyway.

You roll your eyes, but don’t deny it.

Barry smiles—soft, relieved—Like maybe, just maybe, this is something he can fix. – We shouldn’t sit here, moping around, y’know? – You lift your gaze to find him already looking at you, that lazy smirk giving you the slightest glimpse of his white grin, his gold tooth. – I know somewhere we can go.

– If you say the—

– The River Styx, that’s right. C’mon. If we go now we can still catch Jerry and Finnegan.

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly gives you a migraine.

Of course he’d say The River Styx.

It’s always The River Styx.

That shit hole of a bar—the one that plays nothing but old Irish rebel songs that sound like they were pulled straight from the depths of the world war one trenches, where the drinks are so cheap you have to wonder if they’re even legal, where there's no one except old men and overly tattooed ex-convicts. You’ve spent more nights there than you can count, balanced on the shifty stools before the counter, nursing something that burned down your throat like gasoline while Barry leaned in too close, trying to teach you to play pool or singing along to whatever song the old men were screaming to.

A place where, every single time, you drank too much.

And every single time you drank too much, you ended up in his bed.

The thought barely forms before the memory hits, visceral and immediate:

The day you lost your virginity.

Barry’s arm slung over your shoulder as you stumbled through the dark, both of you way past your limit, his breath warm against your neck as he muttered something low and amused into your ear. The porch creaking beneath you as he collapsed onto the couch, pulling you down with him, the weight of him pressing you into the worn cushions.

His hands, so sure, so solid, roaming over your sides, tugging at the hem of your shirt. His mouth, slow and coaxing, murmuring sweet nothings against your lips.

And you—giddy and young, and reckless and naive, and so, so drunk—laughing as you pulled him down, kissing him like you had something to prove.

The memory lingers, stinging like a fresh wound.

You shake your head, physically shaking it off, like you can force it back into the corner of your mind where it belongs.

– No. – The word is firm. Final. You cross your arms. – I don’t feel like drinking shitty moonshine and listening to old men wail about the Irish potato famine for three hours.

Barry raises a brow, and laughs, easily amused by your bad mood. – That’s cold, sweetheart. That’s culture.

– Boo hoo. – You huff. – I can't anyway, I have to be at Rafe's tomorrow at eight.

Barry stills, just barely, not even hiding the distaste on his face.

– Rafe? – His brows pull together. – What the hell are you gonna do at Rafe Cameron's house at eight o’clock in the fucking morning?

You shrug, not sure how to explain it. – Rafe offered me a job. One of his private chefs quit, so I took his place.

Something shifts in Barry’s face.

It’s subtle, but you see it. The slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his lips press together for half a second before solidifying in something displeased, almost angry.

– The fuck kinda person needs a “private chef”?

You roll your eyes. – Barry.

– I’m just saying, – He shrugs, leaning back against the headboard, but there’s something too easy about it now. Like he’s trying not to care. – Dude's got a personal cook? Ain’t that what his stepmom’s for?

You chuckle, the woman's words echoing in your mind. – Rose “doesn't need to cook, because she works.”

– She said that?

– To my face. While I was working. – It's so ridiculous, it's almost funny. – Gotta love rich people. I wish I could walk around saying whatever like consequences just don't exist.

Barry scoffs, shaking his head. But his fingers tap against his thigh—quick, restless. – How did he even know you needed a job?

– I saw him just after I got fired.

Barry’s hand stops.

– You called him!?

– Of course not. He just— I don't know, he just sorta happened to be there. He saw me crying and—

– You were crying?!

– My boss was horrible to me. – You swallow hard, the image burning behind your eyes as your eyes close. – He made me take the coat off there, in front of everyone.

Your throat tightens as you say it. You don’t know why you say it, only that it’s been sitting in your chest for days, heavy and unresolved.

– After Kie got me fired. He— You clear your throat, suddenly uncomfortable. – He— He called me all these things, and I don’t know, it just felt like— You stop yourself short. The words lingers at the tip of your tongue: like him.

You can’t speak about your father, not with Barry, the single person in the world who hates him more than you do.

But you don’t need to say anything.

The way his eyes darken tell you he knows exactly who you're talking about. You feel the tick of his hand against yours, how it hardens, as if he had to physically hold himself back.

His jaw clenches, his tongue running over his teeth before he exhales through his nose, like he’s biting back a reaction.

– Anyway. Rafe just found me there, and he made me feel better. We talked, and then—

– I don’t wanna hear this shit.

You don't know why you laugh. His jaw ticks and his breath gets heavier, he seems like a rottweiler puppy, growling and barking before throwing a little tantrum. – We didn't sleep together, you moron. Jesus, do you really think I'm that easy?!

– Of course not. But the way you said it— A word forms in his lips, but he bites it back.

– The way I said it? – You scoff, shaking your head. – What, like a normal human being recounting a normal conversation?

Barry exhales sharply, tongue running over his teeth like he’s trying to keep something trapped there. His fingers tap against his thigh again—faster this time, like a tell he doesn’t even realize he has.

– Like someone who got real cozy with Rafe fucking Cameron all of a sudden.

You let out a laugh, because it’s Barry—because it’s so stupid, the idea of him sitting here getting all huffy over Rafe like some jealous ex.

– Cozy? – You shake your head, grinning. – Jesus, Bee, you sound like my brother.

Barry scoffs, tilting his head, watching you with something a little sharper now. – Yeah? Well, maybe your brother’s got a point for once.

You raise a brow, amused. – That’s rich, coming from you. Since when do you side with John B on anything?

Barry shrugs, all faux-indifference, but there’s something tight in the motion. Something too controlled. – Since he ain't wrong.

You roll your eyes, stretching out on the bed, kicking your feet up onto the headboard, casual as anything. – Okay, Sheriff, tell me—what exactly is the crime here?

Barry doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, lips pressing into a thin line. – I don’t like him.

– You don’t like Rafe? You who introduced me to Rafe? You who always has him over at your place?

– He's not my fucking friend, okay?! He's just an annoying piece of shit who keeps buying drugs from me. What’d you want me to do? Throw money away?!

– Bee?

– Stop. – He sits up, pulling his hand away. – I ain’t playing okay?! Rafe is a jerk.

You snort. – Wow. Groundbreaking insight. So original. So fresh.

– I’m serious. – His voice dips lower, losing some of that teasing edge.

You tilt your head, smirking. – Yeah? – You make a show of looking around. – We at a town hall or something? You’re preaching to the choir, Bee. Rafe Cameron is an asshole. Everybody knows that.

– And yet, – Barry leans in, his eyes locking onto yours in that slow, deliberate way that makes something prickle under your skin. – Here you are, cooking his fancy little meals, letting him wipe your damn tears.

You blink at him.

Once.

Twice.

Then you burst out laughing.

Because what the fuck?

– Barry, oh my God, – you wheeze, covering your face with your hands. – Listen to yourself right now. You sound like—

You don’t even get to finish the thought before Barry shakes his head, standing up abruptly, pacing a few steps like he needs to physically shake something off.

– It ain’t funny.

That only makes you laugh harder.

– It’s hilarious, – You correct, wiping at your eyes, trying to breathe through it. – What, you think I’m about to run off and marry him now? Start wearin’ pearls and calling Rose Cameron “mother”?!

Barry doesn’t answer.

And for the first time, it hits you: He’s actually bothered. Not in the over-the-top, dramatic way he usually plays shit up for laughs. Really bothered.

The realization makes your laughter falter, just slightly.

– Barry?

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw, shaking his head like he’s disappointed—but not in you. In himself. Like he doesn’t know why this is getting to him.

– Whatever. – His voice is quieter now, rougher around the edges. – Do what you want.

You frown. – Bee— You try not to laugh, because you don't want to insult him, but you can't even help it. – Barry, don’t tell me you're jealous?

He glares at you, causing your laughter to grow, it's absurd. Its preposterous. Barry and jealousy.

– You are! You think I'm gonna run off with Rafe and leave you behind!

– Fuck off. – He growls. – Nah, I mean it. – He shrugs, but it’s stiff, unnatural. Like he’s trying way too hard to be casual. – Ain’t my business, right?

But he doesn’t look at you when he says it.

You sit up, watching him. His shoulders are tense, his hands twitchy like he needs something to do. Like if he stands still too long, you’ll see too much.

You already do.

– Bee.

– Drop it. – His voice is rough, final.

But you don’t.

You push yourself off the bed, stepping in front of him. He doesn’t look at you, just rubs a hand over his jaw, exhaling slow through his nose like he’s trying to force himself to let it go.

Like he’s trying to convince himself it doesn’t matter.

You tip your head, watching him.

Then, softer—

– You’re acting weird.

Barry scoffs, shaking his head. – I ain't acting nothing.

You cross your arms. – You got all pissy the second I said Rafe’s name.

– I did not get—

– You literally stood up like the bed was on fire, Barry.

He huffs, shaking his head again, but still—he won’t look at you.

And that’s how you know.

You take a step closer, reaching for him, fingers brushing against his wrist. He flinches, like the contact burns, but he doesn’t pull away.

Not really.

– What’s going on with you?

Barry exhales sharply, tilting his head back like he’s searching for patience on the fucking ceiling.

– Nothing, alright?

You roll your eyes. – Oh, yeah. That was super convincing. Next time, try throwing in a “gee whiz, golly” for extra effect.

Barry finally looks at you, and it’s exasperated, but there’s something else there too. Something tired.

– Jesus, you don’t let shit go, do you?

You smile, sweet, tilting your head. – Not when it comes to you.

That makes something shift in him.

You know it's a low blow, but it disarms him.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His jaw clenches, his hands flex. He looks like he wants to argue, wants to deny it, but there’s nothing he can say, nothing that would make it not true.

You step closer, pressing your palm against his chest.

He tenses at first, stiff as a board, but you don’t move away. Just stay there, steady and warm, your fingers spreading slightly over the fabric of his shirt.

– Bee, – You say, softer now. Calmer. – Talk to me.

Barry exhales again, but it’s different this time. Less frustrated, more… resigned. His head drops forward slightly, and for a second, you think he might actually say something, but then he just mutters—

– I fucking hate when you do that.

You grin. – Do what?

He lifts his head, eyes flicking over your face, lips twitching like he wants to be annoyed, but it’s already slipping.

– That. – He gestures vaguely. – That whole “I’m real soft and understanding” thing. Makes me feel all… fucking—

He groans, tipping his head back again.

You laugh, tilting your head to meet his gaze. – What? Warm and fuzzy? Like you got actual feelings and shit?

Barry glares at you. – Shut the fuck up.

But you see it. The way his body relaxes just slightly. The way he leans into your touch now, rather than away from it. The way he melts.

Like he always does.

You shake your head, grinning, and before he can process what’s happening, you grab him, pulling him into a hug.

Barry immediately stiffens. – Oh, hell no—

– Shut up, – you laugh against his shoulder, squeezing him tighter. – You’re not gonna lose me to the dark side, Bee. I’m not about to become Rafe Cameron’s bestie and start sipping champagne on yachts.

Barry makes a disgusted sound, muttering – I’d rather you fucking die.

You snort, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Barry huffs, stiff and uncooperative at first, arms glued to his sides like he’s actively refusing to participate.

Then he breathes out, slow and quiet.

And after a few beats, his hands come up, grudgingly, settling on your waist, then tightening just slightly, like he hates that he wants to hold you back, but he does it anyway.

His chin rests against the top of your head, and you feel him exhale, something heavy leaving his chest. – You’re real fucking annoying, you know that? – His voice is lower now, softer.

– Mhm. – You grin against his shirt. – But you loooove me.

Barry scoffs, but you don’t miss the way his fingers flex slightly against your back. – Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head, sweetheart.

His chin stays resting on your head, his breath coming slow and steady, his arms firm and real around you. He’s here, for once. Not running, not making a joke out of it.

Just here.

The tension drains out of him like someone pulled a plug, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of your shirt, like he needs the contact more than he’s willing to say.

You hum against his chest, smirking.

– See? This isn’t so bad, is it?

Barry doesn’t answer at first. Just stays exactly where he is, his arms tightening slightly, like he’s afraid to let go. – Shut up.

You grin, tilting your head up to smirk at him. – Wow. I really have you whipped, huh?

Barry scoffs, pulling back slightly to shoot you a glare, but it’s weak.

You grin harder.

– You love this. Admit it.

His jaw twitches. – I will literally murder you in cold blood.

You gasp, hand over your heart. – You wouldn’t hurt me, Bee. Look at you, you're a marshmallow.

Barry narrows his eyes. – Alright, that’s enough of that.

And before you can react, he grabs you, twisting you around in one fluid motion, throwing you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

– Hey, hey, hey! – You squeal, smacking at his back. – Barry, put me the fuck down!

He laughs, full and unrestrained, the sound vibrating through his chest as he spins you around, ignoring your protests.

– Nah, sweetheart, you wanna talk big? Let’s see you talk with your face in the fucking mattress.

He tosses you onto the bed, and you bounce, letting out a shriek before bursting into laughter. Barry grins, watching you with a look so fond it almost makes your heart hurt. You’re still laughing, shaking your head as he flops down beside you, grinning like an idiot. – You’re the worst.

He smirks, tilting his head at you. – You’re the one who’s putting up with it. I don't hear you complain when I'm paying for drinks.

You’re breathing easy, the air between you light and warm and safe, the weight of the night melting away into something that just feels good.

Barry flops onto the bed beside you, still grinning, breath unsteady from laughing so hard. You’re both just lying there, staring at the ceiling, shoulders shaking from the last remnants of laughter.

Your ribs ache, your cheeks hurt from smiling, but you can’t stop.

His arm is thrown haphazardly across your stomach, warm and solid, like it just landed there on instinct. You don’t move it. – You’re ridiculous, – you mutter, still breathless.

– And you’re obsessed with me, – Barry shoots back, a lazy smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

You snort. – Oh, totally. I wake up every morning thinking about how much I wanna be Barry fucking Russo.

He hums, mock-thoughtful. – Can’t blame you. I’d wanna be me too.

You smack his chest, and he lets out an exaggerated oof, before turning on his side to face you, his head propped up on his hand.

His eyes flicker over your face, softening just slightly.

And for once, he doesn’t say anything cocky.

Just looks at you.

– What?

Barry exhales, shaking his head. – Nothin’.

– You’re staring, Bee.

– So?

– So, you’re being weird.

Barry smirks, but it’s softer now. – You ever just look at someone and think, “Damn. This dumbass really puts up with my shit?”

You grin, biting your lip. – Every time I look at you, actually.

Barry chuckles, shaking his head. – You little shit.

– Takes one to know one.

He grabs your wrist, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him, pulling you half on top of him like you’re just a part of him now.

You yelp, but he just laughs, shifting so you’re tucked against his side, his arm slung lazy over your back. – Aww, someone needs a cuddle!

– Yeah, yeah. Just shut up and enjoy it, sweetheart.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move. Instead, you let your fingers trace absentminded shapes against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

Barry hums, content. – See? Ain’t this nice?

You let out a mock-sigh. – Guess I can tolerate it.

Barry grins, tugging you closer, resting his chin against the top of your head.

– Knew you loved me.

You just shake your head, smiling, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment.

You feel like you might actually fall asleep then. A comfortable, resting sleep. Nothing like these half-hearted black-outs you’ve been having. Barry’s breath is even, whistling against the loose strands of your hair softly, a breeze upon a placid ocean, and your mind drifts away, quiet, content.

The lightness of it lingers on your face for a moment, but like your energy, the smile also fizzles out. Barry shifts, just slightly, stretching his arms with a lazy groan before grabbing you again, pulling you right back into his chest like it's just natural.

Like it’s comfortable.

And it is.

His warmth seeps into you, his breathing low and steady, and he pulls you even closer as you tell him to lay on his side. Your body feels heavy now, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of your conscience, blurring your surroundings out.

There’s a sound, some mumbled words that whisper through your hair as you lay there, head tucked under your friend’s chin, but you can’t register them. Whatever that was, you hum to it, half-heartedly, the thought of asking on what he said only tangentially floating through your mind as your breath syncs with his and your mind finally shuts down, before you can even ask what he said.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you sleep.

Not the restless, fractured kind of sleep that leaves you more exhausted than before. Not the kind where your mind keeps running half-heartedly, processing a thousand worries at once, replaying every mistake, every conversation, every single thing you should have said but didn’t.

Just sleep. Real sleep. Deep, warm, safe, and dreamless.

The morning soaks through you slowly as the sun invades your room.

Your senses return to you, one by one. —You feel the perfectly comfortable warmth of an embrace that’s shifted through the hours. Your limbs aren’t numb, but still, they’re tangled. On the sheets, around Barry’s, in your own old clothes. You blink, still foggy, before tilting your head to see him splayed out beside you, completely at peace, mouth slightly open, one arm thrown dramatically over his face like he’s posing for a Renaissance painting. You can smell the cigarettes he smoked before coming here, the smoke still clinging to his clothes. You hear his snoring, low and soft like the purr of an engine, and then— The distant clang of dishes, the low murmur of voices, the thud of something hitting the counter too hard.

Your perfect moment, corrupted by the life outside of it.

Your body stirs before your mind does, pulling you from the heavy weight of sleep into the early light of morning. Your watch, thrown somewhere on your pillow where your arm had rested at some point, marks 6:21. Just enough time to shower and get ready.

Your stomach grumbles as you sit up, but you’ve given up on breakfast before you can even think about it, knowing damn well John would never bother to go grocery shopping.

It’s been a while since you actually resented the thought of having to get up.

With the watch weighing heavy in your palm, you linger in that same spot for another moment, taking in the softness, the calm. It feels like a safe haven: the wrinkled sheets thrown half-hazardly over the two of you, the tiny twin bed creaking as you move, the soft, almost content huff Barry lets out as you adjust the pillow under his head, stirring without waking as you gather the courage to stand.

The floor creaks as you walk, the dresser’s drawer creaks as you pull on it, and you take one last look at the room, at Barry, at the sun casting long golden streaks of light across the stale air, as if keeping that image could keep you from the storm you know is brewing outside.

Still, you allow yourself to savor it, the last fleeting taste of what could’ve been a decent day.

John and Sarah’s voices are clearer as you step out into the hallway, but you don’t allow yourself the energy to decode their words. The bathroom door opens and closes behind you, the clothes you picked out fall, still folded, over the lid of your laundry basket, and you throw the towel on the hook, eyeing yourself in the mirror before facing another cold shower.

Your good mood is officially gone, fallen to the corruption of your own skepticism, and to the fact your brother still has not fixed the fucking heater.

The water is colder than normal, but you let it hit you anyway, let it wash away the last remnants of sleep, of comfort, of safety.

By the time you step out your skin is pricked with goosebumps, your hair damp and dripping as you reach for your towel. You avoid your reflection in the mirror this time, focus instead on the small streaks of condensation gathering on the glass.

The floor is rougher beneath your bare feet, the air cooler, the walls closer.

The house itself feels different.

John and Sarah’s voices come into focus as you approach the kitchen, their conversation sharp and muffled all at once. You catch only bits and pieces—your name, Rafe’s name, something about him—but you don’t linger on it.

You already know what they’re saying.

You already know what they think.

The conversation stops as soon as you step into the room.

Abrupt. Jarring.

Like they weren’t expecting you, despite the fact that you live here.

– Good morning. – You say, thoughtless, already reaching for the coffee pot. Its still hot, but the jar is empty— You’re not surprised that he would make just enough for him and Sarah, but still, its no less annoying.

– For who?

You can’t even take him seriously. – Jesus Christ, John. What's your problem?

– Well, for starters—

You cut him off before he can begin. – The question was rhetorical, dumbass. – You move around them, from the pot to the counter, trying to make coffee and doing your best not to meet his eye. – “Good morning” is a well-wish. “What's your problem” is a rhetorical question. You could’ve kept quiet and spared us both the embarrassment.

– You’re ridiculous.

You measure the powder into the filter, crumpling the empty package and throwing it across the room to the trash overflowing in the corner. – You could’ve at least taken out the trash.

He scoffs, a bitter laugh on his lips as he looks up. – You’re unbelievable. We didn’t even start the argument and you’re already deflecting! This has got to be a record.

– Great, How about you measure the greatness of this record after taking out the trash?

– Are you serious? – He groans. You look at him with a straight face, arms crossed over your chest. – You are un-fucking-believable.

You breathe and smile, humorless. – We haven’t even started the argument and you’re already repeating yourself. Damn, John. This has got to be a record.

– Is EVERYTHING a fucking game to you?!

– I don’t know. But hey, since you seem to think I spend all my time around Rafe, maybe you should go and ask him.

His eyes bore into yours, sharp and cutting. – This is not the own you think it is, Y/n.

– And you don’t have as much dog in this fight as you think you do, John. – Your breathing is measured, and you’re counting to a hundred in your head. You’re committed not to losing it this time. You can’t let him get to you, but you feel every expression he makes grinding at your nerves, and you’re sinking your nails into your palms before his mouth even opens. – We’re even. Let’s leave it at that.

– Oh sure, that’s a great idea. My sister is a traitor without a fucking conscience who can’t even be bothered to tell me about what goes on in her life, but let’s leave it at that, right?!— We’re not even, actually. We’re not even close—

– Oh my God, get to it already! We’ve had this fight three times this week, can we just jump to the highlights?! I’m working for Rafe. You’re pissed I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t have time. And I didn’t have time, because the moment I could have used to tell you was spent having THIS EXACT FUCKING TALK. – You lost it. You just did, your hands gesture wildly because you feel that whatever it was that you had to hold onto—your sanity, your dignity, your temper— is slipping through your fingers as you speak. – So go ahead! Jump to it, John! Just storm out and have your tantrum already so we can stop pretending any of this bullshit matters at all!

– This is our fucking life we’re talking about! Of course it matters!

– No, no. That’s just it. This isn’t my life, actually. This is the John B show! You run around and you do your little things and you have your little adventures and you think you’re the star around which the rest of the universe revolves! So when I go out and I do something without your stamp of approval, you think I’m out to get you! But I’m not John! I’m not trying to fuck you over! I’m just trying to put food on our fucking table!

– Oh here we go again. – He scoffs.

– Yes! Yes, we’re going there again. So sit down on the chair, my chair, the one that you broke and I had to fix. Then you can have a cup of coffee, which I bought, and you burned through. And maybe, when you’re done not washing the dishes, you can go and have a cold shower, since that’s the only option we’ve got, because your ass can’t even follow through on the little responsibilities you fucking have!

You’re tired of repeating this, tired of saying it over and over again. But he doesn’t listen.

– Why does everything have to be about money with you?!

– NEWS FLASH motherfucker, that’s the only reason I’m working for Rafe, which is the reason why you’re mad at me, which is the reason why we’re having this conversation in the first place!

The words hang between you.

John’s chest rises and falls hard, his fists clenched at his sides, his mouth still open, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

He just laughs, bitter, venomous.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

You’re both just standing there, breathing hard, staring each other down like you’re waiting for the other to swing first.

John scoffs, shaking his head, running a hand down his face. – You know what? – His voice is lower now, not calmer, just quieter. – Forget it. Just—forget it.

He turns away, reaching for his mug, but his grip is too tight, and the coffee inside sloshes over the rim, spilling onto the counter. He curses under his breath, slamming it down harder than necessary.

You watch him for a second, jaw tight.

Your hand is clutching your arm, your foot is bouncing. You feel the need for movement surging through your bones as he takes a step towards the door, and you know you shouldn’t do it. But if you spend another fucking day lingering in the things you two left unsaid you’re gonna choke in your own words and this is gonna end badly for the both of you.

So you rush, and you grab him, and you tug him back like a ragdoll. – Don’t walk away from me!

He scoffs. – What? Too hard to sit alone with your guilty conscience?

– Not really, no. But it must run in the family, since you can sit alone with your conscience all day and still never stop being a fucking hypocrite.

John yanks his arm free, spinning to face you, eyes burning. – You don’t get to call me a hypocrite when you’re the one crawling into bed with fucking Rafe Cameron.

Your breath stutters for half a second before rage swallows it whole. – Do we have to go through this every fucking day?! I’m not fucking Rafe! He offered me a job! I took it because we can’t afford to live any worse than how we’re already living without actually starving!

– We’re fine! – He shouts, shoving at you. – We’re living just fine! You’re not doing this out of some need to survive, you’re doing this because you have this burning desire to piss me the fuck off! I’ve got news for you too, Y/n. Your need for attention isn’t gonna fix the fact you fucked it up with dad! It’s not gonna fix the fact your mother didn’t love you. So maybe you can sit with that feeling and figure out another way to get me to look at you without having to humiliate us both!

You’re frozen in place, looking at him.

You see Sarah shifting uncomfortably in the corner, her eyes drifting between the two of you like she’s trying to figure out which direction to run in.

The breath that escapes you feels like it’s been there for years. But there is no great realization. No mask comes off, no true colors are revealed. You’ve seen this all already. You’ve heard these insults in countless different fonts, countless different arguments. And though it hurts no less to hear, somehow you find it in yourself to laugh. – I don’t know how you find it within yourself to be so low.

He looks at you, lips parted, as if he is the one who is surprised by the words.

You breathe in.

– You’re right, John.

It comes out of your lips like chains falling off of you.

It’s been written on the walls for years, and yet you spent so long a time with your head down, it never occurred for you to read the warnings.

– You’re right. This is the John show. I’m a backup character. I don’t live for myself. I live for you. – The rope keeps falling, and falling. The more you talk, the clearer it gets. – All the money I make goes to this house. And all the money you make goes to you.

It doesn’t weigh heavy.

It doesn’t hurt to say.

It’s there, and it’s true.

– All this time I thought you were in denial, but you’re not. You’re just living a completely different life. I’ve been scraping by for FUCK— The anger falls like sack of bricks, hard, sharp corners and rough sides grating against your fragile bones. It hurts. It bruises. You can feel yourself split open, you can feel yourself bleed out. – I’ve been scraping by so you could do what?

– Y/n…

– What, John?! WHAT?! So you could do what?! Drink yourself stupid with your little friends and talk shit about kooks while you’ve been living the EXACT SAME FUCKING LIFE AS THEM?! Is that why I work? So you can— You look at Sarah, and you think of her house. The life she’s putting aside to pretend she has some character. – So you can eat lamb at Ward Cameron’s and humiliate me? You haven’t stopped eating so I could eat. You haven’t been convincing yourself you like a job where you’re constantly humiliated so it can be bearable to barely pay the bills. You’ve been spending it all in beer, and weed, and food that you DON’T EVEN FUCKING LEAVE FOR ME.

The coffee is done. Sitting there on the pot, untouched. Scalding.

You don’t remember the last thing you ate at your house.

The last decent night of sleep you had on your own bed.

The last time you enjoyed any of the things you’ve been killing yourself for.

You back yourself into a corner, you look away from John, from Sarah, from this house that’s been draining at you like a fucking leech.

John looks stunned.

Not guilty. Not sorry. Just—stunned.

Like he never thought you’d say it out loud.

Like he never thought you’d realize it.

Sarah’s still frozen, one hand gripping the edge of the counter, like she’s waiting to see if this is where it ends. If this is where you finally walk out.

You feel like you should keep talking, like you should scream, like you should break something—but there’s nothing left to say.

You already said it.

And that’s the worst part: John knows you’re right. He knows.

But instead of admitting it—

He laughs.

Short. Bitter.

And when he looks at you again, his jaw is set, his fists clenched at his sides. – Is that what you have to say? – His voice is quiet, but it cuts just the same. – That I’m useless? That I don’t pull my weight?

– You are. – It's bitter too, but when the words leave your lips you feel like you've eaten for the first time in weeks. – You're useless. And you don’t pull your weight. But I've never asked you to. That's my own fault. I don’t need you to be useful, John. I don’t need you to be a man. I don’t even need you to be my brother. Shit, clearly, you’re none of those fucking things. But I expected that if you were gonna freeload off of me, at least you’d have the decency to leave me the fuck alone as to how I make the money you so carelessly flit around.

You look away, to the bin forgotten in the corner. To the clock, marking the little time you still have to get this over with above the window.

And for once, you don't feel the world resting on your shoulders.

For once, it isn’t on you to hold this crumbling house up.

– Take out the trash. Call someone to fix the heater, and clean up after yourself for once. Cause if I get home, and things are still the way I left it, I’m leaving you here, and you can support this house on your own.

John scoffs, but it's stuttered. Unsure. Like he’s trying to call a bluff he isn’t actually sure won’t stand the scrutiny. – You don’t have anywhere to go.

– I can live off of what I make. You, on the other hand, can’t live off of your own delusions.

– Walk away.

You don’t answer.

Because he’s not answering you.

He’s just flipping it around, turning it into something else, something easier for him to fight against.

Your stomach turns.

You push off the wall, shaking your head.

John scoffs. – Oh, no. We’re talking now, right? Let’s talk. Go ahead. Tell me I’m a selfish piece of shit—

– I don’t need to. – Your voice is tired now. Not angry. Not screaming. Just done.

That shuts him up faster than anything else could have.

Sarah finally moves, stepping forward, voice cautious, but the bomb has gone off, she’s trying to diffuse something that’s already blown you all into pieces.

– Hey. Maybe we should all just—

But you don’t stay to listen.

You don’t want to hear whatever half-hearted bullshit John is about to spit out next.

You turn, walking away, feeling the weight of the house pressing down on you with every step.

And as you get to the doorway—

You see Barry.

Standing right there.

Arms crossed, leaning against the kitchen door.

Like he’s been standing there for a while.

Watching. Listening.

His expression is unreadable.

But his eyes say everything you need to hear.

He moves back, arm out as you pass the doorway, and he gathers his things quietly as you put on your shoes.

The house is silent as you lace up your sneakers, the argument still thick in the air behind you.

But you don’t look back.

Barry doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask if you’re okay, doesn’t tell you that you were right or wrong—he doesn’t have to. You already know. Instead, he moves easily: grabs his jacket, tucks your lighter in his pocket, reaches for the helmet sitting on the table.

He spins it once between his fingers, then holds it out to you.

A simple motion. Nothing grand. Nothing spoken.

But he smiles as you reach out to take it, and he laughs, softly, contently, as you lead him out.

The morning air hits sharp against your skin, cool and steady, grounding you in a way the house never could.

Barry swings a leg over his bike, Rafe's bike, settling in easy, waiting for you to do the same.

You exhale, slipping onto the seat behind him, arms looping loosely around his waist as he kicks the stand back.

And when the engine rumbles beneath you, drowning out the house, the argument, the weight of everything inside—

You breathe.

And for once, it's easy.

Barry doesn’t look back.

He just shifts the bike into gear, rolls out onto the road, and drives.

You barely register the road you two leave behind until he’s pulling into the Camerons’ driveway. But you step off the bike, hand him his helmet, and he holds your hand. – You can stay with me, you know?

– Huh?

– Tonight. I’ll pick you up, you can stay at mine. That oughta scare him.

The laughter on his lips is airy, meant to be. That’s what you like about him, you realize—Barry doesn’t second guess things. He lives for him, and him alone, never doubting that’s how things are meant to go. It’s hurt you before, but you see it now, fully-formed, mature, and vulnerable— He holds the helmet between you almost like an invitation. Come with me. The gesture says. Run with me, wild like me, happy like me.

And you’ll be damned.

Because at the moment, there’s nothing you want more.

– I don’t need to scare him, Bee. – You hum, but it isn’t pensive. You can think about John now, and your chest doesn’t tighten, your voice doesn’t crack. – He can do what he wants.

– So can we.

You smile despite yourself.

That’s another thing you like about Barry: he always says we.

With him, it’s never, “I want, I need, I can”. It’s “we’re gonna, we can, we will.” Like the two of you are two halves of one conscience.

– And what do we want to do? – You ask.

He smiles wide, pulling at the helmet to bring you closer, his hand resting at the dip of your waist. – Go to The River Styx and drink our asses off. You get the bed.

– Wow. Unmissable deal.

– That’s how it is with me, sweetheart.

– So if I get the bed, where do you sleep?

He pretends to ponder, flashing you that golden grin as he looks back at you. – On top of you?

– You’ve been missing pillows or something?

– I’ve been missing you. – He says. And it's so simple. So completely free of any strings attached it almost feels foreign to hear it.

– You never lost me, Bee. I’m always here for you.

– Always? – This time it’s small, and though he’s never uncertain, it’s almost like he’s begging to be reaffirmed.

And you do.

Not because it doesn’t cost you anything, but because it enriches you to say things as openly as he does. – Always. Cross my heart.

Barry hums, tilting his head, looking at you like he’s committing you to memory.

Then, in one fluid motion, he tugs you forward, arms wrapping around you, face buried in the crook of your neck.

You feel held.

The steadiness of his arms, the weight of his relief, the strength that it gives you.

Held.

Fully, completely, like he’s not just pulling you in, but holding himself up too, steadying himself against you the way you’ve steadied yourself against him a thousand times before.

Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his jacket, your face pressing into his shoulder, breathing him in—smoke and Barry, something familiar and grounding. Something that never changes.

For a moment, the world outside of this doesn’t exist. Just his breath against your skin, the quiet hum in his chest, the weight of him solid and real against you.

You pull back, hands sliding over his shoulders as you step away.

It’s over, but it doesn’t feel like it. The ghost of his warmth lingers around you just as the smirk he had before lingers on his lips.

– I’ll call you for a ride when I’m done.

Barry smirks, his grip still loose at your waist. – You can ride me whenever you want, sweetheart.

You scoff, shoving at his chest, and he laughs, stepping back, grinning like an idiot.

You shake your head, turning toward the house, but then—

Then you look up.

The silhouette on the window, lingering silently behind curtains that are all too white, all too frigid. The look in his eyes. That radioactive blue that you can’t get a read on, lingering far. But not on you, on Barry.

You feel the air shift.

You swallow, turning back to Barry, but he’s already climbing onto the bike, completely unaware of Rafe’s eyes.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvillaintrophy

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 15 hours ago

Text

A Curse [Chapter 5: Venice]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, In-N-Out Burger, accidental fake dating, discussions of pregnancy and abortion (not who you think), a wild Becca appears!

Word count: 6k

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You sleep deep but wake up early. When Baela wanders out of the bathroom in a fuzzy purple robe and a gale of steam, she finds you dressed in your grey work uniform and sprinkling a packet of flower food you got from the Rite Aid down the street into the vase of sunflowers. You are smiling to yourself; you can’t seem to stop.

“Heyyyyy!” Baela says, slow and salacious, hoping for interesting stories. You very rarely have any to share. “How’d the Maroon 5 shoot go? Not so bad, right?”

“It was good.” You rearrange the sunflowers, pruning any leaves that have begun to wilt. Daylight streams in through the windows; outside you can see power lines, palm trees, a shopping center featuring—among other things—a Starbucks, World Star Vape, and Carl’s Jr.

“Did you meet Adam Levine?”

“Briefly and uneventfully. But he seemed nice!”

“And you survived the bathtub thing, I see.” Her tone implies that you were ridiculous to ever fear you wouldn’t, childish, ignorant, histrionic.

“Well…I actually didn’t have to do it.”

“What?” She reaches into the refrigerator and removes a plastic bowl full of raspberries, sets it down on the kitchen counter, eats absentmindedly as she stares at you. “Really? Why not?”

You shrug, a little shy but desperately wanting to tell somebody, because that will make it real. Blood burns in your face. “Aegon saved me.”

Baela’s eyes narrow and her brow crinkles. You find yourself—as you often do—casually in awe of the smoothness of her skin, the perfect arches of her eyebrows, her expressiveness that is never inelegant. She chews her raspberries very slowly. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, so…I didn’t have to film that scene. But I did the rest of them and it went fine.”

Baela’s gaze drops to your shoes and travels northbound, examining you with skepticism and dread, as if she is afraid to ask. “Did something else happen?”

You can feel yourself glowing, flushing, beaming helplessly. “Kind of.”

Her jaw drops open; there’s berry juice on her teeth like blood. “How? Where?!”

“We went back to his office after the shoot. I mean, he drove us back to his office. But I wanted to go too.”

“And you did…what, exactly? How many bases?”

“Um…all of them?”

“All of them?!”

“Twice.”

Baela looks horrified. “Oh my God, you really fucked a married guy.”

“No, remember, he’s not married. He’s just engaged.”

“It’s the same thing!” Baela exclaims, and she has completely forgotten about her raspberries. “You’re a cheater, how does that make you feel?”

You shake your head; she doesn’t understand. “I know it sounds bad, but when I’m with Aegon…he’s just so…he’s so protective and he’s smart and he’s brave and he actually believes in me, he’s the only person who doesn’t think I’m hopeless and delusional, and he’s always trying to help me, and there’s something about when we’re together that just feels…magical!”

“Of course it’s magical!” Baela bursts out, and now Jace is peeking blearily out of her bedroom, his dark curls in disarray. “He’s a fuckboy, that’s what they do! He gives you some otherworldly encapsulated experience that leaves you dickmatized but it’s not real, because then he goes home and he does the same thing with his soon-to-be-wife, and then the next day he’s probably hooking up with some other impressionable starstruck client, and you’re standing here thinking you have something special with him when he’s already onto the next girl!”

You can’t imagine that being true, and yet you wonder without wanting to: why did he have condoms in his desk drawer? “I don’t think he’s happy with Becca.”

Baela groans as if she’s in physical pain. “I knew this would happen! I knew somebody was going to take advantage of you. You’re too idealistic, you’re too naïve.”

“I started it,” you object feebly.

“You think you seduced him? You think you were calling the shots with a middle-aged man whose family is Hollywood royalty?”

You look down at your shoes, uninspired white Skechers for work, ashamed. “I guess not.”

Baela huffs a sardonic sigh and scarfs down the last of the raspberries, chewing them aggressively. “You know, people talk shit about Jace—”

“Who talks shit about Jace?” Jace asks from the doorway of her bedroom.

“—They say he’s a hobosexual and lazy and jobless and whatever, but that man is loyal, he doesn’t even look at other women, and I wouldn’t trade him for anybody. Because apparently it’s extremely fucking rare to find someone who won’t get naked for the first stranger who promises to make all their wildest dreams come true.”

You are collapsing in on yourself, a wilting flower, a crushed spider, and you remember years ago finding the emails between your father and that hospital intern, and you marvel at how easy it is to fixate on one star and lose sight of the constellation. Jace slinks back into Baela’s bedroom and closes the door. “Yeah, you’re right, Baela,” you say softly. “I was wrong. I don’t know why I did that.”

Now Baela frowns at you with a nauseating combination of judgment and pity. “Look, are you sure you wouldn’t be happier back home on the horse farm? This place…you’re too nice for it, you know? You’re too trusting. You’re going to keep getting hurt.” You don’t have what it takes.

You steel yourself. “I’m staying here.”

“Okay, and are you going to find a new agent? Maybe somebody who isn’t trying to sleep with you, or at the very least isn’t in a committed relationship while doing it?”

You are thunderstruck by the question; you haven’t even considered this. “No one else wants me.”

Baela tosses the empty plastic bowl into the kitchen sink—it rattles harshly there—and casts you a hard glare as she stalks towards her bedroom in her purple bathrobe. “I am so disappointed in you.”

You turn to watch her leave, crestfallen and deserted. “Are we still going to see the fireworks later when I get done at Cold Stone?”

Baela stops and turns around, and now her face is all pity, like you’re too pathetic to stay mad at, like you aren’t cognizant enough to be held responsible. “Yeah. We’re still going to see the fireworks.”

“Yay!” you reply, a strained little squeak.

“Jace can stay here when I’m in Paris, right?” Baela asks. “He swears he’ll vacuum and take the garbage out and stuff. And you know he won’t fill up the sink with dirty dishes, he basically only eats takeout.”

“Yeah, of course, no problem! He can stay.”

“Thanks.” Baela gives you a small smile—a charitable you’re a dumbass but we’re still friends sort of gesture—and disappears into her bedroom. Then you go find your phone and purse so you won’t be late for work.

All afternoon as you are bent low scraping scoops of ice cream out of the freezer and mashing in mix-ins on the chilled countertop, each time the glass door opens and the string of bells jangle you look up to see if it’s Aegon, because maybe he’s found you another job or maybe he just misses you, and he’s daydreaming of you now in the sweltering sunshine that rains down golden and cloudless. But your only customers are strangers: flocks of influencers in yoga pants who pick at Like It-sized sorbets, flustered mothers trying to relay their lisping children’s orders, giggling couples on dates who you love watching, the way their eyes are alight and their fingers forever ache to intertwine.

At dusk, you and Baela and Jace are lounging on a blanket at the Baldwin Hills Scenic Overlook, your breathing still labored from the hike and guzzling cans of La Croix that Baela packed, awful as always but not so bad when you feel like you’re dying of thirst. As you wait for the fireworks to start, you take a few selfies with the distant incandescent mirage of Downtown to the northeast, towards Chinatown and Elysian Park, towards Apple Valley, Minnesota if you drove far enough.

You post the most flattering selfie to your Instagram story with a caption of patriotic emojis: an American flag, the Statue of Liberty, a bald eagle, an exploding pink firework. In the row of circles at the top of your screen, you observe that Aegon—a.k.a. superstargaryen—has also posted a story today. In the two minutes you spend debating whether to watch it, he has seen yours, liked it, and replied: Miss America 2025.

“What are you grinning about?” Baela asks from where she is sitting in Jace’s lap, his arms around her waist, and you can’t tell her because you don’t want to make her mad again.

“Just something my sister sent me.” You click on Aegon’s story; he is standing beside a massive grill covered with hotdogs and hamburger patties, wielding a pair of tongs, and wearing his aviator sunglasses and a green apron with seemingly nothing underneath. You like it and reply: I have literally never wanted a hotdog so bad in my life.

Aegon reacts with a laughing emoji and types: Come and get it. But of course you can’t, because Becca is probably there too.

“You better post the picture we took together,” Baela tells you. “We looked cute as fuck!”

“What about me?” Jace asks playfully, nuzzling the side of her face. “Was I cute as fuck too?”

“You were okay,” Baela says, and they both laugh.

“It’s a really good photo,” you agree. And it proves that you have friends to do activities with, that you aren’t quite as pathetic and alone in Los Angeles as your parents and Clara and Tripp and Mason might think. You post it as a story: you and Baela smiling together, Jace in the background brandishing a peace sign. You add a bunch of red, white, and blue hearts for decoration. Aegon watches your new story within a few minutes, but he doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even like it. You frown down at your screen, confused.

“Oh look, it’s starting, it’s starting!” Baela says excitedly, and now there are booming explosions in the darkening sky and threads of shimmering remnants descending like falling stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are early for your appointment because you want to see Aegon again, and you don’t even try to tell yourself it’s for any other reason. It’s Tuesday, July 8th, and there are still charred firework wrappers and singed sparklers strewn on the sidewalk. You find a parking spot a ways down the street from Aegon’s half-duplex and trot to the front door. You are wearing your tan TOMS wedges, a top the color of dark fertile earth, a green maxi skirt, and swampy verdant eyeshadow to match: matte brown Rewind and sparkly emerald Damaged, both by Urban Decay.

Behind the reception desk, Brandon is squinting at the computer screen and scrawling notes in his planner with his flower pen. “Hey girl!” he greets you, and although he is preoccupied he still gets a bottle of Perrier out of the minifridge and sets it on the edge of the desk.

“Thanks!” you say as you take it. “I’m really sorry about what happened last week with the address thing. I hope you weren’t too freaked out. I didn’t want to ruin your holiday.”

Brandon laughs and waves a hand dismissively. “It’s totally cool, I wasn’t worried at all. Aegon must be hella stressed lately because he’s always mixing things up and forgetting appointments, then he yells at me but feels bad about it afterwards and pays me overtime. Well worth it! I think it’s the wedding. Becca’s constantly showing up asking for his opinion about cakes and decorations and whatever and it’s just a lot.”

You smile politely; it takes some effort. “Yeah, weddings are nerve-racking. My sister Clara is planning hers right now.”

“Oh for cute! Are you going to be her maid of honor?”

“Actually, I don’t know. I hope not. Sounds like a ton of work.”

“You’d be marvelous at it,” Brandon assures you, then snatches up the phone when it rings. “Targaryen Talent Agency, this is Brandon, how can I help you?” You say goodbye and continue to Aegon’s office.

Inside, he is wearing the same green Nike Killshots he had on the day you first met and has them propped up on his desk as he plays his Nintendo 64. Mario is traversing a narrow stone pathway surrounded by a sea of blood-red lava. Aegon’s tank top is the color of the pine trees back in Minnesota; the unbuttoned short-sleeve Oxford shirt he’s thrown overtop is white and wrinkled. The room has been tidied up, all signs of your transgression erased: debris swept off the scratched wood floor, his desk once again littered with folders and papers and Juicy Fruit gum wrappers, new frames for the photographs, Honeycrisp apples filling up a bowl that is blue china instead of plain bone-colored ceramic.

“Hey,” Aegon says, glancing at you but still clicking buttons and swiveling the joystick on his transluscent orange controller.

“Hi!” You are grinning as you sit down in the chair in front of his desk. “Your office is back to normal.”

“Yeah, I have cleaning people that come in a few days a week.”

“Are you winning?” you ask, meaning the game. Mario veers off the precarious walkway and into the lava, screams and tries to leap to safety, sails over a stone island, hits the lava again and dies.

Aegon chuckles; he sounds tired. His bruised knuckles, five days gone, have sickened to a ghastly green and plumes of opaque violet. “I guess not.” He turns off the Nintendo 64. “How was your 4th of July?”

“It was awesome! I hung out with my roommate.”

Aegon gives you a disapproving look like he doesn’t quite believe you. You can’t fathom why. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really? Great!” But despite the good news, you’re beginning to feel like you’re sinking. You keep waiting for Aegon to acknowledge what happened here, what you both did, what you were to each other even if only for a few hours under the cover of darkness.

“There’s a casting call for a very minor part in a new Mavel movie. I’m sure that’s not exactly your dream role, and it’s not really what I see you doing either, but you said you’d take anything and it’s an opportunity to get you in front of some big-name people. So I booked you a spot.”

“I accept.” Is he going to pretend it never happened?

“I’m keeping an eye on the indie projects that make it to pre-production. I can imagine you shining in a niche little thriller, maybe a romantic drama…you do angry really well, you know. Which is strange, because you’re never angry in real life. But that’s what makes you an actress. You become other kinds of people.”

Does he think it was a mistake? Does he think it didn’t matter? “Okay,” you hear yourself say uncertainly.

Aegon studies you, his Nike Killshots still resting lazily on his desk. His blonde hair is slicked back from his face; his eyes are a remote somber blue like the ocean through an airplane window. “You alright, sunshine?”

“Yeah, I just…um…I mean…” You glance uneasily around the small plain office, scuffed wooden floorboards and cracked paint on mint green walls and glaring daylight that pours in through the windows that face the east. “What happened Thursday night…was that a one-time thing, or…?”

Slowly, Aegon smiles, and there’s something about his voice that strikes you as smug, maybe taunting, maybe even cruel. “It was that good for you, huh?”

You are suddenly reminded of every doubt, every warning, every belittling comment you thought you had convinced yourself not to absorb: from Mom, Dad, Clara, Tripp, Mason, Baela, Jace, agents and directors and surgeons. You thump your cold glass bottle of Perrier onto Aegon’s desk, clutch your purse, and bolt for the door. “Sorry, I have to go.”

Aegon is stunned. He scrambles to his feet. “What—?”

“Sorry, bye. Please don’t follow me.” You don’t want him to see you crying. You’re already humiliated enough.

You run awkwardly in your wedges through the lobby—Brandon watches you from behind his desk, baffled—and burst out into the hot late-morning sunlight. You almost tumble down the concrete steps but regain your balance, then flee towards your Honda. Window air conditioning units whir, dogs bark, car engines rev, a radio in an open garage is blaring Domino by Jessie J. Now your phone is ringing.

You yank it out of your purse and, through the tears that blur your vision, see that the name on the screen is Aegon’s. “Hello?” you answer stupidly, as if you don’t know who it is.

Aegon’s voice is equal parts defensive and resigned. “Do you want a new agent?”

“No,” you sob.

“Then come back here.”

“I just…I just feel like I really messed up, I mean I’ve never cheated on or with anybody and I can’t believe I did that, and now you’re pretending it never even happened, and it feels weird, it feels wrong, and I ruined everything, and maybe people were right when they said I couldn’t handle being out here—”

“Come back to my office,” Aegon says calmly. “And we will talk about it. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, and turn around.

You clop into the lobby and give Brandon an embarrassed wave. He nods, puzzled. Then you return to Aegon’s office and take your place in your chair, slumped, red-eyed, ashamed.

Aegon sits down too, places his elbows on his desk, laces his fingers together and presses them against his lips as he gazes at you, his large blue eyes glossy and pained. After a while, he says quietly: “This is exactly what I didn’t want. For you to be hurt, for you to be sad.”

So you won’t start crying again, you distract yourself by rotating the green glass bottle you left on Aegon’s desk, slippery with condensation. “I don’t even like Perrier.”

“Then why do you drink one every time you’re here?”

“I thought it would be the easiest thing for Brandon to get me.”

Aegon shakes his head; and for a long time he just watches you. Then an idea strikes him. “Do you want to go to the beach?”

~~~~~~~~~~

He takes the 110 south to the 10, then the 10 west towards the coast, then Venice Boulevard until you hit the canals. Aegon parks his Sebring in a tight spot on the street; he has to cut it half a dozen times to squeeze between a BMW X5 and a Volkswagen Tiguan. When he rests his bruised hand on the back of your seat so he can twist around and look behind him, you feel a disorienting sort of loss. Is he never going to touch me again? Then you both get out and walk towards the towering palm trees and beckoning open blue that peeks out from between hotels and surf shops, the genesis of the Pacific Ocean that continues uninterrupted for over five thousand miles to the shores of Japan.

On the way here, Aegon stopped at an In-N-Out Burger. You said you didn’t want anything when he asked—you have no appetite whatsoever—but at the drive-thru window he ordered two cheeseburger combos: Cherry Cokes, grilled onions on the burgers, Animal-Style fries. He paid in cash, because he is full of deceit, or at least that is what you told yourself. And so now you are carrying the Cherry Cokes, condensation sweating out of the cardboard cups as midday heat radiates up from the sidewalk and teenagers on bicycles and skateboards weave around you. You pop into one of the surf shops and Aegon waits outside, bemused, until you emerge with a blue can of Coppertone Sport tucked under your arm.

When Aegon finds a spot he likes on the beach and sits cross-legged in loose warm sand, you set down the Cherry Cokes—ice jingling in the dripping cups—and spray yourself with the Coppertone Sport until all of your exposed skin is glistening with SPF 50. Then you try to pass the can to Aegon.

“I’m good,” he says, opening the paper In-N-Out Burger bag to distribute the contents.

“Do you want to get skin cancer? Are you trying to look like Clint Eastwood when you’re forty?”

He gives you an irritated smirk but takes the sunscreen and halfheartedly mists himself with it. Then he flings the can aside and passes you your burger and fries when you sit down beside him. Aegon takes large, sloppy bites of his burger, grease dribbling down his fingers; you can only manage queasy nibbles at your own. In the waves, surfers are paddling far out and then riding swells back in, skittering to a stop in shallow water or being dragged under by the gleaming sapphire currents. California gulls squawk overhead and dive greedily when Aegon throws them some of his fries. To the north is a jetty of stones to mark the territorial boundary between the surfers and the swimmers; to the south is a long wooden pier for fishing. A group of people are playing volleyball nearby. From their boombox drifts a Red Hot Chili Peppers song; you feel like you’re being haunted by them.

“It’s the edge of the world and all of Western civilization,

The sun may rise in the East, at least it settled in a final location

It’s understood that Hollywood sells Californication…”

“It’s not your fault,” Aegon says. “I’m the one who’s engaged, I’m a decade older than you, I’m sort of your boss. It was my responsibility to put the brakes on, and I didn’t because…” He gestures helplessly. “Because I really like you. And I didn’t want to stop. But you’re not to blame for it and you shouldn’t feel guilty and you didn’t do anything wrong. I did.”

You stare out into the waves, glittering with sharp lacerations of sunlight. “So you wish you’d stopped it.”

Aegon sighs and slurps his Cherry Coke, ice clinking around in the cardboard cup, red and white and reminding you of those zodiac calendars at Chinese restaurants. “I guess. I don’t know.”

“You don’t feel guilty?”

“It wasn’t the first time. I’m sure it’ll happen again at some point. It doesn’t change what I have with Becca.”

You turn to him, revolted. “You just cheat constantly? That’s how you live?”

“Not constantly,” Aegon says, annoyed. “Not even that often. Maybe once or twice a year. I bump into someone at a party or a club, or on a film set, or on a plane…you know. Things happen. But it doesn’t go any further than that and it’s never serious.”

“Never serious,” you echo morosely.

“Never long-term,” Aegon amends.

“Marry me, girl, be my fairy to the world, be my very own constellation,

A teenage bride with a baby inside getting high on information,

And buy me a star on the boulevard, it’s Californication…”

Aegon taps the mostly-untouched burger in your hand. “Eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You said you’d listen to me. I’m telling you to eat.”

His logic is sound. You make more of an effort, washing each bite down with Cherry Coke that you usually never drink, empty calories, fleeting forbidden sweetness.

Aegon is watching you closely, the creases around his eyes deep and thoughtful. “Could you tell me…like, specifically…what exactly you’re upset about?”

“I guess I thought it meant something.”

“I’m not pretending it didn’t. I just said I really like you.”

“But you’re still getting married in September.”

“You honestly believe I’d rip up the life I’ve have planned out for years for someone I met a month ago?”

“I don’t understand how you can have feelings for me and be marrying somebody else. That doesn’t make any sense. When I’m really into someone, I don’t want other people.”

“That’s adorable,” Aegon says, like you’re an idiot. After a moment he adds, rather combatively: “And if you’re such a one-dude kind of girl, who was that guy in your Instagram story?”

You have no idea what he’s talking about. “What guy?”

“The guy on the 4th of July. Young gym bro curly hair guy.”

It takes you a few seconds to realize who he means. “Jace?”

“That’s his name? Jace? That’s not even a real name. That’s like James or Jason, but make it the trailer park remix.”

“I think his parents have money,” you say absently, fascinated by Aegon’s reaction, trying to decide if you want to divulge that Jace is in no way available or romantically interested in you.

“That’s not the point.”

“He’s a friend.”

Aegon rolls his eyes and shoves a handful of Animal-Style fries into his mouth, sopping with melted yellow cheese and grilled onions and secret-recipe spread that tastes suspiciously like Thousand Island salad dressing. “Right.”

“Where are you going after you get married?”

“Becca’s family is in Houston.”

“What’s there for you?”

He laughs, a curt little cackle. “Segway tours, rodeos. The Space Center.”

“What about your family? What about Aemond and the others?”

“If they want to see me, they can catch a flight.”

“If you’re so hellbent on leaving Los Angeles, then what’s the point of this? Just ditch me now. Just give me to some other agent and we can both move on.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, like he is being deliberately stoic. “But I need more time to find someone I trust enough.”

“You can’t think of a single person who isn’t going to try to make me get naked or leap off a building?”

“No, I can, but I need someone who actually believes in you too. And you haven’t done much work out here yet. So it would be better if I had more to show them.”

“Can’t you just forge me another resume?”

Aegon looks at you, a challenge, a dare. “Do you really want to never see me again?”

The truth is humiliatingly simple. “No.”

“Then why are you arguing?”

You toss a few fries to the seagulls; they wrestle over them when they fall to the ground, kicking up golden sand and pecking murderously at each other. “Do you love Becca?”

Aegon scoffs. “Oh, come on.”

“What?”

“It’s a stupid question.”

“It’s an extremely relevant question.”

“Are you twelve years old?” Aegon says, then slurps forcefully on his Cherry Coke. “Life is more complicated than that.”

“More complicated than marrying people you’re actually in love with…?”

Aegon gazes blankly out over the Pacific Ocean for a while, the breeze in his hair and the Coppertone Sport shimmering on his face, and then at last he turns to you. “Okay, listen,” Aegon begins. “About a year ago, Becca got pregnant.”

You’re so startled you accidentally knock over your Cherry Coke, scrabbling for the cup as dark reddish liquid spills into the sand. “You have a baby?!”

He watches you, severe, grim, maybe a little afraid of what you’ll think. “No.”

Then you remember. “You don’t want kids,” you say softly.

“Right. And I didn’t then either. So I told her I’d have absolutely nothing to do with it if she kept the baby, and that my preference was for her to terminate. And that’s what she did.”

You are speechless, you are horrified, you are staring at him and struggling to imagine it.

“I’m not convinced it was unintentional,” Aegon is saying; you are only half-hearing him. Your skull is full of rumbling waves and the shrieks of seagulls. “Becca told me that she moved out here to be an actress and a model, but I never saw her really pursuing that. Once we met, she jumped right into being the perfect caretaker, and some people are like that. They need someone to need them. She was great at it, it was all she wanted to do, looking after me and the house and the Targaryen family Hollywood bullshit that I can’t stand. And eventually Becca started dropping hints about getting married, and I ignored them. I think…maybe she thought having a baby would speed up the timeline. But now she knows how serious I am about not having children. And I’m a lot more careful.”

“So…you’re marrying Becca…out of guilt?”

“No,” Aegon says, exasperated that you don’t understand. “I’m marrying her because I’m who she wants, and she would do anything for me. And being with me is a sacrifice, right? So the least I can do is give her the official title. It works for both of us. It’s good for both of us.”

You still can’t comprehend it. It seems so incongruous with who you know him to be: protective, warm, unconventionally noble. “You pressured Becca into getting an abortion?”

“It was her choice,” Aegon says weakly, knowing that he’d put an insurmountable weight on the scale.

“That’s a horrible thing to do.”

“I know,” Aegon snaps. “What do you want me to say? That I’m a fucking terrible person, that I’m a curse to everyone who cares about me? Sure, fine, okay, you got it. But to my knowledge I’m the only person in your corner, so let me help you for as long as I can.”

You shake your head; none of it makes sense. All of it is awful. They were right. I don’t belong here. “Why do you care about what happens to me?”

“Because you’re kind, and you’re gentle, and you’re real, and you want this for the right reasons, and I’m not going to let anybody beat that out of you.”

You swallow noisily. “I feel really guilty.”

“I’m sorry,” Aegon says, and he seems to mean it.

“I don’t think it’s fair to let Becca go through with the wedding without knowing that we just hooked up in your office.”

Aegon raises his eyebrows and shrugs uneasily. “Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do, but Becca wouldn’t want to know.”

“Why? Do you have some kind of arrangement?” Like my parents do. “She doesn’t concern herself with your cheating as long as she doesn’t have to see the evidence?”

“I mean, has she ever used those exact words? No. But I think that’s pretty close to how she feels.”

You nibble on a fry. Your eyes are downcast, your words hushed. With one index finger, you draw stars in the sand. “That’s so sad.”

Aegon sighs, defeated. “Do you want to ride with me to the Marvel audition or do you want to drive yourself? It’s on Friday.”

“I don’t want you there at all.”

“Well, I’m going to be there. But I can try to stay out of your way.”

You’re sulking. “Why do you have to go?”

“In case something happens, obviously,” Aegon flares. “In case a director or an actor is a creep, in case they want you to do a dangerous stunt, it case they try to tell you to get surgery, in case they lie to you about the terms, in case a million other things go wrong. No one is going to listen to you, but because I’m a Targaryen they’ll listen to me.”

“You’re my hero,” you say sarcastically; it comes out more miserable than mean. You’ve never been good at cruelty. It’s not a language you speak.

“I’m the best you’ve got,” Aegon pitches back, and you sit with him in heavy silence under the sizzling afternoon sun for a long time, neither of you speaking, neither of you moving to leave.

An hour later, back in Elysian Park, Aegon parks his Sebring curbside and says Brandon will text you the address for the Marvel audition. You thank him briskly and impersonally. Aegon jogs up the concrete steps and into his half-duplex; you begin walking down the sidewalk towards where you parked your 2003 Honda Accord this morning. You are most of the way there when you see her approaching: long dark hair, wide-leg jeans, bridal white crop top, carrying a massive bakery box. Becca is beaming and humming to herself, but when she spots you she jolts to a halt.

“Hi, Becca!” you say very cheerfully, overcompensating.

“Hey,” she replies flatly, then goes to pass you, heading towards Aegon’s office.

“Wait, sorry, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Reluctantly, Becca stops and peers at you, agitated, guarded, unwelcoming. “What? I’m busy. I have wedding cake samples for Aegon to taste.”

“Oh neat, that’s so fun!”

She glares at you, waiting.

“Okay,” you start. “Um….well…I just wanted to…um…Becca, there’s something I feel like I need to confess to you, and I want to profusely apologize because even though it wasn’t planned, I still knew better and I should never have—”

“You people,” Becca hisses, and you gape at her, bewildered.

“Sorry, what?”

“Always trying to break us up,” she seethes hatefully, defiantly. “Always trying to tear us apart. You think you matter enough to jeopardize what Aegon and I have? He comes home to me, always, and no one can change that. You think I don’t know loving a man like that means having to share him with the world? I know it. But you should know you’ll never get to keep him.”

“No, Becca, that’s not—”

“And if he was going to leave me, he has better options than you.”

Her hands are full, but she lowers a shoulder and shoves you hard with it, and you go stumbling backwards, your feet twisting out of your wedges. Pain bolts up through your left ankle and you yelp as you collapse onto the front lawn of a small yellow house. When you look up at Becca, staggered and appalled, she is sashaying swiftly up the sidewalk and is already halfway to Aegon’s office. You grab your wedges and limp to your Honda on bare feet, the concrete beneath them searing under the arid southwest sun.

The apartment is empty, Baela getting drinks with her L.A. friends before jetting off to Paris next week, Jace at one of his infrequent PhD classes. You grab an ice pack from the freezer and shuffle clumsily to your room, flop down onto your bed, apply the ice pack to your throbbing, swollen ankle.

“This day fucking sucks,” you mutter to nobody. Then you turn on your laptop and open Spotify in one tab. You recall seeing a lot of Alanis Morissette in Aegon’s playlist, and you find one of the few songs of hers you already know because it’s your mom’s favorite: You Learn.

As you listen, mulling over Aegon and his mazelike contradictions, it occurs to you that maybe losing his father at such a young age did something to him, scarred him, traumatized him, made him terrified of letting people get too close. Perhaps that is a baseless assumption. Perhaps you are desperate to make excuses for him, to believe that there’s still hope for the two of you.

How old did Aegon say he was when his dad died? In college? That could mess someone up.

Wikipedia once told you that Viserys Targaryen passed away at his Malibu home after a long illness. Was it bad? It had to be, right? A disease that was torturously slow and horrific for the whole family. An experience that wounded Aegon somewhere deep and immutable.

You Google: Viserys Targaryen cancer. There are no relevant results. You try again.

Viserys Targaryen Alzheimer’s

Viserys Targaryen ALS

Viserys Targaryen multiple sclerosis

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

You roll over and stare up at your bedroom ceiling, listening to Alanis Morissette’s serrated mezzo-soprano twang, and whatever is required to be taken seriously as an artist—to make people see you, to make people listen, to earn the privilege of not spending forty years impersonating someone who never feels the siren call of other lives—she has it.

Maybe there’s no profound explanation for why Aegon is marrying Becca. Maybe he really is a fuckboy like Baela said.

Maybe he just doesn’t like you enough.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

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cosmowgyral · 2 days ago

Text

"Lover's Contract: A night of immoral deeds"

▪︎ Nica Schwartz

This is a fan translation, not 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. Expect grammatical inconsistencies.

Since Nica is not yet out in the EN server, there might be terms that will turn out different than what I have used here when he is finally released. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

CW- suggestive content

Chapter 2

The mansion was filled with men and women entwined with one another.

I was not sure where to look. But then, a female member called out to us.

Woman at the club: Oh, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Is this your first time here?

Nica: I heard you can have an exciting night here.

Woman at the club: We can make love anywhere in this mansion and we can do anything we want, inside or outside.

As she was speaking, the woman suddenly began kissing the man who was with her right in front of us.

(Wh-where am I supposed to look….)

When I avert my eyes from the sensual scene, a mocking voice approached me.

Nica: You looked away, how cute.

Nica: But you usually do much more amazing things, don’t you?

Kate: Wha-!

(There’s too much stimulation everywhere.)

The man put his hand on her cheek and they both giggled as their lips parted.

Woman at the club: She’s quite naïve.

After that, Nica put his arms around my shoulders and brought his lips close to my ear.

Nica: Right? But that’s what’s cute about her.

Nica: That’s just how she is in public.

He whispered in a sweet voice.

Nica: But she never lets me take the lead in bed.

Kate: -----!

(I know this is all pretence, but was it really necessary to say something so embarrassing!?)

I couldn't help but frown at Nica, who raised his eyebrows and gave me a teasing smile in a way that only I know before petting my cheek.

(….This is the expression he has on his face when he is enjoying teasing people.)

Annoyed by his smirk and the fingers caressing my cheek, I pressed my body against our intertwined arms.

Kate: Let’s go now, I’m bored.

Recalling the setting we’d decided upon in the carriage, I spoke in an exaggeratedly nasal tone.

Kate: I came here to do something more fun.

Nica’s eyes widen in surprise for a moment, but then he quickly changes his expression and wrinkles appear in the corners of his eyes.

Nica: Sure, but before that, I wanted to ask around a bit.

Nica: I needed some tips for keeping this illicit relationship going.

Nica turned his gaze back at the two of them.

Nica: I’ve been lacking in excitement recently, so if anyone around knows of any enjoyable activities, can you tell me about them?

Woman at the club: What kind of fun are you looking for?

He grinned and twisted his arms around mine, pulling me into a hug.

Nica: An experience exciting enough to immerse you in the ultimate pleasure.

The two of them look at each other and point to a couple sitting at a distance.

Woman at the club: Maybe you should ask the pair over there.

Woman at the club: They’re known as Queen and Prince. They’re one of the most well-known in this club.

(Queen and Prince!)

I suppressed the urge to flush at the mention of the target’s name.

Kate: Thank you, we’ll go talk to them.

Pulling Nica’s arm, I approached the Queen and Prince.

Kate: Good evening, is it okay if we sit next to you?

I called out to the man and woman drinking at the bar counter.

Queen: Oh my, your lover is quite the lady killer, isn’t he?

Prince: I’d like to know what your relationship is but it’ll probably be rude to ask here.

Queen took a liking to Nica and invited him to sit next to her.

(This guy is Prince….)

The man with the Queen had a flirtatious demeanour.

Although they have a similar vibe, I think Nica is definitely a lot cooler.

Nica: I was just introduced to you guys by someone else earlier.

Nica: They said you are the ones who’ll be able to teach me about thrilling experiences that will drown me in the utmost pleasure.

Queen: Hehe, that certainly seems like us.

Nica: Then can you give me an idea?

The Queen laughed heartily.

Queen: How about we swap partners and spend the night together?

Kate: Huh?

Queen: Wouldn’t it be nice to spend the night in the same room showing each other off?

(Wh-what does she…huh?)

(This isn’t something nice at all though….!)

Queen: Besides, I might have developed a crush on you.

Nica smiled as she touched his shoulder.

Nica: Well then, I guess I’ll take you up on it.

Queen: Hehe, then it’s decided! Let’s go.

I hurriedly chased after Queen who had already started walking with both Nica and Prince in her arms.

(What should I do? I just want to go back home now….)

I entered the room filled with anxiety.

Queen: Come on, hurry up and take everything off. The night will be over in an instant.

(Is Nica really going to do it…?)

The moment I entered the room, I found them stripping to their underwear.

(As I thought, this is impossible!)

I tried to turn around but Prince grabbed me and prevented me from escaping.

Prince: Let’s have a great night, girl.

In the next moment, he grabbed my arm and almost threw me onto the bed.

Nica: This one’s no good.

He hugged me from behind and released my arm from Prince’s hold.

Nica: Hey Queen, I know everything.

He looked at Queen who was seductively sitting on the bed in her underwear, and locked the door.

Nica: Your sec. ret.

Queen: What?

Nica: Your husband asked me to help him punish his wife for your repeated infidelity.

Nica let go of my arm and pushed me behind his back.

He took out a piece of paper from his pocket with only one name written.

These are divorce papers…

Nica: He told me ‘maybe I should ask you to do it’.

Nica hands over the divorce papers with the broadest smile I’ve seen today.

Nica: Sign it.

[Chapter 1] [Masterlist] [Bitter End] [Premium End]

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #ikevil nica #nica schwartz #ikevil nica translations #ikevil translations #ikemen villains nica #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #d: omiresources

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maroonshirt81 · 3 days ago

Note

for trope requests-- carcar as chefs in a high-pressure kitchen?

ok so I kinda ignored the high-pressure part here, sorry. I pretty much just used this request as an excuse to write burger carcar content...

______

"PIASTRI!"

Oscar was grateful for his well-trained mask of calm, which, after many years, had learned to endure American tourists, small explosions, country music blaring in their kitchen 24/7—despite this being an Australian burger joint—and overly passionate co-workers bursting through the door, yelling his name in a pitch that could probably summon an entire flock of seagulls to terrorize their customers.

Otherwise, he might have sliced right through his fingers instead of the carrots he was chopping.

“Oh, happy days,” he muttered without looking up. “You’re back.”

“Yes, and I immediately need another holiday!” Carlos was fuming, waving a flyer in his hand. Slamming it down on the counter next to Oscar’s cutting board, he squawked, “What is this?”

“Our new bestseller,” Oscar said. He didn’t need to look at the flyer to know exactly what had Carlos so worked up. He’d been looking forward to this reaction for the past two weeks.

“Oscar!” Carlos cried. “Why is it black?”

“Activated charcoal, Carlos. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it. It’s been a thing for years.”

“I know what—” Carlos started, but gave up his attempt at a reasonable argument halfway through, opting to whine instead. “You cannot possibly expect me to cook this abomination!”

“I don’t,” Oscar said with a shrug. “But Zak sure does. He loves it! It’s got Wagyu beef.”

“It’s got carrots!” Carlos screeched.

“Exactly. Which means we can advertise it as healthy. Low sugar, high protein, detox benefits thanks to the charcoal… So many buzzwords for the menu boards.”

Carlos looked about ready to tear at his very pretty hair—hair that should have been covered by a hairnet, considering he was standing in the kitchen. He must have seen the flyer and immediately lost it.

“Of course it is high in protein!” he cried now, flailing his arms so wildly that he almost took out Lando, who was trying to squeeze past him with a tray of finished orders balanced in his arms. “It is a burger! It has two different types of meat! Who is falling for this crap?”

“Paying customers,” Oscar offered helpfully.

“Because paying customers are idiots!” Carlos yelled, flailing even harder.

“Mate!” Lando ducked underneath Carlos’s swinging hands again, this time freed from the plates he’d been carrying. “Look, just be glad you managed to talk Zak out of that Hawaiian burger idea last time and call it a win.”

Oscar took advantage of the distraction as Carlos shot his best mate a betrayed look and pulled an extra hairnet out of the pocket of his apron.

“Lando’s right,” he said as he tugged the net over Carlos’s head until he looked less like a movie star and more like someone’s cranky granny, just like the rest of them. “Now stop yelling about our customers being idiots when they’re only a door away, and start chopping some carrots, yeah? Otherwise, Zak might just send you on a permanent holiday next time.”

Carlos just blinked at him, wide-eyed, his jaw still unhinged. Oscar was pretty sure he’d managed to make him so angry that a fuse had blown in his brain.

He had kind of missed that look these past two weeks.

“Oscar,” Carlos finally growled, snapping out of it. He jabbed his index finger into Oscar’s chest, glaring. “After work, I will make you a burger. A normal, classic burger. And it will be so good, you never want to eat anything else again.”

“Hm,” Oscar said, turning back to his carrots. “Reckon we’ll see.”

****

Oscar sat at a table in the empty restaurant while Lando shook his arse to a country song he, unfortunately, knew the lyrics to from start to finish, using the broom in his hands more as a stiff dance partner than the cleaning tool it was supposed to be.

His stomach was growling, but Carlos was deliberately taking his time, insisting that perfection couldn’t be rushed.

Which was ridiculous because burgers were literally fast food. And Carlos was making the simplest one of them all.

Finally, the kitchen door swung open, and Carlos stepped in with a plated cheeseburger, carrying a mouth-watering, delicious smell along with it.

“Here you go,” he said, setting the plate down in front of Oscar with a flourish. “Perfection!”

It actually did look like perfection. Greasy, slightly soggy, and definitely not instagram-worthy, cheese melting off the sides and pooling onto the plate. Oscar gave him a polite smile, then brought his fingers to his mouth for a sharp whistle.

A moment later, the kitchen doors swung open again, and Danny strolled in. He must have found a sparkler somewhere because the black-bunned burger on his plate was adorned with one, making his grand entrance even more dramatic. He was grinning from ear to ear, more than happy to assist in Oscar’s mission to be an absolute menace to their co-worker.

“What is this?” Carlos groaned as Danny reached him, setting the burger down on the table before promptly forcing Carlos into the chair in front of it.

“One Piastri burger, extra carrots,” Danny announced, pulling a paper bib from his pocket and tying it around Carlos’s neck like he was an uncooperative toddler. Which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth right now.

“There is no way I will ever eat this monstrosity!” Carlos protested.

“Well, that’s not really fair, is it?” Oscar pointed out. “You keep critiquing my creations, but on what basis? You’ve never even tried one.” He gestured toward the burger sitting on his own plate. “I mean, I agreed to try yours, didn’t I?”

“Because mine is a perfect, classic burger!” Carlos argued, flailing his hands again. “And yours is a representation of everything wrong with the world!”

“Mate,” Danny said, patting Carlos on the back, though not very soothingly. “Come on. One bite won’t kill ya!”

“I’m not so sure,” Carlos muttered, scowling down at the burger like it had personally wronged him.

Lando, glad for the distraction, tossed his broom aside and joined them at the table, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Carlitos!” he snickered. “Come on, it’s time for you to grow up! Time to try a Piastri special!”

Carlos shot him a dangerous look from beneath his thick eyebrows.

“If you do it,” Lando continued, “I’ll take your opening shift tomorrow.”

That actually made Carlos pause in thoughtful consideration. He lifted his head to look at Oscar, who raised a challenging eyebrow, and finally, Carlos groaned.

“One bite!” he declared, putting the burnt-out sparkler away and gingerly lifting the burger off the plate. Oscar did the same with his own. They shared one last look before simultaneously biting into their respective burgers.

Oscar barely managed to suppress a moan. Because, obviously, Carlos’s burger was heaven. It practically melted on his tongue, the perfect balance of bun, meat, and sauce. The pickles and cheddar complemented each other flawlessly. He felt like he might float right out of his seat and into another plane of existence.

Next to him, Carlos was making actual gagging noises, only barely managing not to spit the burger back out. Danny crouched beside him, phone in hand, capturing the moment on video, while Lando was doubling over, making his signature dying-seal noises.

“Mate,” Oscar said, maintaining his outward calm despite wanting to laugh along with them. “You are such a drama queen.”

“I think I’ve been poisoned,” Carlos wailed, grabbing Danny’s hand and pressing it against his forehead. “Do I have a fever? Please, call Triple Zero!”

Oscar rolled his eyes, then set his own delicious burger back on his plate, swapping it with Carlos’s.

“There,” he said as Carlos suddenly fell silent. “It’d be a shame to waste it.”

Lifting the black-bunned burger to his mouth, he took a big bite right from the spot where Carlos had nibbled and chewed with exaggerated satisfaction. It was… well, truth be told, it had never been good to begin with, but after tasting Carlos’s masterpiece, it was downright miserable. Still, Oscar chewed like it was the best thing he’d ever eaten—carrots and all.

Carlos was staring at him again, dumbfounded.

“Honestly think mine’s better,” Oscar lied through his teeth.

Carlos didn’t even take the bait—just kept staring, which, unfortunately, meant Oscar had to take another bite.

“Are you gonna eat that?” Lando piped up, already reaching toward the cheeseburger sitting in front of Carlos.

Carlos snapped out of his stupor just in time to smack Lando’s hand away, hard enough to make him screech.

Then he grabbed his burger, looked Oscar right in the eye, and brought his mouth down to where Oscar’s bite mark was.

****

“You know, there are so many better ways to flirt with him,” Lando chattered as they unloaded the dishwasher the next morning. “Just ask him for a round of golf. He’d never say no to that.”

“I hate golf,” Oscar said flatly. “And it’s not like I want to date him.”

“Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that,” Lando said, rolling his eyes.

Oscar shrugged. “It’s not like you have to understand. We have our own dynamic, and it’s rooted in unfounded dislike and competitiveness. I think it’s exciting.”

“You think a walk along the pier is exciting!” Lando pointed out.

“So would you if you’d ever been chased straight into the sea by a flock of seagulls!”

“Everybody’s been chased straight into the sea by a flock of seagulls, mate! This is Melbourne!”

Oscar let out a noncommittal grunt, hoping that would be the end of it. He wouldn’t even have minded if Lando went and put on some country music again. Ever since last night, when he’d had his little burger date with Carlos while Lando and Danny danced through the background belting old Taylor Swift songs, he’d kind of opened up to the genre.

Unfortunately, a conversation about Oscar’s weird crush on Carlos was to Lando what an open bag of chips was to the common Melburnian seagull.

“I just think coming up with dodgy burger ideas specifically to piss him off is a little much,” Lando continued, taking a stack of clean plates out of Oscar’s hands. “I mean, I get it—he’s very pretty when he’s pouting, but—”

“Lando,” Oscar interrupted. “Remember that one burger idea I had a few months ago? The one I didn’t take to Zak because you got on your knees and begged?”

Lando blanched immediately.

“The salmon burger?” he asked, gulping.

“Right,” Oscar said. ““Reckon it’s time to bring it back? Maybe we could even do an Aussie breakfast burger with poached eggs and smoked salmon. Think those’d fly right off the shelf. We’ll just use the slimy, raw fish so you don’t have to cook any of it.”

“Osc!” Lando squeaked in horror. “Please! I’m shutting up! I’m so shutting up!”

“On the other hand,” Oscar continued, stroking his chin as if deep in thought. “Picture this: a Spanish burger. We could do a chorizo patty, some Manchego cheese, pair it with aioli and olives… Call it the ‘Sainz Special.’ He’d love that, wouldn’t he?”

“Oscah…” Lando wheezed. There were actual tears in his eyes, and the stack of plates in his hands wobbled dangerously.

“He’d love that, wouldn’t he?” Oscar repeated, unfazed.

“Fuck,” Lando snorted, barely managing to set the plates down on the counter before they toppled over. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were shy. Or nice!”

“He’d—”

“—love that,” Lando finished, mirroring the small, slightly evil grin on Oscar’s face. “I think he’d be absolutely gassed!”

#oscar piastri #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #f1 rpf #carcar #oscarlos #carloscar

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rynwritesreid · 3 days ago

Text

You found me| Spencer Reid

A/N: you know that episode where Derek is making Garcia and Reid do a field/physical test? Yeah that is my inspiration for this😋

Summary: Spencer needs to get fit for a physical, and you know just the trick ;)

Content: Fem! Reader. BDSM themes (dom/sub dynamics). Primal play. Mentions of marking (tattoos and marks from spanking). Nicknames (only princess and good girl). Orgasm denial. Oral (both Male and female receiving). Spencer is our consent king in this though!)

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer had been working out, which for someone who had hated exercise and had turned you down every time you had invited him to come on a run with you, is weird. You wanted to ask him what was going on, there was obviously a chance he just wanted to get fit, but something was telling you that just wasn’t it.

You were sitting on your sofa, when you heard your front door unlock and Spencer come through. He was sweating and practically panting, you recognised this look though, it was someone who had just come back from a run. Instead of greeting you, he walked straight to the fridge grabbing a bottle of water

“Spencer, what’s going on? I have never once seen you go on a run. Is everything okay?” Spencer took a long swig of water before finally turning to face you, his breathing evening out. “Yeah, everything is okay. It’s just the FBI are making me, and Garcia do a physical.” He paused briefly, as he tried to catch his breath some more, “and as you know, I don’t work out, so I’m scared I’m not going to pass.”

You pat the side of the sofa next to you, inviting him to sit down. “We’ll lucky for you, you’ve got your own personal trainer right here,” you tease, giving him a little wink. Spencer chuckles slowly as he takes a seat beside you, leaning back against the cushions.

“I don’t want you to go out of your way to train me.” Spencer has never been one to ask for help, and unless push comes to shove, he never takes the help people offer him. “I won’t be going out of my way to train you, and you know I love running.” Spencer doesn’t respond though, you know he will be thinking it through. “Plus, if you want, I can make it fun for you. I have a few tricks up my sleeve to make it enjoyable.”

“Oh really? And what might those be?” he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You practically know everything about him, what motivates him, what makes him smile and laugh, and what makes him talk when he’s going through something. You could tell him that you’ll watch every single doctor who episode, or go to that Russian film festival with, but he knows you’d do that anyway.

“I can make it a game, give you a reward,” you give him another wink. “But before I suggest anything, maybe you should do some homework, just to make sure it would be something you’d enjoy.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow, “alright, I’m listening. What kind of game are we talking about here?” you let a small giggle, but you could feel your cheeks heating up. You had done what you were to suggest before, but not with Spencer because you thought he would hate every second of it.

“Okay, don’t laugh at me, and you can absolutely say no.” But Spencer just smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I won't laugh, I promise. Tell me what you have in mind." You let out a sigh, “erm okay. I…” you pause, maybe you shouldn’t be bringing this up, but it’s too late now “oh god, okay I just need to spit it out. Maybe, we could turn it into primal pay.” You watch his reaction, but he just continues to smile at you, “you know what it doesn’t matter, I’m sorry.”

Spencer's smile only widened at your suggestion, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Primal play, huh? I've never tried that before," he said, clearly intrigued. "It could be fun to give it a go."

You couldn't believe he was actually considering it. Your cheeks flushed even more at the thought of what you had just proposed. "Are you sure? I mean, we don't have to if you're not comfortable with it." You fidgeted nervously, unsure of what his response would be.

Just like you knew he would, Spencer had researched everything there is to know about primal play. And, unlike what all his friends thought about him, Spencer was a very dominant person. You could psychoanalysis this and say it was because Spencer couldn’t give up control, not with everything he’s been through. But you also knew Spencer loves knowing you take care of him in ways no one else can.

“So, I’ll be chasing you? That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Spencer’s tone was thick, and questioning. “Well, that’s because you need motivation. Plus, I’m already in tune with my body when I’m running. I know when to stop, when to slow down, how to control my breathing and when I should speed up. You need to learn this, and that’s how you’ll pass.” You grinned mischievously at Spencer as you explained your plan.

While Spencer had been working and researching, you’d been planning out a route, one away prying eyes. Indecent exposure would most likely get Spencer fired, and that would wreck him.

“Also, if you think about, you can chase me like I’m a criminal.” You let out a little giggle, while Spencer stared daggers at you. Spencer had done a lot of things to you, he has deprived you of all your senses but touch, he’s gone weeks without letting you cum because you’d pushed him a little to hard while meeting his friends, he’s made you beg, ride his thigh, spank you so much that the next morning it was hard to sit. But this was new to him, and you didn’t want him to do something he was comfortable with.

“And when I catch you, do you want me to treat you like a criminal?” Spencer sounded too cocky for someone who had just started running. You couldn’t help but laugh at him, “if you catch me Spencer, if. You can treat me however you like. But remember I get a 10 second head start, I’ve been running way longer than you, and I know these trails like the back of my hand.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I like the sound of that," he said, his voice low and husky. "It's on then."

“No cheating Spencer, I’ll know if you have started running before the 10 seconds are up. Okay?” Spencer smirked, "I wouldn't dream of it."

You got yourself ready, mentally psyching yourself up. Spencer just stood there and watched, his eyes roaming all your body. “Okay, I’m going to start now Spencer.” And without any other warning you started, you’d done this before, you knew your body.

This was second nature to you, you knew you could outrun him. You had gained a good amount of distance before you heard Spencer’s footsteps speed up. You knew that fear was all a part of this, it was part of the enjoyment. But Spencer been taller than you and having chased people far more dangerous than you made you nervous.

“I’m going to catch you princess, you know I am. So why not just give up?” Spencer was taunting you. But you weren’t going to answer him though, that was just going to give up where you were.

You felt your breathing pick up; your heart was starting to beat faster. “Princess?” Why was Spencer calling you? You knew he would say the safe word if needed. You could feel him getting under your skin, maybe that was all part of his plan.

You started to feel your shins start to burn, you knew you needed to give your body a little break, but you didn’t want him to catch you this early on. You found a tree that seemed big enough to hide, which allowed you to slow your breathing down.

Spencer could see you were slowing down, but he knew you wouldn't give up that easily. He had to be strategic in his approach. As he neared the spot where he thought you might be hiding, he slowed down his own pace, trying to listen for any signs of your whereabouts.

Just as he reached the tree you had hidden behind, you darted out from the other side, catching him off guard. His heart raced as he scrambled to catch up with you, his eyes locked on your back. "Gotcha!" he exclaimed, laughing as he tackled you to the ground.

Spencer was putting a fair amount of weight on you, ensuring you couldn’t wiggle free from him. His eyes were pinned on yours; he could see the fear in them. This is where he would normally stop and ask for verbal consent, but he had researched enough into this, and he knew you were scared of him.

“You did say I could do whatever I wanted to you, didn’t you?” Spencer’s tone was gently, he was making sure you were still okay with this, he wanted you to feel safe with him and that his wasn’t going to push you into something you didn’t want.

“Yes, Spencer, I did say that” you paused as you tried to catch your breath, “and I meant it as well.”

Spencer smirked at your response, his eyes scanning the rest of your body, and he allowed you some more wiggle room. Maybe he knew what you were going to do and wanted you to fight back a little, or maybe he has just been nice. But once you realised you could move, you realised yourself from his grip.

“Brat.” Spencer spat out as he watched you run away, “I caught you fair and square, Princess. I’ll catch you again.” You didn’t let up though, you just looked back a little and continued running.

But Spencer was determined to catch you again, but he also knew this was helping him train a little more. You could feel your legs start to hurt again though, but you didn’t want to stop, you couldn’t stop. Spencer saw you though, he watched as your pace slowed and knew he didn’t have to wait long before he could catch you again.

He caught up to you quicker than expected, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close to him. You could feel his breath on your neck as he whispered, "Gotcha again, Princess."

Without any warning, Spencer lifted you of the ground and draped you over his shoulder, which made you realised he had obviously been weight training. “Why’d you run again, princess?”

You didn’t reply though and just allowed him to carry you back to your apartment. But by not replying, it made Spencer give you a firm spank, but you still didn’t react. You were still draped over his shoulder as he unlocked your front door, and as he reached for his handcuffs

You felt the cold metal of the handcuffs wrap around your wrist, securing them in place. You knew what was coming next; Spencer always played by his rules.

He carried you into your bedroom, laying you down on the bed. "I'm going to make you pay for running again, Princess."

Spencer practically threw you on the bed, which allowed him to take of your trainers and running shorts. “Did you go commando just for me?” You gave him a small nod.

“Your glistening princess, does getting chased turn you on this much?” You blushed, feeling vulnerable and exposed in just your sports bra. "Yes, Spencer," you whispered.

“Now, I was promised a reward for catching you, but then you decided to run off again, which means I’m going to have punish you.” he tutted at you. “How am I going to punish you for that, huh?”

He retrieved a leather paddle from the closet. "This is going to sting a bit, princess," he warned as he raised the paddle high above your head.

Spencer brought the paddle down hard on your thigh, making you cry out in surprise and pain. He gave you one more strike on the other thigh.

You squirmed beneath him, the pain from the paddle strikes mingling with arousal. You were both in pain and turned on.

"Please, Spencer," you pleaded, "I won't run from you again."

Spencer smirked, his eyes roaming over your body as he held the paddle in one hand. "You're so beautiful when you're like this," he murmured, trailing his finger over your heated skin.

Spencer leaned down close to your ear, his breath teasing against the sensitive skin as he whispered, "I promise you, princess, I'll make sure you never want to run from me again."

Spencer started kissing your neck, this didn’t feel like a punishment though, this felt like his reward for you. Spencer lips seemingly were kissing you every part of your body, apart from the part that wanted him to the past. But that was long, his tongue and teeth glided over your clit, which caused you to let out a small loan. You knew Spencer loved doing this, he had once stated that if he died by suffocation by your thigh’s he die a happy man, so maybe he was giving himself the reward.

Spencer’s tongue continued explore, it mainly focused on your clit, his fingers were curling up in your, which caused your hips to book. Which made Spencer stop, his chin was already dripping. “You know I love this tattoo” Spencer stated refer to the little teddy bear with S.R. initialled on its paws that sat just above your pubis bone.

He didn’t wait for your response and continued his assault on your clit. Your heart raced as Spencer's tongue and fingers continued their dance, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing yourself further into his expert touch. The feeling of his fingers curling inside of you, combined with the skilled attention he was giving to your most sensitive spots, was sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Spencer," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the intensity built within you. You could feel your orgasm rising like a tidal wave, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before you would crest over that edge.

Spencer smirked against your skin, his hands never faltering in their movements. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he revelled in the control he had over your pleasure.

You whimpered, needing him to continue, urging him on with your pleas and movements. But he seemingly didn’t care, you wanted to shout at him for stopping but you knew that wouldn’t get you anywhere.

He waited till he knew it had died down enough before starting again. His fingers curled inside of you again, and his tongue swept over your clit with expert precision. The sensations were overwhelming, and you knew that you were close once more.

"Spencer," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper as the intensity built within you. "Please," you pleaded, needing him to finish what he had started.

“Aww princess, do you want to come?” Spencer asked, his voice husky with desire. You knew he could hear the plea in your voice, and you couldn't help but blush at the thought of admitting your need to him.

"Yes, Spencer," you whispered, your voice shaky with emotion. "Please, I need to come.”

Spencer pulled his fingers out of you; you felt your eyes start to water. He had done this before, but this time it felt mean. “Do you think it’s fair that you get to come first, even though you ran away from me when I caught you?”

You shook your head at him, you didn’t want to speak as he would be able to hear your voice wobble. Spencer got off the bed and pulled you to sit up as your wrists where still handcuffed behind your back.

You watched as he stripped himself out of his workout clothes. “Okay, princess. Get on the floor and kneel for me.” With a deep breath, you nodded and slowly moved to kneel on the floor.

"Good girl," Spencer murmured, approaching you. He gently guided you to move between his legs, positioning yourself so that your face was level with his erection. "Now, open wide for me, princess."

You did as he instructed, opening your mouth obediently. Spencer grinned down at you before guiding himself into your mouth.

You could feel his throbbing member between your lips, and as he moved in and out of your mouth, you could taste the pre-cum that had collected there. Your eyes locked with his as you tenderly ran your tongue over the head of his cock, eliciting a moan from him.

"You're such a good girl," Spencer praised, his voice filled with arousal. "You always know just what to do to make me feel good."

You felt your eyes start to water again; he was basically choking you. Spencer placed his hand on the base of your skull, grabbing a handful of hair as he started to take control, his hips moving against your face.

You struggled to breathe as his grip on your hair tightened, but you didn’t really care about any of that right now.

Spencer moaned loudly, his hips bucking against your face as he neared his climax. You could feel the tension building in his body, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before he would reach the peak of his pleasure.

"Princess," Spencer groaned, his grip on your hair tightening even more. But he didn’t have time to finish his sentence before you felt him cum down your throat. You looked up to him, and it was a sight to behold really. His lips were slightly parted, his body was glistening with sweat and it truly felt you were worshipping him like this.

You tried to pull away, struggling to breathe as his grip on your hair tightened, but he held you in place, forcing you to endure the sensation until he was satisfied. Finally, he released you, and you gasped for air, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Spencer looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of satisfaction and dominance. "Good girl," he said again, reaching down to stroke your hair gently. "I think you've learned your lesson."

Spencer helped you stand up, his eyes drifting to your knees he knew they were going to be bruised in the morning. “Now I think I should let you come now, huh princess.”

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maskedcrawford · 2 days ago

Text

Drinks and Kisses

Choi Seunghyun x F! Reader

Summary: Seunghyun see's a pretty bartender and decides he wants to try his luck.

Warnings: None, just fluff my darlings.

A/N: Hope this was what you wanted sweet Anon. This was really fun to write! If you enjoy please consider buying me a coffee

Requests are OPEN

Request Rules

Working an after party as a bartender was always interesting. Celebrities from around the world would come up with their orders, have small talk and go on about their business. After about a year you’d gotten over the starstruck behavior and were a total professional.

However, there was certain tall male that kept eyeing you as you shook the contents of the bottle up for a customer. His gaze was concentrated; he wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation around him at this point. He takes the last sip of his drink, one that was bought for him, but he decides now would be a great time to get one for himself from the beauty behind the counter.

“So, anyway, we were, hey!” his friend says as the male leaves his friends in the middle of the conversation. He’d been trying to find anyway to break the ice with you and figured he’d just wing it. After all, he was Choi Seunghyun, how hard could it be?

You can feel his gaze burn holes in your back, you finish up with the customer and notice him approaching. Out of habit you adjust your shirt as you wipe down an empty part of the table. He stops at the bar and looks at you for a brief moment, the way your y/h/c flows just right, the way your uniform fits to your frame, how even how soft and plump your lips are. He gets so lost in his own mind for a moment he doesn’t realize you’ve caught him staring. A slight blush creeps up your cheeks and you clear your throat.

“What can I get for you?” Your smile is kind, one he definitely wants to see more often.

“A, uh, Whiskey and coke, please,” he chokes out. You give him a head nod and he taps his fingers on the table, for a moment not sure how to break the ice. He doesn’t normally get this nervous in front of women.

“So, what’s a beauty like you doing here?” he asks before slightly cringing to himself. You look at him over your shoulder and see him rubbing his forehead in regret.

With a small giggle you answer him, “I’m working,” you give him his glass and he nods at you.

“Right, of course.” He takes the drink and begins to walk away, thinking about abandoning the mission, but at the last second turns back.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he says a little shy. You smile in response and chuckle under your breath.

“Thank you,” you pull your bottom lip between your teeth slightly and he smirks.

“Do I make you nervous?” his tone is more confident and playful. You let out another giggle by this point, suddenly feeling slightly shy and reserved. You were used to comments about how hot and sexy you were, but not so much the kind and genuine compliments. Your cheeks flushed under his intense gaze.

“I wouldn’t say nervous,” you busy yourself with the inventory to try and appear calm and collected. He takes a sip of his drink and glances around him to see the party slowly dying down.

“How do you like working parties?” You shrug your shoulders as you lean against the back of the bar and notice his body slightly leaning forward.

“I enjoy it. I get to meet a lot of interesting people. I met Katy Perry in Pairs not that long ago, Cristiano Ronaldo at a private party and Adele even hired me as a bartender for her birthday last year,” the sparkle in your eyes wasn’t lost on Seunghyun, he thought it was beautiful the way you spoke with such passion.

“That’s amazing, it must be fascinating meeting so many people.” You nod as you notice his genuine reaction. He wasn’t brushing you off like all he wanted was what’s in your pants, he wanted a real conversation; a connection with you. This intrigued you greatly.

“Where are my manners?” His deep laugh comes out as a chuckle and you move the bar that he’s leaning against.

“My name’s Choi Seunghyun,” he reaches out his hand. As if he needed to introduce himself. You’d been a fan of his for years. But you weren’t going to give that away so easily.

“Y/N,” you shake his hand and become aware of just how big his hands really are.

“What, no last name?” he quirks his brow with a smirk.

“I have one, but you gotta earn it,” you wink at him and his smile grows from ear to ear.

“How about I take you out sometime and you can tell me then?” His tone oozes confidence as you giggle.

“What makes you think you can handle me?” you step out from behind the bar and stand beside him, the party dying more with each passing minute.

“I’m not sure I can, but I’d like to try,” he drags his gaze up and down your body before taking another sip of his drink. You feel that flush come back to your cheeks as you mentally swoon at just how handsome he really looks. Dress shirt and pants, an overcoat and his hair done up nicely.

“Well, I’ll give you points for honesty.” You say playfully.

“So, is that a yes?”

“It’s a date,” you smirk. He sets the glass down and pulls out his phone.

“Let me give you, my number.” You reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone, letting him type in his number, before he gives you his and you put your number in.

“I expect a text with details, Mr. Choi,” you say as you round the bar to finish out the night. He sets the glass down and rejoins his friends for the remaining time left for the party. He keeps his eyes on you the rest of the night, multiple times you catch him staring and every now and again he’d wink.

The party finally dies down and you start packing up.

“I’m heading out for the night,” you hear his velvety deep voice say. You flush at just how attractive it is.

“Have a good night,” you wave politely. He walks behind the bar and walks up behind you.

“What, no good night kiss?” he teases by mumbling in your ear.

“The alcohol has done what it does best,” you think to yourself. Your turn around, half expecting him to want to make out with you right then and there, not sure of how drunk he might be. But instead he kisses your cheek, and like a gentleman looks deep into your eyes and tells you goodnight.

“I’ll call you,” he winks and with that, he walks away confidently, causing you to be eager for the next time you’ll see him.

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bongopowder · 3 days ago

Text

perfect (abbacchio)

⁺ . ✦ .　⁺ jojo's bizzare adventure (abbacchio x reader) ⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺

content (18+): nsfw, oh he hates you...

word count: 4.4k

a tune for you: not another song about love (hollywood ending) lol

Moonlight trickled through the open shutters, the alabaster rays of soft light highlighting the room in uniform streaks, interrupted only by the glow of the monitor in front of you. Map after map, tab after tab, click after click, you persist, shuffling through the information as your eyes strain to continue looking at that damned screen. It had been hours – no, days – trying to figure out where this hideout was, and to no avail, a previously unwavering hope staring to dim with every new dead end. The work usually becomes intoxicating when you sink into it, the circuits of your brain firing with dedication and grit, attention usually unwavering. But it was something about tonight; your mind wandered, shuffling through memories like a filing cabinet, searching for some kind of answer.

You never understood why he hated you so much. What had you really done?

It wasn’t as if you were useless, or a delinquent. Undertrained? Perhaps, you could admit that, but your Stand had only awoken a few months prior, after first meeting Bucciarati and Polpo. Since then, you had been nothing short of dedicated. So why?

You rub your eyes, quickly realizing the futility of being caught up on such uncontrollable things. More important was the map in front of you. Of course.

A gentle knock causes your head to snap in the direction of the nearby door, the emptiness of the room creating a hollow echo.

“Come in,” you call curiously, checking your watch. 10:30.

Bucciarati peeks his head around the door with an appreciative and knowing smile, his hand lingering on the door’s handle as he steps into the room.

“Thought we’d check on you,” he starts, now walking towards the desk. “Any progress?”

We?

You tense slightly as you see Abbacchio follow behind Bucciarati, his unreadable eyes scanning the room for a moment before falling on you.

“You should really turn a light on in here… You’re going to kill your eyes,” Bucciarati says, leaning over to snap on the lamp perched on the desk. The unwelcome brightness causes your eyes to flutter shut for a moment before readjusting with a sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you mumble softly with a nod before turning back to the screen. “As for updates… I can tell you where the location isn’t. No progress on where it is, though.”

Bucciarati hums softly, clearly disappointed as his hand moves to his chin in thought. Abbacchio, on the other hand, makes a sound that can only be described as a grumble, before looking away from the screen.

“Not even a general area?” Bucciarati eventually asks.

“Well, depends on how general you’re looking for,” you reply, gesturing to the map. “I’m certain it’s among these streets, however, it’s probably too large to survey. It’s just… a lot of data to go through alone… Sorry.”

“You need another hand?”

“Well,” you tilt your head in thought. “I guess someone else would help… I think alone I can finish in another few days, but it might be quicker if someone else is available.”

“Abbacchio,” Bucciarati speaks, standing up straight and turning to the man beside him. “Help her tomorrow.” Abbacchio scoffs, waving his hand for a moment before replying.

“She said herself she can do it alone,” he retorts, expression hardening with his mumble.

“She also said it would be faster with help. The quicker we know the location, the quicker we get paid. Now,” Bucciarati continues, placing a hand on Abbacchio’s shoulder before turning to walk out of the room. “Both of you can discuss a plan for tomorrow, and then seriously, go to bed. It’s unhealthy to be working so late.”

A light smile tugs at your lips as you nod, grateful to be nearly done for the day. Abbacchio opens his mouth, as if to protest, but quickly closes it and looks away, nodding with a slight huff as Bucciarati leaves, closing the door behind him.

“So,” you clear your throat nervously, shifting the desk chair to the side before turning back to the monitor. “Really what I need is you to read these files, and-”

“How long is this going to take?” Abbacchio interjects in annoyance.

“I… I don’t know. I mean, if you read fast, a couple hours. Just scan the police reports and tell me where the units were in each of them. I’m trying to triangulate the location,” you explain calmly, trying to soothe your beating heart.

“Fine,” he crosses his arms, standing up straight, narrowed eyes darting across your face.

You nod again, standing up from your chair awkwardly as you put the computer to sleep. Quickly organizing the papers sprawled out on the desk, you try to relax your tensed shoulders, secretly hoping he’ll leave, saving you the trouble of having to engage in small talk. And again, with the quick switch of the lamp, the room is left in eerie darkness.

Much to your surprise, he lingers, body rigid with agitation. He clears his throat as you stand up straight, though you want nothing more than to walk out that door, mere feet away from you.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t want to be doing this either,” you nod and speak quietly, trying to be reassuring as if he expected you to say something.

“Don’t. Just, don’t,” he snaps, his voice strained. It was though you could feel his temper slowly running out. You nod, eyes suddenly finding the carpet very interesting as you wait for him to leave the room.

“Why do you have to apologize all the time,” he mumbles, almost under his breath as he steps towards the door.

“What?” you reply, though quickly regret even speaking.

“You always apologize for no reason,” he turns to you, words almost coming out as a growl. “It really pisses me off.”

“Oh, um, I’m sorr-” you pause, swallowing nervously before correcting yourself. “I mean… I’ll avoid it in the future.”

“Why?” his question lingers in the air, and in the darkness, you swear you see him step closer.

“I… I don’t know, I just feel like you’re always angry at me,” you whisper the last few words quietly, as if almost afraid to admit it.

“You don’t know why?” he scoffs, mindlessly cracking his knuckles. “You never react to anything…” his deep voice drops further, each syllable accentuated with irritation.

You take a meek step back, your hands meeting behind your back as you look up at him. Pursing your lips, ridden with anxiety, you can only wonder what exactly you’re doing wrong.

“God, why can’t you just be a normal person? Even now,” he rolls his eyes, stepping closer to you. “You’re too damn respectful even when you shouldn’t be. It’s infuriating…”

“I’m… too respectful?” you tilt your head to the side, confusion peeking through your nervousness. “Should I not be-”

Something in him seemed to snap, your words interrupted as he pushes you back into a nearby wall, firmly holding you in place by your shoulder.

“You’re too quiet and agreeable, all the time,” he spits with anger, his body pressing closer to yours. “It’s as if nothing can make you angry.”

His breathing grows heavier, dark eyes looking down at you as he tightens his grip on your shoulder, his other hand clenching into a fist at his side. You’re trapped, his hips nearly touching yours, your back pressed tight against the wall, the palms of your hands sweating against the paint.

“I…” you begin to studder, the words getting lost in your throat as you look up into his eyes.

He leans forward, his face now inches from yours, etched with anger and irritation, yet somehow… conflicted.

“You never get mad, or raise your voice…” he mutters softly, voice still dripping with frustration.

His other forearm moves beside your head, further restricting your movement and encasing you further against the wall. You can feel his hot breath against your skin, noticing the way his eyes travel across your features and down your body.

You were sure he could hear your heartbeat, the way it raced like a drum, pounding almost painfully at your ribs, the sensation growing more powerful as the seconds passed. His eyes meet yours, his gaze now unwavering. He’s so close. Impossibly close.

“It’s like you’re… perfect. It drives me insane,” he mumbles, voice barely a hushed whisper, the soft brush of air tickling your cheek.

“W- what?” you breathe in shock, eyes searching his face in the darkness. “What do you-”

“Shut up,” he grumbles firmly, his eyes flickering down to your lips in the darkness. His grip on your shoulder was tight, almost painful, as his other and traveled down towards your face.

Silence permeated the room, broken only by the mingling sound of deep breaths. The heat of your bodies nearly pressed together was overwhelming, and his hand on your shoulder was like fire through the fabric of your clothes. You search his face desperately, your vision subconsciously drawn to his lips, which softly part.

Suddenly, his expression softened, more than before and only slightly, as if the last of his anger and frustration had begun their transition to something new. Something more dangerous.

Within a second, his hand gently releases your shoulder, fingers lingering on the seam of your shirt before wandering down your arm, his touch light and tantalizing. His other hand now reaches towards your cheek, pushing back a strand of hair and slowly caressing it with his thumb.

“Tell me to stop…” he whispers again, almost desperately now, his vision clouded with urgency and desire.

The words catch in your throat, if there were any words in the first place. You can’t reply, or rather, you don’t know if you want to. Inhaling sharply at his tender touch, you can’t seem to look away from him, your body frozen in an unfamiliar blend of anxiety and yearning.

“You should… You should stop me,” he insists, his hand now moving to your waist, pressing you further against the wall.

But you can’t.

God, you want to. You want to leave and forget this confusing interaction ever happened but the more you look up to his lips the more you feel yourself melting into his touch. He hates you, and you know that, but something about it makes your chest tighten.

It’s conflicting; you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

He felt your breath hitch, and in a second he was kissing you. It wasn’t smooth or gentle, but rather like a crash of waves, his teeth roughly colliding with yours in desperation. And how it was filled with frustration, as if you both resented it but couldn't stop.

His hand found your scalp, pulling your head back and deepening the kiss further as his tongue finds yours. God, you hated it. Hated the way he tasted so sweet, hated the way his hand ran up your body, hated the way you wanted him so badly, as if starved for his touch.

The kiss grows hungrier with every passing second, unbroken even as you both struggle to breathe, mind and body focused only on the sensation of his touch. You feel yourself grow lightheaded, breaking away for only a moment to gasp before his lips crash against yours yet again.

You’re drowning in the sensation of him, stars dancing along the sides of your vision as your hands move to his chest, fingers sliding gently across the opening of his shirt. He groans, the sound swallowed by the proximity of your lips, just as he shifts his grip to your waist, pulling you closer into him.

A soft moan escapes your lips as you feel your hips press against his, your back instinctively arching and eliciting another desperate sound from him. He whispers your name against your lips, tone laced with agitation and need as he grinds his hips against yours, pushing you further against the wall.

“Abbacchio-” you whimper back, only to be silenced as he plants a wet kiss just below your jawline.

“Just… be quiet,” he grumbles, lips grazing your neck before he rests his forehead against the wall behind you. You hear his breaths coming in uneven, chest heaving up and down almost tumultuously. He sighs, and you feel his grip tightening in your hair, the tug making you wince slightly.

Gently, you run your hand further up his chest, fingers brushing along his collarbone and neck before settling in his hair. You feel him shudder under his touch, his hand on your hip tightening as his fingers dig into your skin.

“S-stop,” he hisses softly, swallowing a groan caught in his throat. “I’m trying to…”

You bite your lip, trying to control your own breathing. He’s right; you shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s far too late for reason and restraint. You continue to run your hand through his hair, coaxing another soft groan from Abbacchio who presses his head further against the wall.

“You… you’re too…” the words seem lost in his mind, his shallow breaths growing more erratic as your palm feels his racing heart, his forehead pulling back from the wall. “Too… perfect.”

With the final husky word, his lips find yours again as his hand tugs your chin up to meet his mouth. It’s different from before: just forceful and passionate, but with an inexplicable affection, conveyed by the way his hand traces along your jawline, thumb softly caressing your cheek as your lips continue to move against his.

Your arms wrap around his neck, tenderly pulling your body closer to his without breaking the kiss. He responds almost immediately, both hands moving to your hips as he moves you into him, grinding himself against you.

Your breath hitches as he continues, shifting his thigh between your legs and granting you more friction. He rocks you back and forth, upper body still pressing you against the wall.

One of his hands moves around your hips, running along the bottom of your thigh as he tugs your leg up, hand fingers resting along the inside of your knee and pulling it to the side of his body. His hips move against yours again, the newfound angle drawing more soft moans from your lips.

Those sounds were his final straw, his other hand immediately grabbing your other thigh and pulling you off the ground and against his body. His lips never leave yours, the kiss growing deeper and more desperate as his patience wears thin, evident by his bulge now pressed against your hips.

He pulls you away from the wall, now urgently stumbling towards the desk which you had left, hands kneading into your skin. Your body feels as though it’s on fire, the feeling of your back being slammed onto the desk barely registering as your senses focus on the friction between your legs as Abbacchio grinds down on you.

He quickly lifts a hand to haphazardly shove aside the assortment of office supplies and technology hindering your ability lie flat, the monitor in particular making a crashing sound as it hits the wooden floor. He pulls you by the front of your shirt back up to him, your mouth smashing against his so hard and desperately you swear it’ll leave a bruise tomorrow.

His forearm rests gently on the desk beside your head as he situates his body between your legs again, tugging you down so your hips are flush with his own. He lets out a soft moan as you wrap your legs around him, the feeling of his muscles tensing on top of you leaving a shiver running down your spine.

“Off, now,” Abbacchio’s deep voice commands with fervor, already beginning to tug at your shirt. You barely have time to lift your arms as he strips it off of you, tossing it to the side with surprising forcefulness.

Without wasting a second, his hand slips under your bra, cupping your breast and making your breath catch in your throat. He uses his other hand to tilt your head back against the desk, now nipping at the sensitive skin below your jaw.

Your body is taught with desire, the feeling of his hand beginning to press and squeeze your skin only heightening the sensation. Your back arches as you feel his hot breath against your neck, his free hand moving behind you to unclip your bra.

As it falls to the side, he pulls back for the first time, eyes roaming across your body with appreciation and an undertone of frustration. His chest heaves as a soft sound catches in his throat, eyes eventually trailing up to meet yours in the moonlight, pupils dilated with hunger.

“Perfect,” he grumbles under his breath, the flattering word spoken with a hint of vexation. You open your mouth to speak but are silenced by the feeling of him unzipping your pants, already pulling them off of you, with your underwear quickly following behind.

You gasp as the cold air hits your skin, heightened by the feeling of him spreading your legs once again. He settles between them, leaning over you with a forearm beside your head, his hand beginning to stroke the hair along your scalp.

His other hand drifts downwards, touch gentle and light as he teases his way along your sternum and stomach. You swallow in anticipation, eyes looking up at his as you bite your lip, silently praying that he can see how badly you need him without having spoken a word.

His gaze grows hazy, his eyes shutting for a brief moment as if controlling himself, before his fingers finally travel lower, right where you want them.

He lets out a soft gasp as he feels you, before mumbling something incomprehensible under his breath. As he begins to move his fingers against you, you find your head digging further back against the hard wood of the desk, your hand coming up to grip his shoulder.

Softly, he slips a finger into you, his knuckles curling gently to find the right spot. You gasp soft and squirm under him, your fingers digging more tightly into him. His other hand quickly finds its way to your chin, his elbow still resting on the table as he jerks your head back to face him, his eyes staring deep into yours.

“You’re going to look at me,” he whispers demandingly before his finger begins to move in and out of you, his thumb shifting to press against your clit.

You moan softly, eyes squeezing shut as you shiver in pleasure; his grip on your chin tightens as his fingers pause yet again.

“I said, look at me,” he hisses, his breath tickling your lips. You slowly open your eyes again, meeting his gaze as your body shivers in returned anticipation.

He continues his ministrations, fingers now moving quicker and deeper inside of you as you force your eyes to remain open, studying his features: the slight parting of his lips, his darkened eyes, the flush on his pale cheeks.

It’s now that you can really see the effect you’ve had on him, even in the low light. His eyes are half lidded, desperate and needy but somehow still frustrated. The soft purple of his lipstick is nearly gone from his lip, the edges smeared messily like watercolors.

You gasp as he pulls his fingers out of you, trailing up your folds before resting on your lower stomach. The emptiness almost hurts, the aching in your body returning as you crave more of his touch.

His lips quirk into a smirk, the expression almost feeling belittling as you lie beneath him, your naked form contrasting his fully clothed one.

“Please,” you whimper softly, biting your cheek in embarrassment as the words leave your mouth.

He scoffs slightly, pushing off of you as the smug expression remains plastered across his face. You sit up, watching as he removes his belt, the sound of metal hitting the floor almost electrifying, the anticipation nearly drawing a sound from your lips.

With an almost evil tantalization, he begins to strip, removing each piece of clothing slowly and with intent, eyes never leaving yours. He watches carefully as you study him, watching as his toned muscles contract as he moves, traveling down just in time to watch him tug at his own boxers.

His demeanor is different now, the anger and desperation from before morphing into a possessive dominance. The boxers drop to the floor, pooling at his ankles and leaving him completely exposed to your wandering eyes.

His weight is on you again within a mere second, his bare skin pressing against yours, the heat of your bodies mingling as he captures your lips into another kiss. You moan softly, indescribably desperate for him as you wrap your legs around his hips again, tugging him closer against you.

Sounds of pleasure fill the small room as he rubs against you, grinding his hips against yours, a final tease before the main show. Your pleading whimper is followed by a breathless beg, the words swallowed as he continues to kiss you with hunger.

He finally positions himself, his hand moving to your hip as he holds your body in place, lips not breaking apart from yours. Gasping against your mouth, his forehead presses against you as he finally slides into you in a single, fluid motion.

You feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, the sensation growing more intense as he begins to move against you, the weight and motion seemingly pushing you further into the desk. Unable to stifle the string of moans that fall from your lips, your hand finds the back of his head, gripping desperately into his hair as your breath caresses his face.

“F-fuck… fuck you,” he whispers, voice cracking in passion as his fingers tighten around your hip, sinking further into your skin. He continues to thrust into you with the smoldering passion of pent-up frustration, movements desperate and disheveled but leaving you a crumbling mess beneath him. It’s electrifying, the feeling of his skin on yours, the sensations of his hands along your body, desperately grasping at you as if he can’t control himself.

He shifts his hand from your hip, running it down to your thigh before hoisting your leg up, hooking your knee around his shoulder. Without giving you a second to adjust, he thrusts harder into you, the new angle sending your head lulling back into the wood, your hair tangling as you squirm and gasp.

Your hands grip desperately at the desk, fingers finding a series of files and feeling them crumple under your forceful touch.

As one of his hands rests on your thigh, keeping your leg held over him, the other wanders across your stomach and up to your chest, giving your breast a squeeze without disrupting the erratic motion of his hips. He groans your name softly, over and over, the words spilling out like a familiar stream, as if second nature.

You feel the pleasure beginning to culminate, the heat building as his hips continue to snap rhythmically forward.

“Don’t… don’t you dare… not yet,” Abbacchio commands through shallow breaths, his pace never faltering.

“I’m- I can’t… I can’t,” you gasp softly, body taught with tension already as you balance on the edge of release, trying desperately to hold on.

He pulls out of you, not even giving you enough time to gasp as he grabs you by the waist, flipping you over on the desk. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel your chest hit the wood and your feet hit the floor, your hands instinctively reaching out again, desperate to hold onto something.

A quiet grumble of need fills your ears, paired with the sensation of fingers tracing along your spine, traveling down before gripping your hips.

You hear a deep sigh before feeling the sensation of him slipping inside you again, your trembled moan filling the silence of the room. He wastes no time, already beginning to move again, arguably with more force than before.

He presses his palm down into your back arching your back further and causing a string of curses to leave his lips. Your eyes screw shut and your fingers grip the edge of the desk, unable to focus on anything other than the heat continuing to build in your body, seemingly freezing your other senses.

You can’t take it anymore; the sounds of his groans, only growing louder, in combination with the sensation of his hand now grazing across your body, nearly sends you over the edge.

Another gasp catches in your throat as his hand slips under your body again, his finger slipping between your folds as his hips continue to snap against you. His touch is firm and slightly careless, clearly inebriated by pleasure.

“You… you’d better…” Abbacchio’s mumbling grows more desperate and incoherent with every passing second, his pace speeding up as his finger continues to move against you.

His name rolls of your tongue, becoming louder and more husky as you reach your climax, your body shuttering softly against the desk and seemingly directing him through his release as well. His hips slow, body almost collapsing on top of yours, his chest now pressed against your back and leaving you pinned against the desk.

He sighs softly, head almost nuzzling into your hair as his hand finds the side of your waist, caressing it gently as he continues to lie on top of you. You hear his breaths subsiding, the rising and falling of his chest against you growing less erratic and more peaceful.

You swallow, blinking as you catch your breath and begin to relax against the wood, the weight of his body on yours offering a strange sense of contentment. His free hand glides up your arm, fingers tracing along your skin before reaching your hand. He slides his palm up your wrist, eventually intertwining his fingers with your own before rubbing tender circles along your skin with his thumb.

You’d hate to break the silence. And what could you even say?

Perhaps it is better to appreciate the moment for what it is, with the cold moonlight now a dim flickering through the shutters, his warm breath against your neck, a feeling of drowsiness tugging at your serene consciousness. Whatever feeling of frustration, pent up feelings of lust and passion that were feeling before, seemed to melt away with the night. This current feeling, the lingering intensity of emotion and sensation, alongside the tranquility and silence of your surroundings, could only be described by one whispered, frustrating, and even desperate word.

Perfect.

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