#thursday is suit day sometimes

[sweetnans]

Stuck in the moment || Bakugo, K. (pt.3)

Pairing: fuckboy Bakugo/hopelessly romantic fem. reader

Trope: Enemies/friends to lovers.

summary: You made a mistake, a huge mistake. You fucked the most cocky, annoying, bastard, fuckboy you knew. Bakugo Katsuki. And that fact was against all your beliefs. Now, after the rumor (truth) spread like a pandemic virus in college you'll have to live with the stormy consequences of your acts and whatever trash was brought with it.

a/c: Hey, it's me again. Here we are in a new series I plan to continue. I really hope you enjoy it. I put my favorite man in action (bakugo) being a selfish bastard that you would love eventually and I couldn't help to put another "trope" I'm a sucker for (guardian/father figure Aizawa) I'm so sorry if that bothers you. Once again, I'm sorry if I misspelled something, English is not my first language. (Not proofread yet)

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.4 ♡

m.list

As the week passed, everything seemed quiet about the gossip you starred. Everyone knew and you knew that your act was in everyone's tongue. People's audacity sometimes surprised you, some girls came to you in the middle of lunch to ask you about it and even when you mastered faking dementia they were sarcastic about it saying to you "Yeah right" like you were lying, well, you were but, they had the guts to doubt you in front of your face.

By Thursday it was a forgotten fact. Some junior kid went straight to one of the teachers changing his suit in the changing room and, that was the bomb that dethroned you.

You were finally relieved and breathing easy through the day. The stares weren't aiming at you and Bakugo wasn't in your sight even. It was like he was banished from existence right after you left him hanging in the cafeteria.

You couldn't be more glad.

Friday, almost in the middle of the day, you made your way to the common bathrooms, and to your luck, there wasn't anyone there. You didn't have to make a line to shower or to brush your teeth, it was like all the girls from your building were conspiring about missing class. You couldn't blame them, If it wasn't for Aizawa's class, you would be skipping class too. You surely didn't realize that the fact that the bathroom was empty was only because it was almost noon.

Jirou wasn't in your training class, the group was large enough to put all of you in one class so they made sections with a limited amount of students per class to use the facilities without any capacity problem.

Luckily, Denki was with you.

Once you got into the class, you were almost struck by the invisible line dividing two sections of the class. There were people you knew who weren't in your class sitting on the left of the room while all your classmates were on the right. It felt weird, seeing Denki and Sero sitting so quietly, the absence of the obnoxious noise before Aizawa came and everyone shut up. You were about to make a joke about it when a big hand gripped your shoulder.

"You're on the right," Vlad said guiding yourself towards an empty seat, in between Sero and Denki who were sitting behind you, and Kendo who was sitting in front.

You were dumbfounded. Where was Aizawa? Why was he mixing classes?

Kendo was in the empty seat in front of you. Why were you sitting alone? You were eager to change seats and sit beside Kendo but Vlad looked like he had everything planned, including the scheme of the class.

"What's going on?" you asked your friends behind you and they only shook their heads with the same look at you.

"We were expecting you'd know" Sero shrugged with a worried look on his face.

You bit the inside of your cheek and grabbed your phone to text Aizawa. Was he okay? Was he hurt? He had never missed a class.

"Kendo, do you know what's happening?" You tapped the shoulder of the girl, and she leaned slightly over your seat.

"Aizawa called a day off at the last minute so now Vlad is here taking sensei's class but mixing it up with his own class" she whispered to your side.

"Why is he dividing us?" Denki asked joining the conversation.

"I think he is putting his class on the left side and-

Kendo interrupted herself when Vlad positioned Iida, one of the students of Aizawa's class on the left side.

"Okay, nevermind"

Shota: I'll be out of town for the weekend. See you on Sunday.

Always so talkative.

Shota: Feed the cat while I'm gone. Eri is with me.

Thank god he elaborated a bit.

You were clutching your phone in your hand, looking and trying to decipher why Vlad was putting you and your classmates on different sides of the room.

You: Vlad has this entire map of the class, and he is putting us strategically dividing us into sides. Do you know something about this?

You tapped the send button and waited patiently while the three dots appeared on the screen. He was typing.

"Bakugo, over there. Right there in the empty seat, " Vlad said out loud, making all the students turn their heads to your figure.

Why? Exactly, you guessed. The only empty seat was by your side.

Bakugo glanced at you like you were a minuscule bug in the middle of his way, ready to step on it. He gruffed and walked lazily to the seat where he dropped his gigantic backpack.

He didn't even say hello or something sarcastic like you expected. He was almost as annoyed as you with the change of plans.

Shota; No idea. The cat eats only two cups of food per day, one in the morning and the other by dawn.

That was so dad behavior.

You could hear how Denki was moving on his seat uncomfortably, probably waiting for you two to start bickering like the other day, but you were in zen mode, looking forward to knowing what was the maniac idea that Vlad had on his mind.

"I separated the group in two, we have body combat quirks here on the left and combat from afar here on the right. In pairs, you're going to improve your quirks against people with similar quirks. This mode of training will open your mind because it is one thing to know how to control your own quirk, but it's a different thing to control a similar type of quirk when it's against yourself. Understood? See you in the field"

Lord have mercy.

"Your pair is the one that's sitting by your side. I'll be rotating people from the same side when I see you've excelled"

The last announcement before everyone took their shit and started their way to the battleground had you stuck like glue on your seat. Your streak of not seeing Bakugo all week ended up gracefully having you to prove yourself against him. You could almost feel the burns and the bruises you would have on your skin after trying and failing to dodge him. There was not enough amount of training that would prevent you from ending up on recovery girl.

The class went by exactly how you expected. He was tearing you up into pieces. Every chance he had to blow you up, he used it wisely. From time to time, you had your chances too of using your quirk as fuel, making his own explosion turn against him, popping him out like a firecracker.

"What the fuck was that?" He was fuming, figuratively and literally.

You had the opportunity to bathe him in your dust while he was so busy being cocky with his quirk that he didn't realize the little sprinkles on his suit until it was too late.

"What? This is training class, right? Aren't we supposed to be combating?" You downplayed your move, but he wasn't taking it. "Oh, is it too much for you?

Of course, you couldn't keep your mouth shut.

He stomped big steps with his ginormous legs until he was in front of your small figure. It was amusing seeing the difference between both of your heights. He was at least one and a half head taller than you, and his broad shoulders and back were at least three times your body. You felt petite and scared when his shadow engulfed your own.

"Watch it, princess. If you play with fire, you might get burnt, " he said with his jaw tight, his muscles showing the fine line that demarcated his face.

"Fire? Your quirk is about explosions. I wouldn't grab a fucking ticking bomb even if they paid me" you smart-talked back glaring at him like he wasn't about to throw you out the atmosphere.

"Hey, knock it off," the red-haired friend of Bakugo yelled from the other side.

You looked at him, but he wasn't aiming his accusing eyes at you. He was looking at his friend, who had both hands clacking with tiny explosions at the side of his body. A subtle threat for you.

"Times up! Change partners!" Vlad blew a whistle in the exact moment to stop the chaos.

Fortunately, you ended up with Denki, who gave you enough time to crack your back and rub some of the bruises that Bakugo left on your body. Great, It took you three days to erase the hickeys and now you had an excessive amount of purple bruises to constantly remind you that he had another chance to mark your skin.

After the class that took a couple of hours away from your life, you carried your ass to take a hot shower. Since the class ended a little later than usual, the sun was actually setting when you walked out of the changing rooms.

You checked your phone before deciding on what to do. You didn't have many choices, to be honest, maybe lay down for the night and watch a sappy romantic comedy, the one you would die to live.

Jirou: I know you said no more parties, but they are throwing a big one that we can't miss just a few blocks away, Denki can get us in. Pretty pretty, please.

Jirou: Fuck it, I don't care what you say we are going anyway.

Your fate was already set.

Shota: Don't forget the cat.

And you had to feed the cat.

The walk to the teacher's building wasn't odd to you. Some students found it like a forbidden path to walk on, but it seemed very familiar to you. Many times, sometimes many times a day, you walk through it, fetching something for Aizawa, like his bento that he constantly forgets, or taking Eri for a shopping spree or a quick walk to the park and of course your family reunion on Sunday. It wasn't weird for you to be there and It wasn't weird for the other teachers seeing you there.

You said quick "hello's" to the janitor and went straight to accomplish your mission.

Aizawa's cat was a cranky little bitch who only found comfort in Eri, who loved the cat, and Aizawa who rescued it. You weren't interested in gaining the cat's affection, but secretly, you were more than willing to take it as a challenge. You were going to make the cat love you.

After a few scratches and bites, you were on the floor feeding the cat and scratching her head in return. The cat purred under your touch, and your ego felt the boost, and because you needed to show off your new accomplishment, you sent a video of her to Aizawa.

Shota; Cute. There's band-aids in the bathroom cabinet. Those scratches look deep.

He was a sucker for his cat, and he spoiled her so much that the cat wasn't able to eat alone. You tried to stand up twice, but the cat started growling right away. After she was full, she jumped to the couch and snuggled up until she fell asleep. You couldn't believe the behavior of the cat and how Aizawa was okay with that.

After tidying up the place a little, rearranging Eri's clothes and cleaning up her room, you decided that you needed to go to your own room and get dressed up for the night.

You weren't going to drink.

You weren't going to make out with anyone.

And if Bakugo was there, you weren't going to be near him.

That was settled.

You opened the door to get on the hallway when a loud sound startled you.

"Jeez, watch out" the voice of the person you almost knocked with the door seemed very familiar. "What are you doing here?" Bakugo said glaring at you like he was seeing the most disgusting thing on earth.

"What are you doing here?" You attacked back, crossing your arms on top of your chest after closing the door behind you.

"You know this is sensei's apartment, right? He stated matter of factly.

"Yeah, I know." You rolled your eyes at him while he squinted his.

"So what are you doing here?" He was fast throwing questions and playing like he was a fucking cop. He quirked a brow, and you could swear you heard how he tapped his feet against the floor.

"Chill out, I'm just feeding the cat while he's gone." You did a quick glance towards the door and tried to dodge him and his stupid question. You weren't giving him your time again, not after you had burning marks and bruises all over your destroyed body because of him.

"Why you?" He followed you again and grabbed your arm firmly to make you stay put.

"Why me what?"

You were tired of him trying to talk to you like you were some sort of frenemies, you didn't even know him until a week ago. Yeah, you said things about his dick and the rumor spread like malaria, so what? You got over the fact that every student and teacher knew about your fling with him. He needed to get over it as well.

"Why did he ask you and not fucking Deku or Iida?" He asked.

Oh, he was analyzing the shit. Bakugo tried so hard to play subtle, but he needed to know everything that got under his nose and over his head.

"Uhm, I don't know, let me think... because he is my guardian, perhaps?" You dripped sarcasm all over the floor, but he looked actually impressed.

"No shit, Aizawa sensei is your fucking guardian?"

Fortunately, his jaw was attached to his face.

"Yeah, like you didn't know." You rolled your eyes and shook off his hand that were still attached to your arm.

"I fucking didn't! For fuck sake I fucked sensei's daughter" he exclaimed panicking. Well, Bakugo, tall figure, broad shoulders, muscled back, the man himself, didn't panicked like the other mortals, he panicked like a god, forget the wrinkles around his face, forget eyes wide open, he panicked like the meme of spongebob where a lot of spongebobs are running from fire, that happened in his mind while his face remained stoic.

"I'm not his daughter, and please get over it." You pressed your palm in your face and prayed to dissappear.

"But he adopted you, right?" You nodded. "Then he's legally your pops"

He had a point, and even when you and Aizawa implicitly established that you weren't going to call him dad, legally and in the eyes of the law, he was your dad.

"Your thick skull just can't get it, right?" You pinched the bridge of your nose and remembered where you were standing. Outside all the teachers' doors. "Then yeah, something like that"

"Shit." He looked like he was shitting himself from the news. You couldn't believe that something like that slipped through his fingers. He couldn't believe it either. He was friends with Mina for fuck sake, the real gossiper of the entire place.

"You haven't answered my question. What are you-" you tried again.

He was standing right in front of Aizawa's door on a Friday afternoon. Students knew the unspoken codes, no one would dare to look for a teacher in his own apartment, that's what offices are for.

"How about none of your fucking business, princess" he scoffed like he owned the world.

That's it. Your civilized conversation reached its final point.

"You are a pain in the ass." You showed him your middle finger, and the sleeve of your sweater dropped low in your arm, letting the cool breeze kiss the marks the cat left on you.

"What are those scratches?" He grabbed your arm again, but this time carefully. The pads of his fingers carresing the untended wound. "Was it me? They seem hurtful"

The cocky bastard knew damn well how to fucking pretend. He actually looked concerned, and the fact that he asked you if it was his fault made you spiral in your own turnmoil.

"Aizawa's cat," you murmured, trying to focus on anything but his touch. Vietnam flashbacks of that night came like a hurricane to your brain.

"Yeah, of course he has a cat," he grunted like it was obvious. That made you laugh a little, and he was fast enough to look at yourself with a giant question mark all over his face.

"Why are you so unimpressed by the fact that he has a cat, but you seemed shocked as hell when I told you he's my guardian? Is it okay for him to have a cat but not a kid?

The subtle way of your voice coming to his system made him realize that he was holding you close and that he felt okay with that, so he completely pivoted it physically and verbally.

"First of all gross, I didn't fuck any kid, you are grown ass woman" he let go of your arm and pushed his hands inside of the pockets of his jogger.

A fucking grey jogger you wouldn't have realized he was wearing if he didn't made that movement.

"Can you not-" You looked away for two reasons. One, the embarrassment again, and two, your hormones betraying you again.

He seemed like he had a fixation with your fling mentioning it like he was a broken record.

"Second of all, he barely looks like he can take care of himself, let alone a...you," he said. "Besides, I bet that cat behaves better than you"

"You're so annoying"

"I never wondered about you before, I thought that your existence was a product of spontaneous generation," he shrugged, and before you could leave, he asked. "Are you coming today?"

The party. The question caught you off guard, like you knew there was a party thanks to Jirou, but you never thought that he would address the fact and much less to you.

"What?" Faking dementia your best friend. There was one thing going and expected to see him there and going and actually seeing him there. And now that you knew that he would, in fact, be there, you weren't so eager to show up. You could fake a cold, just as you fake dementia sometimes.

"I said coming, not cumming"

You sprinted to put your hand on his mouth. The teachers could be within the reach of an arm listening to your very casual conversation with him, and he chose to slip away those kinds of things like it was nothing.

"Shut the fuck up," you murmured and pushed him until you were outside the building. You completely ignored the janitor's look. "I heard you very well"

"So, are you or not?" The damn idiot was smiling under your hand but when you took it off he had the same fine line as lips as always.

"I don't know, why do you care" you looked beside him, watching all the students go home or go to parties made you realize that you were late to meet Jirou.

"I don't" he shook his head and looked behind his back following your stare.

Bakugo didn't know what was happening in your head, the gears running and turning to make yourself disappear and reappear in your room to change your clothes real quick with a pissed Jirou talking your ear off about messing with people's time. He instead fixed your staring line with the first person that came to his sight, following your eyes and stopping in the one and only Todoroki.

He felt something hot bubbling inside his body like it was boiling in the pit of his stomach. Without noticing, his brows dropped low in a confused state, and he stared back at you. You seemed like you couldn't take your eyes off of him, and Todoroki was, in fact, staring back.

Were you two friends? He'd never seen you with him before. Was this new? Why was it bothering him anyway?

You blushed and looked at him again, shaking your head and leaving him feeling emotions he had never had before.

Damn half n' half, always trying to take away what's his.

End note: Hey babes! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, next part is all about another party and we will see more interaction between these two shitheads.

A penny for your thoughts about this (not really but express yourself)

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[pricetagged]

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited.

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

-----------------------

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[ncttytrack]

can you do reader giving daddy jake a head while jake is in front of his computer desk having a meeting with his colleagues 😵‍💫

Thank you so much for the request anon!! I don’t know if you meant daddy jake as in husband, or stepdad Jake…step dad Jake sounds hotter so I wrote about that hehe.

Daddy’s girl - s.j

All over the screen it was stepdad-stepdaughter related porn, full on display for you to see. And by the looks of it, Jake had already watched the majority of the videos.

Genre: Stepdad!Jake x reader

Words: 3k+

Warnings: Age gap, degradation, Jake is a creep lmao, dom!Jake, sub!reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You’ve always thought that Jake and your moms relationship was great. You never really knew your dad and growing up without a father figure was therefore difficult for you. That was until she met Jake. Jake married your mom when you were sixteen years old, four years ago to be exact, and it was nice to have Jake as the father you never really had. He really took care of you, making sure to give you the childhood you never really got. 

You had always thought Jake was attractive, like, how could you not. With his perfect smile, kind eyes, and soft lips, Jake was everything you liked in a guy, except for the fact that he was your “new” dad. It was fine until you became legal of age, it was like something happened the day you turned eighteen. 

Every occurrence with Jake at home became weird, from the way he looked at you, to the way he would talk to you, to the way he would sneakily touch you every chance he got. Everytime you felt that someone was looking at you, you would turn around and meet Jakes gaze, shamelessly looking up and down you frame - taking in your appearance in not-so-innocent ways. The way his tongue would grace over his bottom lip, and his eyes would darken when he stared at you a little too long would send shivers down your spine, making you always look away. 

Fuck, and you kinda liked it too. The step-dad trope growing on you because of Jake, sometimes even purposely buying Penelope Douglass books about fucking fathers to calm down the urge you felt every time you saw him. But you couldn’t go behind your moms back, that would be horrible and so morally wrong. Finally she was happy - how could you destroy that?

Today was Thursday, and your mom was at work. Jake usually works from home, having zoom-meetings by his computer desk in his office. Because you want to be a nice step-daughter, you decided that you wanted to fix something for him, hence why you are holding a plate with chopped fruit heading towards his office. You feel your face heaten up as you get closer to his office. Even after four years you never got the courage to visit him when working at home, too embarrassed to be alone with him - especially in his work clothes. 

Jake in his work clothes was something…else, you could say. If you thought Jake was attractive, then Jake in formal clothing was absolutely irresistible. He would always wear black suit pants, along with a white button-up. His shirt would always be rolled up at a perfect height, allowing you to sneak glances at his arms while making his coffee between zoom-meetings. And sometimes he even wore a god damn tie. Oh god when Jake wore a tie you could not take your eyes off him. Shamelessly you would always watch him at home, greeting your mom - welcoming her home after a long day at work, while loosening up his tie with one hand, showing off his skin in the prosses.  

When walking into his office, you noticed that he was nowhere in sight. Maybe he went to the bathroom? Well, you could just leave the plate on his desk, and Jake could thank you later, hopefully out of his work-outfit. 

You walked up to his desk to put the plate down, and couldn’t help but to look at his computer. You were always nosy, and just wanted to have a small peak on what your step-dad was working on. 

But the things on his computer make you let out a loud gasp, accidentally dropping the plate on the desk - making half of the fruit fall from the plate. 

All over his computer, there was porn. Porn everywear. He was watching porn, not working. You hastily grab the computer mouse, scrolling through the site. Omg. And it wasn’t just any porn, it was porn related to you. 

All over the screen it was stepdad-stepdaughter related porn, full on display for you to see. And by the looks of it, Jake had already watched the majority of the videos. 

You looked around the office to see if Jake had noticed you watching his screen, before hastily sitting down on his chair. Your heart was beating loud in your chest while you continued to watch the lewd pictures displaying on the screen. What if he sees you in front of your computer? What would he say? 

Embarrassed, but too curious to not continue, you scrolled through all the videos he had watched.

Step daughter, fucked roughly by her step dad while mom is home

Step dad fucking his step daughter while mom watches 

Step daughter begging her step dad to fuck her on his desk

The room was quiet, and the horrendous titles made you unwillingly clench your thighs. Did Jake watch these videos thinking about you? Wonder which one is his favorite, the desk one maybe? Nonetheless, you clicked on it, watching the video load on the screen in front of you. You bite your nails nervously while the video in front of you still loads, looking up from the computer screen to look around for a second time to make sure that Jake hasn't caught you. 

When the video started playing, you instantly became mesmerized by the filthy scene. You couldn’t stop watching it, seeing the way the daughter was crying for her stepdad's cock on his desk made your pussy clench, already feeling the wetness forming between your legs. Your breaths got heavier and heavier, intensely watching the stepdad get his way with his stepdaughter, ramming his massive cock in and out her absurdly tight pussy. 

You lean back against his soft office chair, massaging your thighs up and down with your hand, teasing yourself, before softly grazing your fingers on your wet pussy over your jeans. You can’t help but let out a small moan, biting your lips to hide the sound escaping your lips. 

Before you could open up your pants, finally giving in to the excitement you are feeling, you suddenly see someone in the corner of your eye. You let out a surprised scream when you see who it is. 

It’s Jake. Shit. How long had he been standing there? 

Jake is leaning against the doorframe, smirking when he sees you sitting by his desk, obviously watching one of the porn videos on his computer. He is still wearing his office clothes. Fuck. And even his stupid black tie. Damn you are really fucked. 

The smirk on his face makes you even hornier, clenching your thighs - something that doesn’t get unnoticed by Jake. “Why are you surprised, baby? It seems like you were enjoying yourself, didn’t think my sweet step-daughter was so naughty” 

You quickly jump out from his chair, backing away while shaking your head, hands in front of your chest to deny his accusations. “I-Im sorry I was just curious- I- I’m leaving now” You say, trying to walk past him before you can feel his hand grabbing your arm. You look up at Jake, and he almost looks angry, his smirk replaced with a stern face. “Where do you think you are going, do you think you can snoop around on my computer without permission, without some sort of punishment?” 

Jake was staring down at you, his grip on your arm beginning to hurt because of his strength. You shake your head again, looking up at him with big eyes, trying to ignore the arousal his harsh words give you between your legs. “Why were you in my office in the first place y/n?” He still holds your arm with his hand, the other now holding your waist, keeping you in place close to him. 

“I-i was just”, you try to form a sentence but you're too embarrassed by how close he is, even being able to smell his coffee breath. You glance over your shoulder to look at the apple bites you cut, still all over his table from when you dropped the plate. Jake looks in the same direction before a smile forms on his face. 

“Aw, baby, did you prepare those? For me?” He says, while tilting his head, his tongue grazing over his lips. If he wasn’t your step-dad, your moms husband, then you would really want to kiss him right now. As long as Jake doesn’t take another step, you could maybe resist him. But by the looks of it, backing down is not part of his plan. 

A hand still on your arm, he drags you to his office chair, sits down while pulling you with him - making you sit on his lap. You feel his cock against your inner thigh, already hard probably from watching you almost get off earlier in front of his computer. You watch as Jake's hand leaves your arm, picking up on the apple bites on his desk, before bringing it up to your mouth.

 “Open up” he says, poking your lips with the fruit. You obligate, opening your mouth - letting yourself be fed by Jake while sitting on top of him. You wrap your lips around the apple slice and take a bite. 

The way Jake was looking at you eating from his hand could only be described as predatory, his mouth letting out heavy breath from arousal. “Does it taste good, baby? hm?”. With the apple slice still in your mouth, you are unable to answer with words, nodding your head up and down. He lets out a small chuckle, while caressing your cheek with his hand, when suddenly he grabs your jaw. 

“Maybe I want a taste too”, he says looking down at your lips before hungrily kissing you. While he roughly kisses you, playing with the barely-there-apple bites in your mouth with his tongue, his hand sneakily rises up inside your shirt. You moan both at the feeling of his hand nearly touching your boobs and at the feeling of his cook against your clothed core. You feel Jake’s smirk against your lips when hearing your erotic sound, his hand suddenly grabbing your waist to push you further down on his bulge. You stop kissing him because of his actions, looking at him with pleading eyes. 

“Fuck, we can’t do this Jake” You really were pathetic. Your words were saying something, but the way your hips were grinding back and forth on his hard cock, mouth agape, forrowed eyebrows just begging to be fucked was signaling something else. You tried to sound so innocent, but really you were just a cock slut. 

“Maybe, but you are making it way worse when you grind like that on your step-dads dick like a slut” You were so cute, your movement in combination with how desperate you look makes him harder and harder every second. He leans back on his chair, and admires your state, grabbing a part of your hair to play with between his fingers. 

“But you’re right, we shouldn't” His words almost make you disappointed, you can’t lie. You kinda wish he got his way with you like in one of the porn videos he was watching. He cups your cheek and you lean into his touch, feeling up his rough hands against your soft skin. He shouldn’t, really shouldn’t, but he can’t resist you. “I know something else you could do”

He suddenly pushes you off of him, and grabs your shoulders - pushing you further down until your knees hit the floor. You look up at him with a confused stare, while Jake opens up new taps on his computer, erasing the porn that before was on screen. “Don’t let out any sound while you do it” He couldn’t mean, could he? “We don’t want my colleagues to find out my step-daughter is sucking me off, don’t we?” He says, now looking down on you between his legs, his eyes hooded and lips red from the kiss. 

He turned his concentration towards his computer, calling up his colleagues for a “spontaneous” meeting. The thrill of maybe getting caught with you makes his dick twitch, causing Jake to let out a moan at the thought. 

Jake looked like a mess. Messy hair, red cheeks, a hand on his cock - massaging it while looking intensely at his computer. His shirt was almost unbuttoned - showing off his chiseled stomach and his tie was hanging loose from his neck. Oh you wish he could use the fabric to choke you, drag you around holding it like a leash.

“Be a good girl now and please your daddy, alright?” He says while unbuckling his belt, right before unbuttoning his pants - pulling them down alongside his boxers in one go.

His cock was massive, to say the least. His tip was red, leaking with preecum - and it almost looked like his cock hurt from how hard it was, begging to be sucked. Jake, already starting his meating, sneakily looked down at you and whispered. “Like what you see baby?”, using his hand to squeeze the top of his cock, making more preecum leak out from the tip. 

Your mouth was watering, softly touching the veins on his cock, making Jake let out a hiss - grabbing his dick to slap it on your cheek. “Start sucking, slut. And don’t you dare tease me”, he says as quietly as possible, trying to not make his coworkers grow any suspicion. He looked up again at his computer screen, smiling enthusiastically when one of his coworkers started to speak, while guiding his leaking cock between your lips. 

Because of his growing impatience, he wastes no time to push his length into your mouth. The feeling of his hard dick into your soft mouth makes him lean back against his chair, glancing down on you. He has to see what you look like with his cock in your mouth. He lets out a small groan when he sees the way you look up at him back, big innocent eyes while your mouth slowly works up and down his length - trying not to gag. Fuck. How could you look at him like that, while having his cock in your mouth? 

His cock is almost too big for you, making you use your hands to jerk him off at the base of his cock. When he sees your small hands trying to fit around his girth, he almost lets out a loud enough moan for his co-workers to hear. You were so cute, really concentrating to please him just the way he wants to be pleased, making sure to not leave a single inch untouched - either pleased by your hand or your mouth. 

Jake has to cover his mouth to muffle his moans, his hips starting to thrust up - fucking your mouth to get closer. This causes you to gag every time his dick hits deep down your throat, tears beginning to form in your eyes. 

When Jake looks down on you, he almost loses his breath. Saliva was running down from your mouth, using it to lubricate his dick to make it easier for him to go deeper into your mouth. The tears forming in your eyes are now sliding down your cheek, your makeup getting completely destroyed because of him. He completely destroyed you, and you let him, and he can’t wait anymore. 

“Uhm, Jake? Are you okay?  Your face is completely red and you're sweating, are you sick?” Fuck, fuck, fuck. If Jake doesn’t come up with a pathetic excuse, then they will definitely know that the reason why he is red and sweaty is not because he is sick - but because he is getting head by his step-daughter. He tries to answer without letting out any suspicious sound.  “I-ah” Shit. 

“Are you hurt Jake?” His other co-worker asks, looking generally concerned by his moan. He glances down at you. The last thing he is right now is hurt. When you see Jake look down at you, you smirk up at him, suddenly deepthroating his dick - every inch of it inside your mouth, down your throat. Jake begins to internally panic of this, are trying to get him caught?

“I-I need to go”, Jake says, and without letting the others answer, he turns off his computer to give his full attention to you. 

He grabs your head and pushes your face down towards his cock, making you let out a painful cry. “Fuck, baby, your mouth is so warm.” He throws his head back against his chair, still holding your head down on his cock to make sure you gag around him, almost getting harder from the pathetic sounds you let out. 

He finally pushes your head back, letting your breath for a second before slamming his cock inside your mouth again. This time, however, he doesen’t wait, but continues to fuck in and out your mouth. “You like this huh? Sucking your step-dads dick in his office like the little whore you truly are?” His words are completely degrading, but the way he says it makes you even wetter, disgustingly grinding on the floor to feel some sort of friction. 

“Yeah, grind your pussy on the floor slut” He says, the pace he fucks your mouth getting faster the closer he gets to cum inside your mouth. You know he is close by the way his moans get louder and louder, his eyes completely shut from pleasure. “F-fuck, baby, I’m cumming” Jake says, shoting his load inside your mouth. 

He grabs your hair, causing you to wince with his cum still inside of your mouth. He looks at you and licks his lips. "Swallow, all of it” You do as he says, feeling his cum slide down your throat, opening up your mouth for him to see that every drop of his cum was now inside of your stomach. 

Jake leans back on his chair, manspreading, and puts both of his hands on his thighs. His cock is already hard again on top of his stomach, seconds after getting sucked by you. He slaps his thighs and tilts his head to the side, looking at you. “Did you think it was over? Now come here baby and ride daddy's dick”

[shibaraki]

HELD BY YOU, FELLED BY YOU ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

tags: GN reader, developing relationship, physical affection, touch starved shouto, loneliness, hugs + hand holding, fluff, only a little angst, obliviousness, pro hero shouto, reader works at hero agency

wc: 1.4K

series masterlist: 1/5

It is 4:03pm on a Thursday afternoon. The skies are grey, and the rain is so light it’s practically a wet fog. You have not touched Shouto in any meaningful way since Monday.

Before this week Shouto was certain that he must have been absorbed into a long-standing state of neutrality and apathy as a child. He didn’t long for anything, atleast, not in the way his friends claimed to. Whiny professions of loneliness, lamenting over romantic relationships and sex or lack thereof, dreamily recounting their passionate escapades. It didn’t appeal much to him.

Shouto had what he needed to survive—to live his day to day and climb the ranks without disruption, and it seemed that affection was not one of those things. The Todoroki household had never been particularly affectionate anyway. After his mother was admitted to the psychiatric hospital touch became less associated with comfort and happiness, and more of a thing to avoid altogether.

Shouto never actually voiced an aversion to touch. He held hands with crying children as he walked them back to their parents. He rubbed the backs of countless scared victims, he let them wrap around his arm and squeeze until his fingers grew numb. He offered his left side to elderly folk in the colder weather as they waited to be loaded into an ambulance.

But these small instances were always initiated by him, and his well-meaning friends decided to leave the ball in his court sometime during highschool. It never really left.

Until—

“Can I hug you?” you blurted. Your expression quickly twisted into a sheepish grimace. “You look like you could do with one, is all”.

At that moment Shouto had been sitting in the infirmary half covered in soot and picking out the bits of rubble that managed to get inside his suit’s ventilator. He stared up at you and wondered what that would even look like on himself, lifting a hand to feel his face and finding it relatively normal.

The sound of his heart flooded his ears and he frowned at the reaction. You weren’t a new friend by any means, but Shouto scarcely made new friends so you are newer than the others. You’ve never tried to be physically affectionate but he’s caught you gazing at him fondly sometimes, when you think he’s none the wiser, and he likes it.

Shouto nodded. Why, he doesn’t know. To quell your anxiety and get rid of the awkward atmosphere, he reasoned. Then your lips pulled into a soft, pleased smile, and he felt it like the sun on his face.

You stepped forward as though approaching some skittish animal. Shouto made no move to stand. He had only watched with trepidation as your hands lifted. A breath caught in his throat as they extended to rest on his sloped shoulders. “I’ll get you dirty,” he murmured dumbly in afterthought.

“That’s okay,” you replied, barely above a whisper. Your arms slipped around his back gently, and soon tightened to a secure hold when no objection came—there could be none, because the instant Shouto’s cheek pressed against your soft stomach, a rush of adrenaline speared through him and swept away all conscious thought.

To Shouto touch was like skipping a rock through the cavity in his chest; doing it only ever made its presence more obvious. But you cradled him there for what seemed like hours and he felt warm in ways he couldn’t articulate. Your fingers danced aimless patterns along the top of his spine, sometimes pausing to curl the wispy hair at his nape around them, and he sank.

True to his word, Shouto had dirtied your clothes. He apologised when you pulled away because it was all he could do not to whimper. You didn’t spare your shirt a glance—you just smiled at him again, and said you hoped it helped.

Helped? Helped?

The weight of your embrace had lingered for hours, cloven to the forefront of his mind, clinging to the memory before it became too obscure. Only now the memory hurt him to think about, and the pervasive ache for more intensified as the days passed.

Just this morning he’d wrapped his bedsheets tight and drew them around his shoulders to simulate that same feeling. Closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, picturing you there. Your sweet, purposeful touches. Your comforting scent. Your chest rising and falling. Your voice rumbling against his cheek. Heat filled his body, like you’d reached inside and turned the spigot of his heart.

It was mortifying. And exhilarating.

Shouto stuck his hand out from the shelter of the awning and let the rain lick at his fingers. Overturning his wrist, catching them on the shallow of his palm, he contemplates how he can get you to touch him again.

Last time you said he simply looked like he needed it. Too frustrating and vague, not to mention Shouto has been needing it all week. You could have meant his grimy post-battle appearance, but he didn’t really think this should warrant being thrown from another high rise building. Maybe he has to earn it this time.

You’re standing beside him, too preoccupied by the emails on your phone to notice his dilemma. Things have been fine. No awkwardness on your part, which he should probably be pleased about, but his mind keeps veering beyond rational conjecture. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. It all felt too one sided.

Shouto gives you a sidelong glance. You might be the only person he knows that can look alluring in the dreary afternoon light. With a sigh he lets his hand drop to his hip and wipes it on his dry suit.

Your thumbs move fast across the screen. “Sorry, Shouto. I promise I’m not ignoring you—just need to reply to this intern,” you tell him. “God, have I ever mentioned how much I hate the email software your agency uses? Because I do”.

He hums, “You have”.

Whatever you hear in his voice has you looking up. There’s a crease etched in your brow, expression open and apologetic. Your gaze flickers to the hand held to his front, where he’s working out the static in his knuckles.

“Are you cold?” you ask, pocketing your phone. It’s a silly question. He is a walking furnace. But Shouto is statuesque as you reach to cup his distinctly bigger hand with your own. Heat prickles under his skin. The staccato of his heart kicks up. You lean down to exhale a warm breath over his fingers, and stroke your thumb along the dips and peaks of his knuckles.

Shouto sends a mental apology to Kaminari for the halfhearted response he gave after a long, lovestruck monologue about his girlfriend’s hands. He thinks he gets it, now.

Your lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Better?” you scan his face and the smile falters. “Shit. Sorry, Shouto. I should’ve asked,” then you’re retreating again and—

He reflexively grabs your wrist. It’s a loose grip, enough for you to free yourself from. You pause. “No,” a puff of steam billows out from his mouth and he has enough presence of mind to be embarrassed by it. “…It’s fine. You don’t have to stop”.

Your concern dwindles into amusement as he wafts it away. “Alright,” you say placatingly. The tension alleviates, and when your fingers slip against his you immediately twine them together, taking the ache in his chest with it. “Is this ‘fine’ too?”

Shouto nods, not yet trusting his voice or his quirk.

“I wasn’t sure if I crossed any lines on Monday,” your eyes dipped to stare at the pavement as you continued. “I know you aren’t touchy feely like the others. They were… surprised when I mentioned the hug”.

“I didn’t think I was,” he swallows, flexing his fingers to squeeze your hand. “I liked it”.

You squeeze back, “You did?”

Shouto squeezes harder, and can’t stop the smile coming unbidden to his lips. “I did,” he says.

You meet his gaze. He’s pinned by that fond look you always try to hide from him. “Do you want another one, then?”

“But I didn’t do anything”.

A litany of emotion passes over your face at his response. There’s determination in the purse of your lips as you step into his space, entangled hands caught between your bodies. Wrapping an arm around his waist, you tuck your nose into the hollow where his jaw met his neck.

There’s a clumsiness to his movements as he follows your lead and slips his arm around your back. Head suddenly too heavy for his neck, he rests his cheek on your crown, melting into the embrace.

“You don’t need to earn my affection, Shouto. Not now and not ever”.

“Oh,” Shouto breathes. “I can just ask?”

“You can,” you laugh softly.

Why hadn’t he thought to just—ask. That is far more reasonable than being flung from another burning high rise.

“What?”

Ah. He pulls you further into his chest until you’re pressed together like the pages of a book. “Nothing”.

[javier-pena]

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5k (so much for short drabble)

Rating: Mature

Summary: You work for the DEA in Colombia. Until one of your missions goes terribly wrong.

Warnings: hurt/comfort | attempted rape (nothing too graphic) | smoking | reader is being held captive | historical inaccuracies | period-appropriate sexism | difficult father-daughter relationship | canon-typical violence (kind of graphic) | panic and distress | brief description of wounds 

Notes: This is the first fic for my 10k follower celebration!!! Thank you, @lokischocolatefountain who requested “I’ll be here when you wake up” with Javier Peña. I hope you like it 🤭 This fic was very much inspired by Gabriel García Márquez' "Noticia de un secuestro" ("News of a Kidnapping") which I highly recommend if you're interested in what Narcos (Season 1) only covers in two episodes, namely the kidnappings of prominent figures in Colombia by the Medellín Cartel in the early 90s. As ever, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who took the time to ask, "What does this mean?" and made me realize that I, in fact, don't know the answer to that question.

***

It’s night again. Or maybe it’s dawn. You don’t know. The blacked-out windows don’t let in any light. Your days are no longer structured according to the laws of nature (morning – midday – afternoon – evening – night), but according to the laws of your captors (wake up – bathroom – food – nothing – food – sleep). Maybe you’re awake all night and sleep all day. Maybe you only sleep for four hours and are awake for twenty. Neither your mind nor your body can tell the difference any longer.

Right now, for example, you’re in the “nothing” part of your day. It’s just you, rolled up on your mattress in your corner, and your thoughts, looping and looping, making you relive how you ended up here, in this room, somewhere in Colombia. And every single day, right at the end of “nothing” and the start of “food”, you come to the same conclusion: It’s all your fault.

It started with your childhood, you think. No, you can’t blame everything that went wrong in your life on your father, but he certainly did his bid – no matter what you did, it was never enough. Not even when you applied for a transfer to the embassy and you got selected, the youngest woman in DEA history who got an assignment like that. All he had to say to you was, “Huh”. So of course, you had to do better than that.

Here, in Colombia, you found yourself surrounded by men just like your father, old men in suits who sneered at you, confusing you with a secretary, asking you to make coffee and take notes. Old men with guns and enough war stories to fill a book, calling you “little lady” and pinching your cheeks. Old men that were just there, leering at you from corners and doorways. And they all had the face of your father.

Still, no one forced you to raise your hand that Thursday afternoon your floor ran out of coffee, the same afternoon Noonan called you all to a meeting and asked for a volunteer. “Dangerous assignment,” she said, “likely to get you killed.” You should have listened to her. But the looks on all those faces when you raised your hand and said, “I’d be happy to do it,” were worth it. Almost. Because, ultimately, it was the beginning of the end.

One of the men on guard duty today swears loudly and another one growls at him to be quiet. Sometimes they forget there’s a life outside those blacked-out windows and they’re not the only people in this city. You forget that too, but then you hear the voices of people living their lives, the sound of a car backfiring, a dog barking somewhere. If one of you makes the wrong noise, surely, you’ll be discovered.

The three men with you today (tonight?) know that, and so do you. They’re playing cards by the light of a dirty kerosene lamp, sitting so closely together their knees are touching. If they stretched out their legs, their feet would be touching your mattress. The room you’re in is barely big enough for one person, let alone for four. It’s the only room you’ve seen in months, apart from the bathroom they take you to once or twice a day. It’s across a small hallway you haven’t seen because they blindfold you. Every time, for every trip.

You can barely remember a time when not everything you needed to survive was dependent on another person. The autonomy you prided yourself on, your ability to achieve everything on your own, to survive everything on your own, those have been taken away from you. Could you even use the bathroom if no one gave you permission first? You doubt it.

You didn’t need anyone’s permission to go on that undercover mission that ultimately landed you in this tiny square room that is now your entire world. You were the fastest to volunteer, you fit the profile they were looking for: fluent in Spanish, low level enough to not be able to spill any secrets should you get arrested, pretty. It was supposed to be so easy. Infiltrate the Medellín cartel, gather intel, report back. There was even a plan in place to extract you should anything go wrong. And go wrong it did, and nothing was there to break your fall.

Before that, before you watched boys play cards all day, before your only window to the outside world was a small TV, there was one person who tried to get you to back down. You thought he didn’t think you capable of anything because you’re young, inexperienced and a woman, but in hindsight you should have listened to him. It doesn’t matter that the others called him an asshole and you thought he was trying to dissuade you because he was jealous. He knew what he was talking about and you should have listened to him.

The man closest to you lights a cigarette, his face briefly doused in a gloomy red light. You think of them as men because it somehow makes it easier, but he looks barely 16. Your room quickly fills with smoke and you try to suppress a cough so they don’t hit you again.

That’s how this all started, with you getting punched in the stomach.

Your undercover mission asked a lot of you, maybe too much. You were aware that it might be necessary for you to sleep with some of the men you were trying to get close to, and when they asked you about this back at the embassy, you wouldn’t have any problem with it... Until it was about to happen. The man touched you, breathed into your face smelling of cheap alcohol and expensive cigars, and in a moment of sheer panic, you fought back and blew your cover.

That’s it. That’s all. You ruined the mission because you couldn’t lie still for five minutes, and now you’re paying for it.

You know there have been attempts to find you and you know you’re not the only hostage. Right at the beginning, you shared a room with a Colombian journalist who, before that, had shared a room with a famous Colombian TV presenter. You know there are negotiations, you sometimes see on TV that a hostage is returned to their family. One time, there were shouts and sirens and gunshots, but they blindfolded you and put you in a truck. That’s how you ended up here, in this room.

At first, you focused on the stories of the people who made it out alive, not on the stories of the people who didn’t. You’re DEA, and even though you fucked up, you know those three letters are like a protective spell woven around you. Yes, they will hold you captive for as long as possible, yes, they will use you to fight everything you stand for, but they won’t kill you. The more time passes though, the more you doubt anyone is still fighting for your safe return. They might not kill you, but you also won’t be getting out of here.

With every day that passes, with every day you grow weaker and more tired, those men stare at you more and more. At first, they didn’t dare to look at you, ignored you when you tried to talk to them, acted like you weren’t there. Now you catch their eyes on you frequently, hungrily taking you in. They still don’t touch you – not like that, anyway – but they hit you when you’re too loud, they press their fingers over your mouth, the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder making you gag, and sometimes their hands wander, to the small of your back, to your side. Even if you make it out of here alive, you won’t make it out of here unharmed.

It's a different day. At least you think it is. You sleep more and more during your period of nothing, but it isn’t a restful sleep. If anything, it makes you more tired, wearier. You dread waking up and you dread falling asleep and you dread being awake. But something is different today, something has changed while you were asleep. There are only two men with you tonight, and they look at you more and more, their faces unreadable. It unnerves you more than their openly lustful gazes. You pretend to ignore them as best as possible, but it’s hard when you don’t want to turn your back on them.

A third man comes into the room, one you haven’t seen before. He’s big, broad, a tight shirt stretching over his belly, lines around his eyes, thinning hair on his head. He doesn’t look at you, just steps over the two boys and switches on the TV that comes to life with a static crackle. On your mattress, you come alive too, your heart starting with a painful lurch. Whatever it is, this can’t be good for you.

You barely recognize the face on TV. It takes you about a minute to make sense of what you’re seeing, so unfamiliar you’ve become with the ambassador you used to take orders from. She looks the same – it’s you who has changed. Her suit is still perfectly pressed, her hair is still perfectly styled, she still speaks into the cameras in that calm, no-nonsense voice. It’s you who you don’t recognize, you who doesn’t make sense anymore.

It also takes you a while to understand her, to make sense of what she’s saying. You hear the words “hostages” and “negotiation”, and you know she’s talking about you and whoever else there may be, but definitely you. It would explain your captors’ faces. Something has happened, some new development that’s inconveniencing them. Maybe this is it. Maybe you’re being set free. Maybe even tonight. The thought makes you feel light-headed; you have no idea who you are outside of these four walls and that mattress.

“… end of negotiations. We will no longer regard terrorists as equal opposites in this. Any American hostages they might still have, or pretend to have, will, from today onward, be considered missing in action.”

What does that mean? Surely, they wouldn’t just … they wouldn’t just let you die, would they? You’re DEA, you can’t be missing in action, you’re not a soldier. The cartels can’t kill you, they wouldn’t do that. Just how the US wouldn’t abandon you, wouldn’t go on TV to sign your death warrant in front of a live audience. It doesn’t make sense.

You turn to your captors, as if looking for guidance, but they look just as lost as you. Even the big man. He keeps running his fingers through his thin hair, sweat beading on his forehead. One of the boys looks at him too, as if waiting for orders, the other is running the tip of his index finger through the dust on the floor. Why won’t they look at you?

“So we just kill her?” asks the boy who keeps staring at the big man. His name is Andrés Felipe. You know that because another boy let it slip once. You’re not supposed to know their names, and Andrés Felipe made sure that mistake would never happen again, but by then it was too late.

“Not yet,” the man answers. “We have to wait.”

Andrés Felipe groans. “What for? You heard that woman on TV. They’re done negotiating.”

“You don’t know that,” dust boy chimes in. “It could be a ruse.”

Andrés Felipe laughs at him. “As if you know anything about politics. You can’t even read.”

You look at Andrés Felipe then, truly look at him. You need the distraction. You need to pretend it isn’t you they’re talking about, as if your fate doesn’t depend on these three men. And there isn’t much else to do in this room but look. Andrés Felipe is young, younger than you, but older than dust boy. His face is free of wrinkles, free of the tell-tale signs of hunger and a tough upbringing in the favelas. He isn’t here because he needs to be, he’s here because he wants to be. Which also explains why he dares to speak up in front of the big man, whose maturity puts him in charge.

You don’t like Andrés Felipe, never have. Maybe it’s because knowing his name humanizes him and it’s easier to hate a human than some faceless, nameless villain. Maybe it’s because of the cruel glint in his eyes, or the way he beat up that boy who revealed his name. And now there’s his eagerness to kill you. There is no reason for you to feel any sympathy toward him.

“He’s right,” the big man says then. “Maybe they want us to kill all the hostages so they’ll have an excuse to send in the military.”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Andrés Felipe responds. “Everyone would know they’re liars.”

“They’re not,” dust boy dares to speak up again. “Missing in action also means they can be found. If you’re missing, you’re not dead. If the missing people die –”

He can’t finish his sentence because Andrés Felipe slaps him. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The big man doesn’t come to dust boy’s aid. He just smirks. “Quit it, you two, we’re sitting tight until we get our orders.”

“I’m fucking done waiting!” Andrés Felipe shouts and you flinch. He’s too loud. Someone will hear him. And they don’t have any reason to keep you alive now. It’s easier to shoot you and then run. “All I’ve been doing is waiting. Do you think I don’t have anything better to do with my time?”

The big man shushes him. You wish he would hit Andrés Felipe, put him in his place, but he just crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I say we wait.”

You close your eyes and breathe in deeply. Andrés Felipe says something else in that sharp, nasally voice of his, but you refuse to listen. Nothing good can come of it. Either they will kill you or they won’t. You’re too weak to think about either of these options. And you’re not going anywhere until those orders arrive, so you might as well …

When you wake up, the room is quiet, and you immediately know something is wrong. Even before you feel the cool, sharp blade against your neck, and before you smell the stale breath of the man holding it, cowering above you.

“Not one sound,” he hisses, and you recognize Andrés Felipe’s voice, uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. It’s so quiet, too quiet with just the two of you. The sounds of him unbuckling his belt are like explosions against your eardrums. You fight the urge to tell him to be quiet, but then your brain catches up with what your body already knows, and you kick your legs and shake your head.

You almost don’t feel the cut of the knife, but you do feel the hot drops of blood on your neck. “I told you to be quiet,” Andrés Felipe hisses. “Just don’t move.”

But you do, you do move, at least your hands that you ball into fists. You don’t want your life to end like this, in some shack somewhere in Colombia with a knife against your throat and a criminal inside of you. This can’t be it. They have to put you in front of a firing squad at least, don’t they? Not like this. Please, not like this.

Andrés Felipe touches your lower belly trying to unbutton your dirty pants, and you flinch, a terrified groan escaping your lips. The knife cuts deeper into the soft skin of your throat. “Shut up, you stupid bitch,” he growls.

Then there’s blood. Everywhere. It’s in your eyes, your mouth, you breathe it in, you taste it on your tongue. Andrés Felipe collapses on top of you, the knife landing on the mattress with a dull sound. You try to get out from under the heavy body, but you can barely lift his shoulders before your arm starts to tremble.

“Hey.” You wipe the blood out of your eyes to find a man kneeling next to you, shoving Andrés Felipe’s heavy body aside so you can sit up. You don’t know who he is, you’ve never seen him before, but he has to be someone higher up if he dared to kill Andrés Felipe. Because that is what just happened, you slowly realize. Andrés Felipe is dead and you’re covered in his blood.

The strange man reaches for you and you flinch away. “Ma’am, my name is Javier Peña,” he says, his voice steady and calm as if he’s been in this exact situation a million times before. “I’m with the DEA. I’m here to get you out.”

“The DEA?” you repeat, the English sounds feeling foreign in your mouth.

He reaches for you again, touches your shoulder, and this time you don’t flinch away. “You’re safe now.” He squeezes your shoulder, then stands up and holds out his hand to you. You take it and push yourself off the mattress.

“What happened?” you ask, trying to ignore the dead body, half its face gone.

“Maybe we should discuss this –,” Javier starts, but you don’t hear the rest of the sentence. Suddenly it feels like there are cotton balls lodged in your ears and the whole world turns dark, darker than it already is.

Someone is carrying you. You think you must be outside because you feel a light breeze on your face. You don’t remember the last time you smelled fresh air, but when you breathe in deeply, you’re enveloped in cigarette smoke and gunpowder. It’s not unpleasant, you realize with a start. It comes from a heavy leather jacket you’re wrapped in, and from the man carrying you. They never would have carried you like this, carefully, as if you might break, so you know you must be safe.

When you next open your eyes, you’re inside again. The room is so big it startles you at first. But the longer you let your eyes wander, the more your brain adjusts to help you realize you’re in a normal sized living room, sitting on a leather couch, a knitted blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You must have just sat up because your head is spinning and your limbs are trembling, but otherwise you feel like you can finally breathe again.

“Feeling better?”

You’re proud of yourself for not jumping at hearing his voice. “Yeah,” you answer, swallowing to wet your dry throat. You feel an unpleasant tug on your skin where Andrés Felipe cut you twice. “Where am I?”

You turn to look at him. He’s sitting on the couch next to you but with enough distance between the two of you so you don’t touch. He’s holding a half-smoked cigarette between his fingers, trying to hide the look of concern on his face. It’s something you will see a lot from now on, people looking at you as if you’re about to break.

“You’re in my living room,” he answers.

“Why not,” you have to swallow again, “why not at the embassy?”

He taps his foot nervously so his leg is jumping up and down, takes a drag. “Us coming to rescue you … that wasn’t exactly sanctioned by Noonan.”

“So you really are DEA?” you ask, even though there are a million other things you should ask first. Like if the press conference you saw on TV was really true. If Noonan and the United States were really prepared to let the remaining hostages die. But the longer you look at the man next to you, the more familiar he looks.

Javier nods at the same time as you burst out, “You tried to warn me, didn’t you? Back at the embassy? You told me I was in over my head with this. You’re the asshole!”

The surprise on his face is almost enough to make you laugh for the first time in months. “I’m the what?”

You open your mouth, but instead of an answer coming out of it, you start coughing uncontrollably. Your sides are burning by the time you’re done, but Javier is right there next to you with a glass of water that you accept gratefully.

“Let me take a look at your throat,” he says, watching you swallow down the cool liquid.

If you think about it, you haven’t been touched in months. You know you’ll flinch away before he even touches you, so you stiffen your muscles, determined to remain in place.

He must see it all on your face. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know,” you say through gritted teeth.

His fingers are rough against your skin as he carefully tilts your head to the side. You barely flinch but you whimper because the movement hurts more than you would have thought. He hums quietly before standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You raise your finger to your neck to find the skin there sticky with blood. Whether it is yours or Andrés Felipe’s you can’t tell. But the unfamiliar feeling makes you tremble again. You wish you could stop that, or at least suppress it. You wish the world would start making sense again. You miss your small room and your mattress and knowing what comes next. You don’t even know if Javier is telling the truth, if he really is who he says he is. Yes, he looks vaguely familiar, but until a few hours ago, you had no idea what time of day it was.

“Hey, hey,” Javier says softly. He is sitting next to you again, closer this time, but he’s still not touching you. “Breathe. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“None of it makes sense,” you mumble. You’re not sure if he’s heard you, but you do feel the pressure on your chest lighten.

“You have two cuts on your throat,” Javier goes on, shaking a small bottle of disinfectant. “They don’t look too bad, but I’d still like to clean them. Is that okay?”

How do you explain to him that you just spent months asking for permission instead of giving it? How do you explain to him that you don’t know how to decide anything for yourself anymore?

Not sure what to make of your silence, Javier goes on. “You can do it yourself if you want to. I can show you –”

You tilt your head to the side. “No, please. I want you to do it.”

Javier stops shaking the bottle of disinfectant, grabs a cotton ball, and pours some liquid over it. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

He does hurt you. The second he touches the cotton ball to the cut, you want to scream. It burns so much you can hardly take it. But you grit your teeth and you don’t complain. Because you don’t want him to stop. You know it’s just the isolation and the confusion of the last hours and the fact that your world doesn’t make sense anymore, but the way he dabs the cotton ball across the cut, brow furrowed in concentration, makes you feel safe. And you can’t remember the last time you felt like this.

“You’re being so brave,” he mumbles, and surely you must have misheard or you must have imagined it, because he continues in a normal voice, “Tomorrow, you should go see a doctor. I don’t have any medical training and it doesn’t look too bad, but it can’t hurt to be safe.”

You raise your fingers to touch your throat and briefly brush his as he draws them back. “Thank you,” you say when you find your skin free of dried blood. The cotton ball in Javier’s hand is now a blotchy red. “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Javier says, standing up to dispose of the cotton ball. “I think he cut you with a knife.”

“No, not that.” You sink back against the couch cushions and tightly wrap the blanket around yourself. “With Noonan and the hostages.”

Javier, who is standing in the open kitchen with his back toward you, stiffens. “It was just you,” he answers, pretending to clean some dust off the counter. “You were the only American hostage left. Because it took so fucking long to find you.” He turns to you, cringing. “Sorry. I meant it took us forever to find you.”

“You can swear,” you tell him, your cheeks tingling from the unfamiliar sensation of a smile.

He walks back toward you, and it’s as if you’re seeing him for the first time. He’s no longer the jealous man who was trying to get you to back off from a mission he told you you weren’t qualified for. He’s the man who risked his job – and his life – to save you. And you don’t quite know what to do with that.

To your disappointment, he sits down in a chair, not on the couch, and lights another cigarette. “We had your location eventually. But then, two days ago, the cartel released the businessman, the only other American being held. We had to give them three men in exchange, and the exchange almost went wrong. Someone high up in Washington must have decided that’s enough.”

“So it was true, what Noonan said on TV?” You feel hot and cold all over. “It wasn’t a ruse? They were prepared to let me die?”

Javier nods. “Yeah, but I wasn’t.”

Your heart stops for a short while. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You’re one of us.”

“You warned me. You told me not to go on this mission. I thought you were jealous.”

He barks out a short laugh. “No, I thought it was a stupid mission. Too dangerous. Not worth risking the life of one of our agents for. And it was putting all our other informants at risk too.”

You look down at your hands, barely recognizing them underneath the dirt clinging to your skin. “What happens next? Will you get reassigned?”

“I won’t get a medal, that’s for sure.” He takes a drag of his cigarette and his face lights up with a red glow. “Noonan will thank me privately but reprimand me publicly. And then she’ll send you home.”

“Me? Why am I being punished?” Your voice, still hoarse from disuse, rings in your ears.

He laughs again, loudly this time. “Darlin’, Colombia almost killed you. I wouldn’t call it punishment.”

Your heart kickstarts at the use of the diminutive. “I want to stay here. There’s still so much to do.”

He stubs out his cigarette. “What you need to do is take things easy. You just went through a horrible ordeal you haven’t even begun to process. Even if you do stay here, you need a break first.”

You want to protest, but you can’t find the strength. You feel weary, exhausted, like you spent the last month trekking through the jungle without a break. Your body is a heavy lump you hardly have control over.

The next thing you feel is Javier’s arms around you as he holds you tightly. “Hey,” he says again, and you could get used to the softness in his voice. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“No,” you mumble, trying to push him away, suddenly trapped in the memory of closing your eyes and waking up to a man holding a knife cowering above you.

Javier doesn’t take no for an answer. “You’ll sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You’re still not sure this is such a good idea, but there is no alternative you can think of, and your body is begging you to lie down on cool, clean sheets and forget the world for a while. You let Javier pull you up, and you manage to stumble not more than once as he leads you into a dark bedroom. He doesn’t switch on the light.

“I’m going to let you sleep in,” he tells you, sitting you down on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to leave the door open in case you need me?”

“No, that’s fine,” you answer, weakly kicking off your dirty shoes. You just want him to leave so you can close your eyes.

He runs his hand from the top of your head down to your neck in a well-practiced, automatic motion. “I’m a light sleeper – just shout if there’s anything you need.”

You nod, and he finally steps back with a smile on his face. “Good night, Javi,” you say, your head hitting the pillow before you can stop it. He’s already at the door when you add, “And thank you.”

You can’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes when the sound of gunfire wakes you. It’s not close by, but the echo of it still reaches you, and before your brain has time to process, your body is already responding with a sob that shakes you from head to toe.

“I’ve got you,” Javier says, wrapping you up in his arms. You bury your face against his naked shoulder, trying to steady your breath, but you’re crying uncontrollably now.

“I’m sorry,” you sob.

All he does is run his hand up and down your back. “Shhhh, I’m here. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

His warm breath against the top of your head makes your heartbeat slow down, and you finally manage to swallow your tears. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, feeling like you’re about to die.

“Come on, lie down,” he urges you gently, trying to lower you toward the mattress.

“No!” You cling to him desperately, but he pries your arms off him without much effort.

“I’ll be here, okay?” he soothes you. “Right in that chair over there.”

You don’t know what chair he’s talking about; you didn’t notice one when he led you into the bedroom, but you stopped noticing things a while ago. “Don’t leave me,” you beg.

He brushes your hair out of your face and places a soft kiss against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

When you next open your eyes, there he is, asleep in an armchair in the corner of the bedroom, the early morning sun dancing across his skin.

[astraystayyh]

The only exception

barista Minho x reader. strangers to lovers. slow burn. if you can, listen to The only exception by Paramore while reading :)

Minho was content with straying away as far as possible from love. That is until you stumbled into his café on a rainy night, and unwittingly, into his life.

skz song series masterlist

i.

Minho sweeps the countertop with a blue rug, wiping away the scattered droplets of spilled coffee. He grabs a pastry from the showcase- a blondie with a raspberry drizzle on top, placing it on a plate decorated with dainty flowers. And then he gives it to the middle-aged man sitting near the back of the café. 

Minho is in Aurora, completing his mid-day shift, and yet it feels as if he's only physically there. His body is moving on auto-pilot, mechanically performing the familiar tasks etched into his memory by now. And he likes it, since it drowns out the tumultuous thoughts plaguing his mind.

Minho used to look forward to the days when Marta- Aurora's exceptional baker, would prepare blondies. The alluring aroma of the freshly made pastry would waft through the café, enveloping both Minho and the customers in a soothing embrace. He enjoyed preparing the coffee and drawing different pretty patterns on top of it. He also liked the music playing, and sometimes, the manager would even let him play some of his own playlists. 

But that was before Minho got his heart broken, torn in half, carelessly, as if it didn't belong to a breathing human, but rather to an unfeeling entity. Now, his lattes are void of intricate designs, the blondies prepared by Marta remain untouched, and his mind doesn't register the music playing. 

He's just existing, in a stillness he perfectly curated. He's a placid river, undisrupted, running its usual course day after day. 

Minho watches as the man clad in a polished suit finishes his treat, before getting up and leaving Aurora with hurried steps. He eats alone now, Minho has noticed, and his ring finger is void of the gold band he used to wear.

Perhaps that's what Minho's fate would also be. Eating alone in cafés he used to bring his lover to, basking in the chatter surrounding him, in the desperate hope that it'll fill the void inside him. 

ii. 

it's a Thursday, which means Minho is working the night shift at Aurora. It's pouring rain outside, the incessant water droplets a misty veil that fogs up the café's windows. Amidst the downpour, he catches sight of a couple dashing through the rain, hands tightly clutched into one another. They're giggling, as if the rain falling isn't a nuisance, but rather an elixir heightening their love. Minho looks the other way. 

The door to Aurora is pushed open, and Minho watches as you set foot inside. You're drenched in rain, from head to toe, strands of your hair sticking to your cheek. You exhale in relief, closing your eyes for a split second as the warmth of the café surrounds you- like a childhood blanket tightly wrapped around your being. There is a hint of a smile as you walk to the counter. It only grows when your eyes set on Minho. 

"Hi!" you greet cheerfully and he simply nods in return. The weather was horrible and you were probably uncomfortable from the clothes clinging to your skin, so what were you exactly joyful about?

"Can I have hot chocolate, please? Oh, and a piece of that brownie," you point to the showcase, and he follows your line of sight. 

"Sure, anything else?" 

"No, thank you," you smile, and he nods once again. "That will be 10 dollars." 

"Here," you hand him a crumpled bill and he takes it from you carefully, ensuring your hands don't brush against one another. 

You sit down on a chair near the window, and Minho dutifully prepares your order. He brings it to you once he's done, and you grin at him once again. You smile a lot, he thinks to himself. 

Minho goes on with his tasks, cleaning the dirty cups in the sink and grounding the coffee beans. When he's done, he can't help but notice you grabbing some napkins from the table and dabbing your neck and face dry with them. He sighs to himself before retreating to the café's backroom.

"Here, to dry your hair with," he says, handing you a clean towel.

Minho leaves before you could smile at him again. 

iii. 

It's Tuesday, and Minho has just served a freshly baked cinnamon roll to Mark- the middle-aged man who just introduced himself to Minho after months of frequenting Aurora.

Minho liked having regulars in his shifts, familiar faces to look into. This was part of the reason why he picked being a barista as a part-time job- he enjoyed people-watching. Not in a noisy way; he simply liked imagining the lives of the people surrounding him. It served as a distraction from his own. 

Among the regulars was a woman in her thirties who only ordered a chaï latte with a blueberry muffin. Then there was that one student, with blonde hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. He really despised bitter coffee, always ordering his with abnormal amounts of syrup.

And now, there was you too. You've been coming to Aurora regularly for the past few weeks since your initial visit. Minho still hasn't memorized your go-to order because you don't have one. You pick a new drink each time as if you were on a mission to taste everything on the menu. 

You come here alone, occupying the same seat by the window with your chin resting on your palm. He suspects you enjoy people-watching too since you often gaze outside. You also bring books with you, reading them while sipping on your beverage. Sometimes you write too, in a tiny sage notepad. 

And you smile, god do you smile a lot. At young children passing by in the street, at an elderly couple holding hands, at the black cat that sleeps on the edge of the window. And you smile at Minho. Each time you order, each time your eyes meet his from across the café. Minho likes to believe that happiness was so deeply ingrained within you, it became the very essence of your soul- an intrinsic part of your being you could not part with.

The door to Aurora is pushed open and Minho isn't surprised to see you entering once again, your bag loosely hanging from your shoulder. 

"Hi!" you greet excitedly as you usually do, and Minho simply nods, as he usually does. 

"I'm sorry if this is a bit weird," you preface, piquing Minho's curiosity. "I'm not really craving anything today, so can you make me your favorite drink?"

"My favorite drink?" he repeats, a bit incredulously and you nod eagerly. "Yes, I drink anything and I don't have any allergies, so whatever you prepare is fine!" you smile hopefully at him.

He stays silent, mulling over your request. He goes to say no, but the smile slowly slipping from your face makes a strange pang of guilt wash over him.

"On second thought, I'll just have-"

"Okay," he interrupts, "I'll bring it to you when it's done," he quickly says and the smile etches itself on your lips once again. Minho feels an unexpected relief dawn on him at its sight.

"Thank you! I'm yn, by the way," you introduce.

"Minho," he says, although you can read it on his nametag. 

"Minho," you repeat, and he finds himself itching to hear his name dripping from your lips again.

Minho prepares you an iced americano with cold foam, and two pumps of white mocha, since you seem to enjoy drinks on the sweeter side. He watches breathlessly from the counter as you take a sip of it, closing your eyes to fully relish in its taste. Your nose scrunches up in delight before you quickly turn around to shoot him a thumbs up from afar. 

Minho nods, before turning his back to you. Unwillingly, a small smile tugs at his lips. He's glad you liked it. 

iv.

Another Thursday unfolds following its usual routine. Mark occupies his customary spot in the rear of the café, while the scent of Marta's lemon madeleines permeates the kitchen.

Except you're not smiling. 

Minho finds it odd, how there was no cheerfulness in your steps as you walked to the counter. You did not smile while ordering, and your voice carried a tinge of sadness when you thanked him.

You did not ask about his day, nor about his cats- that was also something unusual for you to do. You've asked about them each time since Minho told you about them. He didn't plan on doing so, he just saw you one day eyeing the stickers of his three cats on his phone case, while he was counting your change.

"Are they your cats?" you asked, pointing at them and he nodded, a faint smile dancing at the corners of his lips.

"They are."

"You must love them a lot. They almost managed to make you smile," you teased, grabbing the rest of the money and walking to your usual seat. 

Minho steals brief glances at you, as he prepares your matcha latte, a drink you seemed to enjoy a lot lately. You're gazing at the window almost soulfully, your back slightly hunched as if there was an invisible weight crushing you underneath it. 

Minho nibbles on his lower lip, contemplating his next move, before grabbing the frothed milk. For the first time in months, he draws a little cat on the surface of your drink, just like he used to do a long time ago.

He brings it to you, and his heart flutters nervously as you gaze down at the cup. He almost second-guesses his action, that is until you beam at him, and Aurora suddenly feels brighter than it did seconds ago. 

v. 

"When does your shift end?" you ask Minho as he sets your perfectly crafted matcha latte on the table- an order he has committed to memory by now.

"In an hour, why?" he asks curiously and you wave your hand dismissively. "Just wanted to know." 

The seconds trickle by slowly, as the hour almost comes to an end. You watch as Minho takes off his apron, running a hand through his hair. It's gotten longer now, silky bangs he tucks behind his ear to keep them from obstructing his vision.

He talks a bit to Seungmin, the other barista that works there. And then he steals a quick glance around the room, where he finds you already looking. You wave him over, and he tilts his head slightly in confusion, before walking to your table. 

"Sit down," you smile, gesturing to the chair in front of you. Minho complies silently.

"Here," you take out a container filled with brownies from your bag. "I never properly thanked you, for the towel and for the little cat you drew on my coffee last week. So, here, thank you," you beam at him while sliding the box in his direction.

"I don't- it's nothing, you didn't have to," he says, and you notice a tinge of pink blush covering the tips of his ears.

"I wanted to. I hope you'll like them, I'm not as good as your baker, but I tried," you confess, smiling sheepishly, and Minho feels a sudden urge to vehemently contradict you, to tell you that they must taste good. And even if they didn't it wouldn't matter, because you baked them for him. And that is enough. 

But he bites the inside of his cheek harshly, physically stopping this rush of words eager to escape his mouth.

"Let's eat them together, hum?" he simply suggests, opening the container and placing a brownie on your plate before taking one himself.

"Is it good?" you ask tentatively and he pretends to contemplate your question for a moment.

"They're horrible, right? I shouldn't have taken creative liberties with the recipe and-"

"Yn, I'm just kidding," he stops you, a soft smile on his face. "They're delicious, see," he says, finishing the brownie in one bite. "Really good," he compliments, reaching for another piece. 

"Okay," you smile in relief, eyes crinkling closed. The sunlight is streaming through the window, casting a golden shadow on your face. You are swaying contently in your place, as you take another bite of the brownie. And you look happy, with him. Minho thinks the brownies are the best he's ever had because he's sharing them with you. Because he got a taste of your happiness through them. 

vi. 

"Can you believe that professor? He failed half the class and he still thinks he isn't the problem." 

You are venting to Minho about your stuck-up Economics professor, while leaning against the countertop. He's listening intently to you, drinking in the details of your face as you talk to him. For some reason, he finds the smile lines on your face mesmerizing, that and the way your eyebrows move with your every word. 

These subtle details have been engraved into his memory since the day you gave him the brownies, two months ago. He has grown fond of you, sitting at your table at the end of his shift without you having to ask. You also hang out outside of Aurora, going on frequent walks and discovering new food spots. He never felt that the conversation between you two was strenuous, or forced. It flowed naturally, like a waterfall knowing exactly where it should go.

He also finds that smiling is easy with you. At your jokes, your stories, and your existence. He's lost count of the times he found himself grinning widely at your words, or smiling softly to himself at the thought of you coming to Aurora soon.

"He's too full of himself to admit he's the one who sucks at teaching," Minho comments and you clap in agreement. 

"Right! And it's so funny because..." You're still talking but your words go unheard by Minho, like a mindless buzz in the back of his mind. He's frozen in his place, his heart beating wildly in his ribcage as he notices the couple who just came in.

His ex, with the man she cheated on him with. 

"Minho? What's wrong?" you call out, snapping him out of his daze. You're eying him worriedly, and only then does he realize how tightly he's holding the countertop. 

"Nothing," he curtly replies, as he plasters a neutral expression on his face. 

He watches as his ex's eyes widen slightly when she sees him. She forgot he was working here. Of course, it'd be easy to do so since she never visited him at Aurora anyways. Despite the flood of emotions cursing through him, Minho maintains a stoic facade, taking their orders as if she's a mere stranger and not the one behind his shattered heart.

As Minho attempts to prepare their coffee, his hand trembles uncontrollably, forcing him to stop before dropping the milk.

He didn't love her anymore, he was certain of it. But still, the sight of her brought unpleasant memories back to the surface. Ones he tried so hard to bury in the back of his mind. And Aurora was his sanctuary. One, she never tainted with her presence. Has she not taken enough from him already? 

"Minho?" you call out softly, and Minho feels guilty because he left you alone with no explanation. Still, when he turns around, he can tell you aren't upset. You are worried, looking at him cautiously. 

"Is everything okay?" you ask once again, and this time Minho can't find it in him to lie to you, so he simply shakes his head no. 

"Your hand is shaking," you observe, before gently grabbing it in yours. You cover his hand with both of your palms, squeezing it lightly to steady the tremors cursing through it. 

Your hand is warm, and very soft, a stark contrast to the sharp emotions surging within him, like pine needles puncturing his heart.

"Would you like me to serve them?" you ask softly, and Minho isn't surprised you picked up on his unease. You're perceptive, it's one of the things he likes about you. 

"Please," he responds quietly. You simply smile, reaching for an apron and wrapping it around your waist. You look adorable, intertwining yourself with his world, and the sight of you eases the ache in Minho's soul.

A few minutes later, you grab the tray from his hands and walk over to their table. Minho chuckles inwardly when he notices that you didn't smile at them, serving them with a blank face, and his chest warms a little.

He has you on his side. 

Five days later, you're sitting besides Minho on a bench; watching the sun as it dips into the ocean, painting the sky in hues of orange and yellow. Yet, the dazzling colors are the last thing on Minho's mind. All he can think about is you. How you helped him with serving the rest of the drinks that day, how he taught you how to work the coffee machines- a solace from the ugly feelings that roared in him.

"Thank you," he abruptly says and you turn to look at him, perplexed.

"For what you did the other day, with the couple that came in. That was, um... my ex and the person she cheated on me with," he confesses quietly, fiddling with his earlobe. He didn't need to tell you, but he wanted to. "I've moved on, it's just... seeing her again hurt. I don't know why." 

Your eyes soften at him, not in pity, but in care. And Minho doesn't mind being vulnerable with you. It's scaring him, but he doesn't mind.

"It's normal for it hurt, it would honestly be weird if it didn't," you smile gently and he sighs in reply, running a hand through his hair. 

"I wish it didn't."

"Love is a powerful feeling, it consumes our entire beings. That's why it hurts when our hearts are toyed with. But love itself doesn't hurt, I feel like it's what makes our world move. You know, the little gestures humans do for one another, that are fueled by love. Like, um... scratching someone's back or peeling someone's fruit. You don't have to do those things, but you do. Because you love the person, and it makes your existence feel gentler, and softer on the heart." You explain, the words leaving your mouth and wrapping around Minho's soul, healing parts of him that he didn't know were bruised.

"My point is, it's normal for you to be hurt. But I hope you don't close your heart entirely to the feeling. Because we may not have grand things in our life, but if there is a hand that brushes our tears away and one that folds our laundry, then that's enough for us to lead a beautiful life."

Minho blinks repeatedly, in a desperate attempt to keep his tears at bay. He felt as if the letters you uttered unfolded and stretched in front of his eyes, morphing into a gentle hand patting his back. Yours.

You smile softly at him, the water's reflection shimmering in your eyes. And Minho thinks that he's standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to dive into the unknown- into you. 

"How do you do it?" he chuckles in disbelief, as he leans a bit closer to you. "You make me want to believe in love again," he pauses, before adding quietly, "but only if it's with you." 

You remain silent as Minho fidgets with his fingers, before tentatively grabbing your hand in his. He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixated on the way your fingers naturally intertwine with one another- as if finding each other after a lifetime of being apart.

"You know, I'd thought I'd always live like this, keeping a comfortable distance between me and people," he says, raising his head to finally meet your eyes, "and up until now I thought I was content with it, with loneliness, I mean. But... but brownies taste sweeter when I'm with you, and Aurora is brighter when you are in it, and smiling feels like second nature around you. And I don't... I don't think I can go back to being lonely again, not when I've had a taste of you in my life." 

Minho's heart is beating wildly into his chest, and he can hear the blood rushing through his ears, frantically, as if to warn him against what he's about to say. But your thumb caresses his palm reassuringly and he wants to try again. With you.

"I- I never wanted to love again, because no one, none of it was ever worth the risk, but you... You are the only exception."

Minho exhales breathlessly and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him to your chest. You hoped that your warmth would ease his nerves a bit, that your hand on his back would feel gentle on his soul. You didn't want to rush your answer, trying to think of something that will patch up the deeply carved scar in his heart, a perfectly made band-aid in the shape of syllables.

It's a foolish hope, you realize, to instantly quiet the cries of a bruised spirit. So you simply settle on saying the truth sitting on the edge of your tongue.

"It will be quite hard, and scary for you," you whisper placing a tender kiss on his shoulder blade. "But I'll help you, if you'd let me. I'll take care of your heart better than I do with my own."

vii.

"Hey, baby," you smile at Minho, slipping behind the counter to be by his side. He pulls you by your waist, kissing your cheek softly.

"I missed you," he pouts, and you giggle, playing with strands of his hair, "I missed you too."

"Do you know what day it is today?" he asks, a shy smile gracing his face.

"No...?" you trail out and he chuckles, taking your hand in his.

"Don't worry, you didn't miss my birthday. It's just... it's been a year since you first came into Aurora."

"You remember?" you ask in amazement, your heart swelling with love for the man standing before you.

"Mm, how could I forget you? Also," he sneakily points to a table near the back, "my favorite couple is back."

You turn around, a soft gasp escaping your mouth as you find Mark gently holding the hands of his date. You smile happily when you finally notice it- the wedding ring, finally back on his finger.

[holdmytesseract]

hi friend! 👋

I have a cute and fluffy request for the Baby Fever AU! 💕Narfi's first steps, Loki and Ella are out on a daddy-daughter date (you can choose where they're going) while Narfi and reader are at home together.

While reader has her attention on other tasks, little Narfi takes his first steps towards reader. When Loki and Ella returns home, reader surprises them with Narfi walking towards them 🥹💚

Growing Up

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki x Y/N feat. Narfi & Ella

Summary: Narfi takes his first steps, causing you and Loki to realise that he's not so tiny anymore...

Warnings: fluff, fluff and even more fluff!

Word Count: 1,7k

a/n: I know it took me quite some time, friend, and I'm truly sorry for it. 🥺 Also, I really hope that you like it and that I did your request justice. Thank you again for the amazing moodboards you made for me, @chennqingg ! 💖

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

divider by @fictive-sl0th <3

Today felt like a pretty normal Thursday to you. Getting up at seven in the morning, making sure Ella got ready for school, while Loki prepared breakfast - bless him - and of course actually dropping your daughter off at school. Since you had 'Ella duty' this week, your husband tended to little Narfi and got the very young man dressed, fed and ready for the day. Sometimes, it was pretty chaotic and quite hectic. Especially on the days you were working as well - not full-time, though. You were still in maternity leave, but Nick allowed you to work two or even three days a week, if you needed a change of scenery or just a break. Just like today. Sure, Loki had to return to being an Avenger as well, but you always made it work. Besides, the others were happy to jump in as a babysitter as well.

After dropping Ella off at school, you drove straight to the SHIELD headquarters for work, leaving Narfi with Loki, who'd leave your son with auntie Nat for the rest of the morning, because Steve hated it, when Loki missed out the important briefings which concerned his 'development' as a resident of planet earth. Or in other words: Making sure he still behaved, didn't relapse and was a 'hero' and not a threat to humanity. In your eyes, it was ridiculous that he still had to 'prove himself' after all those years... After getting married and starting a family... After everything he had done for the Avengers, America and the whole world. But well... Who were you to speak up and change things? It was how it was.

Seven hours of going through reports and sorting files, you clocked out of work. Yes, it wasn't much you were doing, but it was something. Better than just staying at home. You loved being a mom, but sometimes you needed to see something different - and you were more than happy to rejoin your friends in hopefully near future and slip back inside your Avenger combat suit.

Instead of driving to school to pick up Ella, you drove back home. Loki had already done that; taking his princess out for a daddy-daughter date to the indoor swimming pool.

Arrived at the Avengers compound, you didn't even bother to drop your stuff first; instead heading immediately for Natasha's. Your motherly instincts were literally screaming at you by now to go see your baby son. So, you did.

Your best friend opened the door to her apartment for you with a huge smile and little Narfi on her arms; dressed in his white sweatpants and matching jumper. He looked like a baby smurf - which was probably one of the cutest things you had ever seen and would get certainly never tired of seeing again. "Mama!" Narfi squeaked happily from behind his pacifier as soon as his beautiful ruby eyes registered you; impatiently squirming in his auntie's arms. "Hiii, baby boy!" You smiled brightly and immediately took him into your arms. His adorable giggle urged to your ears; causing you to smooch his little cheek with kisses, and once you had thoroughly greeted your son, you turned your attention to the Black Widow leaning now against the door frame still with that smile on her lips.

"Hey, Nat." You shuffled closer to hug her, what the Russian beauty instantly reciprocated. "Hey, babes." "Thank you for looking after this little guy here," you said; pulling back from the hug and gently bouncing Narfi on your arm. Natasha shook her head. "No need to thank me. I love playing the cool auntie part." "I'll keep that in mind," you winked, causing your fellow Avenger to giggle.

"Alright. We'll be going then. Gotta do some chores... See you around, Nat." "Sure thing, babes."

You looked down at Narfi, who had snuggled against you; head buried in your neck. "Say bye bye to auntie Nat, Narfi." "Bye bye," babbled the little boy in a sweet, quiet voice; clearly on the verge of dozing off. Natasha smiled and waved at Narfi, "Bye bye, маленький смурф." who instantly lifted a small hand to wave back. Smiling and bidding your goodbye to the Black Widow as well, you pressed a kiss against your son's forehead and ran a hand through his black locks.

Back in the apartment, you put the toddler down for a nap on his beloved floor cushion - which he mostly preferred for a nap, instead of his bed. Now that your son was sleeping peacefully across the living room, you had the time to do some chores. On today's programme: folding laundry. So, you spread out on the sofa, switched on the TV - but kept the volume down, of course, and got to work.

From your position, you had the perfect view on Narfi as well; having an eye on him from time time. Unfortunately, that didn't always keep him from escaping your watchful gaze. Just like Ella, was he his father's child... Sneaky and definitely a tiny mischief maker. Not quite as much as his big sister, but nevertheless...

You could swear that you only didn't look at him for five minutes - and suddenly was the floor pillow empty.

Shit.

"Narfi?" You called through the living room; letting your eyes wander and already moved to stand up. He wasn't in this room anymore. You sighed and shook your head with a small smile. "Little rascal..." You mumbled under your breath and crossed the living room; aiming for the hallway.

The good thing was, that Narfi couldn't get far; not having learned how to walk just yet. The emphasis was on the word 'yet'.

You rounded the corner into the hallway, "Narfi?" and found your son standing - hands free - beside the clothes basket, which he had clearly used to pull himself on his feet. At the sound of his mama's voice, the toddler turned his head - which caused him to immediately lose balance and land on his small bum.

Your eyes widened. Was he about to take his first steps and you 'interrupted' him? "Baby, were you about to take your first step?" Narfi was already pulling himself up again; using the clothes basket as a help like before. A sweet huff left his small lips once he made it on his small feet; causing you to stifle a giggle.

"Try again, baby smurf, come on." Narfi turned on slightly wobbly legs towards you; hand gripping the basket for dear life. "Mama!" You smiled and walked quite a few steps closer, before you squatted down and opened your arms. "Yes, c'mere! Come to mama!" You tried to encourage Narfi; a bright smile on your lips.

The smile got even wider, when your son suddenly let go of his support - and took a very wobbly, unsteady step towards you. With you mouth agape, you giggled. "Yes! You did it, baby! C'mon! One more?" Your happiness infected Narfi and he smiled a bright, toothy smile. Giggling, he made another two fast and wobbly steps, before he lost his balance and more or less stumbled into your arms. You reached out and caught him, before he could hit the floor; sweeping him up in a hug.

"Yay!" You cheered and peppered his cerulean, chubby cheeks with kisses. "Mama is sooo proud of you, Narfi." The little boy just cooed and gurgled happily.

An idea crossed your mind.

"Let's surprise daddy and your big sister when they come home, huh? They'll be so happy to see you walk." Your toddler's eyes widened at your suggestion. "Supise dada lala?" Narfi couldn't say Ella yet, so he settled on 'Lala' - it was the cutest thing ever. You giggled; nodding. "Yes, baby smurf. Come on."

The laundry was long forgotten; deciding to play with Narfi instead and helping him practising to walk.

After a very successful daddy-daughter date at the indoor swimming pool, Loki and Ella returned back home in the evening to the Avengers compound. The little girl's hand was neatly tucked into her father's bigger one as they exited the elevator. Ella was definitely tired and worn out - just like it should be after such a day. That was most probably the reason why Loki was carrying not just his duffle bag in his free hand, but also Ella's pink Disney princesses rucksack on his back.

Together, they stepped down the hallway and into your family's apartment. "Darling?" Loki called out; taking off his shoes and helping his tired daughter to get out of her jacket. "Mommy? We're back!"

The pair heard a small voice along some shuffling, before you rounded the corner into the entrance area with Narfi walking in front of you; yet gripping tightly onto your pointer fingers. "Hey, you two," you greeted them happily. "The baby smurf and I have to show you something." Proudly, you let go of your son's small hands - and let him walk a few small, still wobbly step. Before he could topple over, you grabbed him quickly around his middle; holding him steady.

Both, Loki's and Ella's jaws were on the floor; not having anticipated this. Sure, Narfi had tried to walk now for days - probably weeks, but it looked like he needed some more time to learn... Apparently not.

"He is walking now!" A not-so tired anymore Ella squeaked and crawled forwards and clumsily, but lovingly hugged her little brother - who didn't quite understand why everyone was making such a big fuss. He just squeaked along happily.

Loki met your gaze; his beautiful blues shining with a few tears. "Darling, he... Our son is walking..." He whispered; visibly touched, but you heard him anyways. Ella was already helping Narfi back on his little feet; his hands in hers tightly as she helped him walk down the hallway. It gave you the opportunity to step over to your husband. With a smile, you slung your arms around his middle; invading his space. "I know, babe, I know." Loki laughed softly and tried to blink back the tears as he wrapped you up in a hug; strong arms keeping you locked against his tall, defined body.

"We have to watch out now, babe. Soon, he'll start to run," you stated with a giggle, causing Loki to shake his head. "By the Norns, please not. He's already growing up too fast..." You sighed; knew exactly how he felt - and he was right. You rested your head against his chest, giving your husband the opportunity to press a kiss on top of your head. "Mhm... Growing up too fast, just like Ella." You felt the god's chest vibrate with a hum. "Just like Ella..."

маленький смурф - little smurf

Baby Fever Crew: @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jaidenhawke @multifandom-worlds @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @jennyggggrrr @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @huntedmusicgardenn @fictive-sl0th @herdetectivetheorist @hisredheadedgoddess28 @chennqingg @princess-ofthe-pages @km-ffluv @brokenpoetliz @lokiforever @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loz-3 @jaguarthecat @icytrickster17 @eleniblue @yourfriendlyslytherinhc @mypainischronicbutmyassisiconic @kimanne723 @lou12346789 @smolvenger @isaidoop @lokisgoodgirl @cakesandtom (Continuing in the comments)

[catboyieejeno]

don't kiss and tell: part 4 ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝

other parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

pairings: best friend! mark + best friend! jeno + best friend! hyuck x female! reader summary: “you’re mine, yeah?” — the finale of the don’t kiss and tell series. content: non-idol au, angst, hurt + comfort, smut, unprotected sex, pet names, spitting (only once), very plot heavy! read the other parts if you haven’t already! wc: 9.4k

masterlist

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

18+ minors do not interact !

the first sip of soju mark had the night that he met you was nothing compared to his final sip that evening. honestly speaking, he didn't want to drink soju at all; he always preferred beer because—well, it didn't make his face and ears go quite as red and it paired better with his favorite snacks. at least that's what he thought until he found himself at the quiet corner store by his apartment late on a thursday night, where he saw you for the first time.

you sat alone atop a tall stool, glowing from the warmth of the summer night's heat with an impressive six bottles of soju by your side. instantly, his plan to grab a few beers and some junk food to take back to his place after a tiresome, uninspiring day vanished.

he'd never admit it to you, but you were quite a pitiful sight—slumped over the table and halfway through your second bottle with black rings of mascara around your eyes. you were obviously not having a good day; that, and the fact that it was half past midnight, sealed his fate: in a moment's notice, he didn't know you, but even then, he decided that you didn't deserve to be out so late, upset and drinking by yourself.

that night, mark lee approached you, be it out of intrigue or intense sympathy, and unknowingly catalyzed the beginning of your friendship.

"do you plan on drinking all that by yourself?"

you didn't look up at first, staring blankly at his shoes that came to an abrupt stop a short bit away from you. for a while, you didn't say anything, either, completely ignoring his presence as you wallowed in your state of sadness.

just when he thought your silence was a polite form of rejection and made the first move to step away, the screech of the stool dragging against the ground drew his attention. you were looking at him now, one foot pushing the chair as a wordless invitation for him to sit down.

you're quick to shake around one of the soju bottles for him, watching the little tornado form a spiral behind the clear green glass. after twisting it open, you hand it to him, clinking your bottle against his and not waiting before bringing it to your lips for a sip.

he watches as he drinks, then follows suit, taking note of the fact that your gulp is significantly longer than his. you scrunch up your face at the taste, huffing out, and he asked, "do you not like this flavor?"

nothing.

mark takes another apprehensive sip and sighs. he'd much rather be at home having his beer with his loud roommates who hog his snacks. even if he were to have been alone, the more probable outcome since they went out often, he might still have been fine. why did he have to come up to you in the first place?

deciding this would be his last attempt at conversation, mark clears his throat, "do you wanna talk about it? i won't even say anything if you want. sometimes it's good to vent, ya know?"

truthfully, he's not expecting you to answer, and he's begun planning how he's gonna get up and politely excuse himself when for the first time, you meet his eyes. your hand dances across the table, taking the small, metal bottle cap and extending the attached metal strip until it's poking upwards. you hand it to him expectantly.

"do you-" he holds it up between his index and thumb, "do you want me to flick it..?"

you nod, "we'll take turns asking questions, and whoever flicks it off gets their question answered. if it doesn’t come off on your turn, you take a drink." your voice is not nearly as quiet or timid as he expected it to be, and it takes him by surprise. your speech is also not slurred, meaning either your drinking tolerance is relatively high, or you were still early into your night's mission of destroying your liver when he ran into you.

his train of thought stutters momentarily, but he clears his throat and managed to form a sentence, "wouldn't we get to know each other better if we were actually answering the questions?"

nonchalantly, you shrug, "i think the questions you're willing to ask a complete stranger say a lot about you."

mark blinks once at you before readjusting in his seat. he thinks for a second before nodding to himself, "okay. what's your favorite color?"

there's a small clink as he flicks the coiled metal, but it doesn't come off. you snort at his plain and boring question, taking the cap from his hands. as he awaits your question, he takes a sip, only to choke on it as your words leave your lips.

"are you like a pervert or something?" flick. it doesn’t come off.

"what? no!" instantly, he coughs out, wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve, "why would you even think that?"

"you saw a girl drinking on her own and came over to talk to her. maybe you wanna take advantage of me or something..." you trail off, continuing after taking a drink. "anyway, that's not how you play—you weren't supposed to answer. you also can't ask me a question unless you flick for it after, but we'll call that a practice round."

"you just asked if i was a pervert! how was i meant to not answ-"

"that's also a question," you warn, waving the little green cap around in front of his face. he begrudgingly takes it, sitting up much straighter as he tries to conjure an equally staggering question to ask you.

"why would you let a random stranger join you for a drink on a street corner? what if i was a pervert?"

"that's two questions," you sigh out, but he fails to flick off the coil off so you take it from him again.

"if you're not a pervert, then why did you come up to me?"

as your finger meets the cap, it sends flying the piece of metal. mark's lips purse, realizing he actually owes you an answer this time. he also realizes… he doesn’t have one—not a very good one at least.

the tips of his ears are glowing hot as he clears his throat, “well, i-i was gonna… you just- and then i saw you and-” he pauses to take a deep breath, pleading with himself to stop his pathetic stuttering. really, he came up to you because you were sad, lonely, and drinking by yourself on a random street corner; he can't just say that though. you would be offended if he stated it so plainly.

after a short moment, racking his brain and sitting under your expectant gaze, mark gathers himself and his answer.

“today hasn’t been great. i was gonna go home to mope and drink, too. I only came to pick up some alcohol and that’s when I saw you sitting here, drinking by yourself. so, I figured, you know... that neither of us deserve drink alone...”

he hardly maintains eye contact as he trails off and you’re grateful, because there’s a small smile fighting to creep onto your lips. he's charming, albeit a little awkward.

“that’s a good answer,” you decide and finish downing your drink, spinning around a new bottle and twisting off the cap.

mark, newly encouraged by your praise, holds his hand out for you to allow him his turn. he even goes as far as flicking the air a few times for practice before aligning his fingers with his target.

"so, how and why did you end up sitting out here tonight?"

your breath kinda hitches in your throat.

"no one ever gets in on the first try," you try to argue, reluctant to reveal your answer, "so hand it over-"

there's a small clink as it lands on the cold pavement, the metal spiral that was proven to be no match for the boy. you blink at him and the accomplished, giddy smile that spreads on his face, letting your shoulders fall.

"you were saying?" he jokes, leaning forward. his cheeks and face are starting to flush red from the alcohol, "i believe you owe me an answer,"

"long day," you mutter.

"oh, come on. that's so vague," at your glare, his hand reaches over to land on your forearm, and your eyes follow it warily, "i promise, i won't judge you or anything."

his eyes are soft and genuine and boring into yours with no attempt to hide his curiosity. this game may have been your idea, but you didn't expect to actually have to open up to some random guy.

whatever, you think to yourself, it's not like he knows you enough to care. but then why would he ask? he does care, at least somewhat. why would he approach you if he didn't, right? anyway, you're not sure whether that notion makes you feel better or worse, but the soju is catching up to you and sending the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can decide.

"i got broken up with yesterday," you pause, but mark doesn't speak. his smile does falter, though, and you feel a pang in your chest for ruining the mood, "we were together for over a year and a half. as it turns out, he hasn't even been in love with me for most of it. he said that he 'fell out of love' a few months in. didn't bother letting me in on that detail, though,"

you laugh bitterly and take a sip, nose sniffling to fight any tears that might spill, "and i'm here because, well," you slosh around the clear liquid, "it beats being in my apartment and laying on the bed he's slept in."

another drink of grape soju washes down the bitter feeling in your throat, just as mark finishes his own bottle. for a moment, you think he's getting ready to head home after your confession, but he reaches for another without hesitation, handing you the cap when he peels it off.

he nods in encouragement, lips parting to speak, and his voice is soothing when it flows out. unknowingly, he'd say exactly what you needed to hear.

"i don't wanna overstep, and i don't want you to keep thinking about that asshole. he doesn't deserve it. so, instead," he wiggles the cap, "i'll keep you distracted. i will say, though, you don't seem like the kind of person who's easy to move on from."

"you don't even know me," you whisper.

"then take this soju cap, play your turn, and give me the chance to get to know you. your game's pretty fun, stranger, and we've still got a few bottles to get through."

"mark? mark! are you even listening?"

a couch cushion plummets towards him, hitting him upside the head and knocking the glasses off his face. He blinks a few times but he’s clearly still dazed  as he turns to face hyuck, a distant look his eyes, "what?" he mumbles. 

"dude, you've literally banana-peeled yourself three times in a row. what are you doing?”

bringing the hand that tucks his glasses back on down to rub his chin, mark sighs out, "sorry, just got lost in my thoughts for a second,”

it’s been happening incessantly the last few days–his mind drifting and getting lost in a memory of you. He can’t help but think of you, and each and every flash of your face that crosses his mind makes his heart ache just a little bit more. you haven’t answered his texts and calls, other than the very brief reply you sent this morning where you let him know you need more time to think things over. 

it's a very reasonable, exceedingly rational, normal request. in fact, it's exactly what he expected you to say, but still... damn you.

damn you because for two hours straight this morning, mark had typed up at least a dozen different replies, spamming the back space button after each one since none managed to make sense of his disorganized thoughts. he thrashed around in bed, hovered his thumb over the call button a few times, even considered taking his car keys and showing up on your front door. your reply, which he waited nearly 72 hours for, had nearly driven him mad, and it robbed him of sleep for the remainder of the early morning hours.

he almost prefers you hadn’t answered him at all. almost. 

“get it together, man! how am i supposed to beat jeno if you’re sabotaging yourself and therefore, my training session? i lost forty bucks to him last week ‘cause i couldn’t beat him at smash, i’m not losing to him again.”

on cue, the sound of the doorknob unlocking and twisting open alerts both boys who turn their heads; instantly, hyuck scoffs at the inconvenient coincidence and mark’s stomach drops in dread.

the other person responsible for his rapidly depleting mood and confidence, the last of the two individuals occupying his every thought–lee jeno. 

mark lee has never felt so conflicted and confused in his life. sure, he understands where jeno's coming from; how could he not sympathize with him when he, too, is in the exact same position? still, it's frustrating because he’s pissed off, but he's not even mad at him, or at you, for that matter. he debated it for a while, but turns out he's not mad at himself, either. it's not any less true that he is angry. perhaps, it’s at the universe for its sick and twisted sense of humor. 

it fucking hurts that he knows it's no one's fault and yet, he can’t help the way seeing jeno makes him sick to his stomach. to put it plainly, if it wasn't for him, you'd be his, but dwelling on that fact and wishing for the alternative is extremely selfish. 

the boy, oblivious to his best friend's inner turmoil, walks in, swinging his gym bag off his shoulder and wiping his shoes on the door mat. he takes a moment to straighten it out since it was folded over, no doubt hyuck's doing.

“hey,” he greets quietly. mark only manages a grunt, but it’s not like jeno would’ve heard it anyway, with the youngest boy jumping up and out of his seat, creating a rattle as he knocks his phone and the remote off the couch.

his index finger shoots forward to point and shout, “you!” jeno looks over, alarmed as hyuck spews instructions, “couch, now. controller in hand. i’m handing your ass to you,”

“in your dreams,” he snorts. the couch dips when he plops down, and less than a second later, mark’s moving to leave. he can't bother to not make it obvious, and jeno's brow creases as he notices.

“yo,” hyuck drags out the syllable in a whine, “where are you going? jeno just got here.”

“he can use my controller, i’m not in the mood to play anymore.” without glancing his way, mark scoots up and passes the controller to jeno who holds an arm out to stop him.

“wait. you alright? you’ve been down the last few days.”

hardly managing the effort to reply, mark blinks at the ground. he says, “m’fine,” but his roommate's not convinced at all. jeno tries insisting again, smacking his lips playfully in one last attempt to lighten the mood.

“come on,” he urges, “stick around for a bit. maybe a few rounds will cheer you up, we can grab some beers and-“

but mark stands anyway, tapping his phone out of habit to turn on the screen, just in case there’s a notification from you. there isn’t.

“i’ll see you guys later, yeah?”

jeno remains silent this time, lips folding downward as his eyes follow mark who walks away. hyuck doesn't offer the same quiet, but his protests are drowned out nonetheless when mark has made it down the hall, shutting his bedroom door behind him.

⋆ ★

“alright, you’ve been warned.”

“come on, there's no way they're that bad,” you roll your eyes, nudging your shoulder into mark’s. he hollers an ‘ow’ at the impact, although it's half-hearted and mixed with a laugh. without giving it a second thought, he pushes you right back, setting you off balance. instinctively, you scramble to reach for his upper arm to keep from falling flat on your ass, and his quick reflexes allow him to grip your wrist and pull you to his chest.  his eyes are wide as he stares at you, laughter echoing loudly. 

you gasp, but your offense is short-lived. his giggles are contagious and you end up mirroring his expression, settling for smacking his arm instead. 

“do you want me to end up in the hospital before i meet your friends?!” 

mark only rolls his eyes and shoots you a playful wink, “i’d take it as a sign from the universe that i should gate keep you.” in one motion, he twists the key into the lock and when the apartment door opens, he calls out a hello to his roommates who he explicitly briefed you about on the car ride over.

firstly, he warned you about donghyuck, who he described as a funny, talkative, know-it-all that didn't know how to keep his thoughts to himself. mark also made sure to mention that he'd be probing you mercilessly, poking his nose in your business. "it’s his way of showing he cares," he had said. "reminds me of someone," you had replied, wiggling your eyebrows his way. mark smiled at your indirect compliment, then proceeded to express the fact that him and hyuck were very different, as you would soon come to find out.

then, he told you about jeno, who he claimed was so boyish and shy that it may initially appear like he doesn’t even like you. according to mark, he’s endearingly awkward but a very good, reliable friend. mark also mentioned the sporty boy has one weakness: he's highly susceptible to hyuck’s teasing. he told you how hyuck would pick on him at any given opportunity, then went as far as to say that “the most you’ll hear him talk is when the two of them are arguing,”

as soon as you walk in, it’s easy to immediately tell the two boys apart. the one you presume to be hyuck has his phone drawn to his lips and is yelling out the lyrics to a bruno mars song that plays from a speaker. his limbs are flailing, and he’s jumping in circles around jeno who stands stiff, patiently setting up the solo cups for a game of beer pong.

when they hear you both enter, hyuck is the first to spin on his heel, holding out a hand as if to dedicate the lyrics to his best friend and the girl he’s never met before. he takes shameless strides over before grabbing your hand to spin you in a circle. as soon as he reaches for mark’s waist, your friend recoils away and the two start bickering, leaving you to meet eyes with jeno for the first time.

with a deep breath, one that fails to soothe your hungry lungs and nervous heart, you bring your knuckles up, knocking three times on the apartment door. 

when you pulled into the parking lot earlier, you noticed mark’s car was not in his usual spot, a sight that flushed relief through you almost instantly. it’s a strange feeling, because usually, you feel quite the opposite. 

these last couple of days make the longest that you and mark have ever gone without talking since you met, and as much as you want to see him, there’s something you need to do first, and it’ll be much easier without him around. 

you owe jeno a conversation, and he had been very patient in waiting for your call or text, unlike mark who accounted for more than half of your notifications. finally, you wrote to him today, just over a week after his confession, and asked if you could come over to talk.

it takes about a minute of you shifting your weight between your heels nervously for hyuck to open the door. he instantly moves aside to let you in, a hand holding his phone up to his ear. before walking over to the couch, where he presumably resided before your arrival, given by the snacks and mess of blankets, he nods once at you, then keeps arguing with the person on the other line. 

“renjun, you’re insufferable. i’m telling you, there’s no way you can outdrink me.“ 

their interaction manages to crack a smile on your face, a feat that’s been harder to accomplish recently. as you kick off your shoes, your thumbs move quickly to shoot jeno a text that you’re here and then, you take a seat on the arm rest, returning to your state of nervousness. subconsciously, you bring a nail to your mouth to chew it as hyuck rips open a bag of chips and shoots you a look of disgust, waving at you so you’ll move your hand away. considering how often he bickers with renjun, he’s truly starting to resemble him. 

you check your phone again, even though it’s only been a few seconds since you pressed send, and sigh out, continuing to lie in wait.

meanwhile, from the spot on his bed, jeno has a hand resting across his stomach, the other clutching his phone close to his face to watch a stream. the moment the notification of your text drops down, interrupting the league game he was monitoring, he shoots up into a sitting position. 

he doesn't intend to make you wait so long, but it takes him a few minutes to head outside because, well, he takes the time to straighten out his bed and shove his running shoes in the closet in effort to tidy things up. jeno’s room is significantly cleaner than the other two boys, but this would be the first time you saw it, and he felt that it should look presentable. 

when he deems everything accommodated, he wipes the sweat from his palms and steps outside. As he turns the corner at the end of the hall, his eyes land on you where you sit, fidgeting with your phone and chewing on your lip. for a moment, the air leaves his lungs. 

the very first time jeno’s eyes glaze over your person, his train of thought–which was previously making a desperate effort to drown out hyuck's loud voice as he bellowed the lyrics of versace on the floor–is interrupted, halted at once.  

all of his thoughts cease, as does his involuntary breathing process, and he has to instantly do a double take your way. you’re already looking back at him, offering a smile so soft and sweet that it provokes his own shy grin to form. the contagious, upward curve of your plump and pink lips is the first of your features that he notices, and his eyes blatantly admire it for a bit. the second thing he lingers on is the particularly dreamy blue hue of your crocheted cardigan as he acknowledges the way it brings out the color of your eyes. it highlights the shade of your smooth skin, and he decides just then that this color was made solely for you. 

he can only spare it that single, passing thought, though. his focus is quickly drawn back to your smile, bright and unyielding, and in this moment, only for him. 

god, how did he manage to go so long without knowing your smile? 

it’s strange, the complicated curiosity that nestles in his chest; it tugs at his heartstrings until the organ is thumping incessantly in his throat. there’s an inexplicable warmth in your gaze, and although he has no idea who you are, he’s already appointed himself humbly at your disposal.  

“hi,” you breathe out, voice as polite as the hand you hold out for him to shake, “i’m y/n.” 

“hey,” he waves you over and you stand on wobbly legs, walking toward the hall that leads to his room. 

he opens his bedroom door and moves aside so you can walk in first, his arm gesturing around, “you can sit on my bed, or on my desk chair. wherever is okay,” 

with a hum, you set your bag down on his chair, scooting onto the edge of his bed and hiking your legs up so that you’re sitting criss-crossed. he joins you, sitting at the foot and leaning back on his palms, twisting his torso to face you, somewhat expectantly.

“hey, jen,” you quietly mumble, looking up from your lap to finally meet his round orbs. they’re as kind as ever, and a grin creeps onto his lips before he even opens his mouth to speak. 

“i was starting to miss you,” he weakly jokes. although the mood doesn’t lend itself too kindly to humor at the moment, his charm still brings a smile to your face, “you haven’t been around in a bit.” 

you nod in acknowledgement, “yeah, i know, it’s just…” the sigh that leaves your lips makes him frown, and he contemplates reaching for your arm, but decides against it. the air is thick, and he’s not entirely convinced the gesture would help soothe your nerves in the slightest.  

after a few seconds of silence, jeno picks up on the fact that your trailing off was because you couldn’t seem to find the right words. that, or you didn’t have the heart to say what he assumed you were implying with your hesitance, maybe in an effort to spare his feelings. when you start picking at your nails anxiously, he timidly interrupts the quiet.  

“i hope you know that i didn’t mean to make things awkward,” he starts, “i don’t want you to think that you can’t come over because i have feelings for you. you’re still friends with the guys, it’s not fair for you to feel like-”

“no, it’s not your fault! that’s not why i haven’t been over,” he doesn’t miss the way your eyes shift around in thought, and he nods once to let you know he’s waiting and listening. 

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” you settle for saying, shoulders slumping slightly, “but i can promise you that it’s not because of your feelings for me.” 

there’s a bit of a sadness behind the smile he gives you—despite how much he tries to hide it—as he reaches his conclusion, “i think i’ve figured out by now that you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay,” when you shoot him a look, he only grins at you again, reassuringly, “it’s okay that you don’t like me. you can’t help that,”

the tears that prick at your eyes come as a surprise to both him and you. they come unprecedented and unannounced, beginning to roll down your cheeks as you nudge him and wipe at your face harshly in embarrassment, “you’re not supposed to be comforting me right now,” 

“can i?” he asks, ignoring your scolding. when you don’t say no, he guides your hand away, replacing it with his own and using his thumb to swipe away at your warm tear streaks with much more care. 

“you know i care for you, right?” you admit in one breath. it’s hard to keep your eyes on him, maybe because of the slight guilt you feel at this moment, consuming your usual confidence. somehow, tearing your gaze away would be worse, because it meant you wouldn’t be able to read whether or not his answer was sincere, and for the sake of calming your heavy heart, you force yourself to keep looking. 

slowly, he nods in response, blowing softly on your eyes, “don’t cry, okay? never over me.” even at a time like this, he’s selfless, tending to you with small gestures and actions. you almost feel the need to cry harder, but you meet his request and attempt to pull back your tears.

“you know,” he starts, “the day that we met, the first thing i noticed was your smile. you were beaming, and i wondered in that moment, ‘how did i go so long without your pretty smile in my life?’” instantly, as the words leave his lips, your brow furrows and your eyes squeeze shut. 

so much for trying not to cry. 

“i looked forward to seeing you everyday from then on. i thought about you while you were away, when i was down… you don’t know how many bad days your smile got me through, so please, don’t cry.” 

with a shaky breath, you nod, leaning into his palm that still cradles your face, “you’re so sweet, always have been. i’m sorry that i can’t feel that way about you,” 

he presses his lips to your forehead and you wrap your arms around his torso. he responds by squeezing you back, voice quiet and shy by your ear, “I love you–a-and I know you can’t say it back,” he rushes to clarify, “i don’t expect you to. but, i need to say it to you once, and this might be my only chance. i’m gonna be a little selfish and take it.” 

the sound you make is somewhere between a strangled sob and a giggle, and he pulls back slowly to look at you. maybe it’s because of the sudden closeness or his attraction to you, but his eyes flicker to your lips.

“could i maybe, o-one last—nevermind, i can’t ask that of you,” his stuttering is barely audible, something like an impulsive thought he caught just before it managed to slip out. his tone is sharp, scolding of himself for even beginning to say it out loud. still, you catch on to his request, and with one hand softly stroking the nape of his neck, you start leaning in. 

when your lips first touch his, barely pressing into them, jeno pulls away in a bit of a panic, “you don’t have to-” 

“i know. i want to.” his brow lifts when you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “you deserve to give me a kiss that doesn’t have a ten second time limit, or two other people in the room each waiting for a turn. your heart is so big,” you mumble, “i want you to have the chance to kiss me how you want,”

jeno silently kicks himself, because how could he ask you not to cry if his own eyes were beginning to burn? 

ever so carefully, his lips hover over yours. he takes his time as he leans closer, wary, giving you ample time to change your mind. when you don’t pull away and instead raise your brow slightly, he gains a bit more confidence. 

jeno presses a few soft, opened mouth kisses to your lips, squeezing his eyes tight as he savors his first real and final taste of you. his warm tongue swipes at your bottom lip, but it isn't insistent enough to invite you to deepen the kiss; he doesn’t intend it to be, either. It’s clear that he’s taking it slow. 

you can tell the flow of this kiss is being heavily considered, timed to be perfectly tender and easy. his mouth feels smooth, working against yours with only a slight desperation. instinctively, your hand clutches his shoulder as you realize: this might’ve been the kiss he intended to give you that day during the first bet if hyuck hadn’t pressured him.

a kiss so deep and so gentle, where his emotions pour out in the tiny breaths that tickle your face. his fingers disappear into your hairline and massage your scalp, and you can feel his nose pressing deeply into your cheek as he pulls you closer, humming quietly. on that day where he seemed so nervous to have you so close, because of course, it wasn’t just a competition to him, jeno wasn’t able to put his all into kissing you, but right now, it felt like he couldn’t give you any more of himself without physically handing you his heart. at the thought, you sniffle mid-kiss and realize the saltiness you’re tasting is a mix of both of your tears.

as much as he wishes he could continue, he can’t allow himself to be too greedy because kissing you like this and not being able to have you after might just be too much for his fluttering heart to handle. he breaks away, eyes remaining closed as he breathes out. you blink open your eyes before he does. it’s your turn to wipe his cheeks.

“i’m sorry, jen.”  

“no,” he clears his throat, “don’t be. and thanks for, well, this.” his hand squeezes yours once, then a second time, and the two of you sit wordlessly for a few moments as everything sinks in, the only sounds being the occasional snivel from either of you. 

when you finally move to stretch your legs out you gasp, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above his dresser. he’s startled for a moment, watching you shoot up from your spot and rush over to wipe your face. 

“jeno, why didn’t you tell me i looked like this?!” you squeak out, mascara blotted on and around your eyes. he kinda laughs at you, twisting around to watch your frantic motions in amusement. in seconds, he’s dug into a drawer and he’s handing you a pack of wipes, mumbling something about how he didn’t even notice, which earns him a glare. the tension seems to have eased at once following this interaction, and the mood is lighter as you slip into small talk. you finish swiping away the makeup from your face and when it’s clean, you check the time on your phone and place it on the dresser.

“You know the last time i made your makeup run, you definitely weren’t crying,” 

“oh, god,” your face glows red and your hand makes contact with his shoulder, “how embarrassing!” 

“sorry, sorry,” he grins timidly, shying away from your blow, “too soon.”

when your laughter dies down, you shoot him a grin.

“i should go soon. it’s getting dark,” he nods once. you swing your bag over your shoulder and head for the door, mumbling something about how the last time you left their place late you were too scared to walk from your parking garage to your apartment, when jeno grabs your forearm.

“wait!” you stop, “can i… can i ask you something?” 

flipping around expectantly, you blink and he swallows thickly, as if already knew the answer and didn’t really wanna hear it. either way, the words tumble from his mouth quickly. 

probably the most timid he’s sounded tonight, his voice is gravely and reserved when he asks, “is there something going on between you and mark?” 

that was not at all what you were expecting him to say. in fact, it’s the one thing you were hoping wouldn’t come up at all today.

you didn’t want to bring up mark for various reasons: firstly, there’s a very fine line between letting jeno in on the detail that mark also likes you–and that you like him–and explaining that that’s why you two can’t be together, and having him think that in telling him, you’re asking for permission to date his best friend. that’s something you’re incapable of even implying, because how fucking heartless and selfish would that be? secondly, you hadn’t even talked to mark yet, and you didn’t even know if the two of them had already discussed it. lastly, this conversation was supposed to be about jeno, and his feelings– and you’d feel like shit if you made it about anybody else.

you can’t help the way your eyes widen at his question, however, and you immediately blurt out “what? no!” 

nice. smooth. 

jeno cocks a brow up and you inhale shakily, “i mean, not really… or, at least not anymore.” he cocks an eyebrow at you and you purse your lips, shrugging, “i guess… for a moment there almost was, but then-” 

“then i confessed,” he nods in understanding. instantly, your eyes snap wide open and you hold an arm out. 

“yes, but it’s fine jen, i think it’s better that we didn’t-”

“you don’t,” your shoulders fall as he sighs, reading you like a book, “you don’t think it’s better.” his eyes flicker between yours, but you don’t have it in you to even try and refute him.

“you know,” he starts, “i had a feeling but i wasn’t too sure ‘cause you guys have always been really close.” 

“jeno…” 

there’s a lingering moment of silence, and you almost fear the mood has become sour and tense once more. you can’t seem to find your voice, or any words for that matter, and jeno walks closer until he’s less than a few feet away. he looks like he’s deep in thought for a flashing second, before his shoulders relax and he speaks up. 

“I think you should be together,” there’s no reluctance in his tone, no bitterness either, “not that you need my okay, because you don’t. but, if you’re worried about me, don’t be. i’ll be fine, I promise. besides, i’d hate to be the reason the two of you are forced to settle for a ‘what if.’” 

“just um,” he continues and for the first time, he speaks meekly, “give me a bit of time to recover before you guys start rubbing your happiness all over me,” 

oh. 

speechless and gawking at him with wide eyes, it takes a long minute before you manage to muster up a reply. jeno could have changed his mind a dozen times over by then. your heart is beating noticeably faster, sitting in your throat like a lump. 

“no,” you decide, “i can’t just do that to you.”

“it’s okay, y/n. i mean it. and thanks for coming by to talk abou-” 

“no, no,” you shake your head, “you don’t get it, i can’t–i won't do that to you, it’s not fair,” 

“I’d feel worse if you didn’t,” he admits, “like i’m keeping you from something. mark’s my best friend, so are you. what isn’t fair is keeping you guys from each other.” his eyes gleam sympathetically, and you blink a few times at him, “call him. talk to him, at least. he’s been down for a few days now. won’t come out of his room much while he’s home.” 

you nod slowly, “okay, i’ll do that,” 

“think about it, yeah?” 

“jeno, get dressed!” hyuck’s voice comes as a bit of a surprise as he bellows, stomping down the hall and towards his room, passing by jeno’s on the way, “we’re going for drinks with renjun. can you believe that fucker thinks he can drink more than me? and jaemin agrees! man, you think you know a guy,” his voice is slightly muffled now that he’s in his room, but he’s still yelling out, “my pride is hurt, so hurry up! we’re leaving in 10,” 

“besides, i’ve got hyuck to tend to. don’t know what he would do if my attention wasn’t on him all the time,” 

you stifle a laugh and weakly suggest, “crash and burn. come on, walk me out?” and jeno gives you a wide smile.

“o‘course,”

⋆ ★

if looks could kill, the scowl on mark’s face would’ve been your demise. he’s staring at you from the doorway of his front door, just as surprised to see you as you are to see him. 

nothing about today has gone right. it wasn’t until you got home last night that you realized you had left your phone on jeno’s dresser and by that time, it was too late to go back. more than likely, he didn’t notice either, or he would’ve dropped it off before going out for drinks. so, naturally, you had to stop by today to get it back.

you barely had time to think things over in regards to mark; part of you insists should continue to avoid him until you figure shit out–which obviously isn’t a possibility anymore since he’s standing right in front of you–and another part, was left tossing and turning in bed until the early hours of the morning, worried that mark would call or text you about something important and you wouldn’t be able to answer.   

that doesn’t matter now, anyway. mark is standing a foot away, eyes low and emotionless. he looks like he hasn’t had a proper sleep in days, and you don’t doubt that you look very different yourself. 

you’re the first to speak, mumbling a small, “hi,” which makes his chest rise and fall in a long sigh at the familiar sound of your voice–a sound that he missed dearly. 

“hi.” 

“i-” you start to speak again, before you realize, you have no idea what to say. 

are you supposed to apologize for dropping by unannounced or explain that the reason you couldn’t announce your visit was because you had left your phone here the day before? perhaps, he’s expecting an apology for the way you’ve been ignoring him, leaving him in the dark the last couple of days and refusing to reply to his many, many attempts to reach out. you’re not sure if he knew what happened yesterday, either. the point is: if all of these are things you need to say to him, which are you meant to say first? 

mark blinks at you until you offer him a sad, lopsided smile and shyly ask, “can i come in?” 

he doesn’t respond; instead, he brings a fist up to rub his tired eyes and moves aside to let you in.

“m’sorry,” you mumble, placing your bag down and slipping off your shoes. mark walks past you and sits on the couch a few feet away, brows slightly pinched down, “for a few things,” you mutter.

“i’m sorry, too,” he sighs, and you blink at him in surprise. 

“for what?” 

“for how i reacted the last time we were together. i couldn’t see things from your point of view until i really thought it through, and… you were right,” he admits defeatedly, voice hushed. “i’m also sorry for not being able to give you space when you asked for it. It’s just–you just mean a lot to me and the idea of you not wanting to talk to me really freaked me out.” 

“mark,” you coo softly. your feet carry you over to sit beside him, scooting closer until the two of you are shoulder to shoulder, knees bumping. when your lips part, your voice is airy and quiet, “you mean so, so much to me. I’m glad you didn’t give me space, i would’ve thought you hated me or something,” 

“i could never hate you,” he’s still looking at his lap, at the spot where his hands have come up to fidget mindlessly with his drawstrings. 

“–and sorry for not replying. that was childish of me,” 

mark lightly shakes his head, “no, dude, i get it.” 

“–and i would’ve mentioned i was dropping by, but i left my phone in jeno’s room after i came yesterday-“

“it’s fine, really—wait, you were here yesterday? with jeno?” his head snaps up.

“yeah, last night around seven.” 

“you were in his room?” 

“yes?” 

mark scoffs, a puff of air leaving his lips sharply. 

truly, mark didn’t mean to scoff. he meant to ask you “oh, how come?” or “hey, why you didn’t tell me?” but his questions are answered by his subconscious, and he’s not sure he liked what it had to say. he’d really like to think you didn’t come to—no. you wouldn’t… right? 

before he can add anything else, your expression twists into one of offense. 

“it wasn’t like that, mark.” you snap and he scoffs, again. 

“right, i’m sure it wasn’t.” 

instantly, you shoot up from your seat, arms crossing defensively, “it wasn’t,” you stress. mark runs a hand through his hair, huffing discontentedly, and you blink at him, “i just came to talk to him.” 

“before talking to me? i’m your best friend,” he replies. 

“yeah, but you’re not the one who had their feelings completely shot down,” 

mark stands to his full height, too, an incredulous look in his eyes, “oh, i’m not? he told you he liked you and you immediately changed your mind about us!” 

“that didn’t change my mind about us, mark. but honestly? this might,” you gesture between the two of you and spin on your heel to start making your way down the hall, “forget it. i’ll just get my phone and go,” 

with a huff, mark shoots up. 

“y/n,” he calls, but you ignore him. when you reach jeno’s bedroom door, you push it open and snatch your phone from the dresser. it was still in the very same spot you left it in, meaning hyuck probably dragged jeno out in a hurry. jeno also wasn’t here, which you were very grateful for right about now… it would have very been awkward to barge into his room if he was. 

you make a move to leave, but mark is hot on your trail, and when you turn back around, you almost bump right into his chest, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean-” he tries, but you cut him off. 

“do you really think i’d do that to you? tell me, honestly.”

“i don’t,” he answers quickly. at the sight of tears pooling in your eyes, mark winces, and his arms wrap around you. you consider fighting his grip, but the truth is, you didn’t really want to. 

“i’m sorry, i’m so, so sorry,” he chants into your hair, holding you tightly against him, “i was just upset that you didn’t come to me first, but i swear didn’t mean any of that. don’t even know why i said it, fuck.”

your voice is no louder than a muffled squeak, “i just–i came to tell him i was sorry and that i didn’t feel the same way.”

mark’s breathing calms, and he squeezes you a bit tighter. 

“he asked about you, you know, about us. wanted to know if we were a thing,” 

“what did you say?” he asks gently, curiously, as to not come off any more accusatory than he already has. 

you pull back to look up at him and sniffle, “that we almost were, or that we would’ve been if–anyway, he said he was okay with us being together. and i was going to tell you,” you stress, “i just wanted to wait until all the tension died down; until after we talked and he had a chance to move on. I didn’t think our talk would go like this, though” 

as you finish speaking, mark presses his lips deeply into your forehead, repeating his apology softly. they linger there for a moment before he replaces them with his nose. he then leans down to press his forehead against yours, although he doesn’t move to take anything further. 

the tears that coat your eyelashes and stick them together make his heart clench within the confines of his ribs. he decides just then that the sight of you crying is his least favorite one. 

both of his hands hold your cheeks, inviting you to look up and into his eyes, “i need you to know that the most important thing to me, like, ever, is you. I know i haven’t done a great job of making that clear today,” he whispers, “but whatever you decide you want to do, and however slowly you wanna do it, i’m there.”

and then, you utter out the last set of words he thought he would be hearing from you in this moment. 

“i want to be with you,” at first, he thinks he may have misheard you, but when you nuzzle your cheek into his open palm and grab at his shirt to tug him closer, his breath hitches. 

“what?” 

“i still want to be with you,” you repeat, a little quieter this time. the tips of your ears have gone hot, “if you want to, i mean,” 

“i do,” he replies quickly, nodding, “i do, of course i do.” 

he lets his thumb brush your cheek, eyes dropping to your lips, they fly back to yours in a flash for any bit of hesitation, but he finds none. 

slowly, he leans in, and the very moment his lips take their place against yours, the tension in your shoulders dissipates. your knees buck, but he’s quick to slide an arm around your waist and hold you up. when his chest presses to yours, he wonders if you can feel his heart pounding. what he doesn’t know, is that you’re thinking the very same thing.   

your hands slip under his shirt, wandering along the expanse of his lower back. his skin is warm under your touch, and he can’t hold back the hum he feeds your parted lips when your nails dig their little crescent moons into him. 

“mark,” you whimper, but he doesn’t break the kiss even for a moment. he’d literally rather die. 

what he does do, is lean so far into your touch that the two of you stumble back into the wall, where his hand comes up to hold your head to block the impact. 

“let’s-mmm,” he kisses you again, lips smacking loudly against yours, “t’your…room,”

He slightly nods to let you know he understood, “yeah,” 

the two of you spin around until it’s you who’s slightly guiding him in the direction of his bedroom. when he hits the door, he reaches an arm back for the doorknob and twists it open, all but pulling you inside. and, finally, the two of you break apart for air, chests heaving wildly and pupils blown completely wide. 

he’s a pretty sight, gazing at you sweetly with heavy lids. a bit of spit hangs behind on the corner of mark’s mouth and you laugh softly, stealing another kiss and using your thumb to wipe it away. you let your hand stay there, pressed right against his warm cheek, and mark squeezes your hip. 

“i love you,” he utters suddenly. 

“yeah?”

“yeah.” he nods. 

“me, too. i love you, so much,” you reply, and his eyes disappear as he grins so wide that his nose scrunches up. his cheeks start flushing red and he dives down to hide his face in your neck. while his laughter tickles, it’s nowhere near the sensation of the kisses he leaves behind, wet and trailing along your shoulder and chest.  you gasp softly when his teeth graze you and he pulls back. 

“yo,” a small hum leaves your lips in reply and he shakes his head slightly, “i think you’ve gotta be the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” 

he kisses you again before you manage to respond to his compliment, walking with you until the back of your knees hits the edge of his bed. when you sit down and scoot back, mark settles between your legs, using his hand to hike your right leg up and around his waist. 

“take this off,” you mumble, tugging until the white shirt he wears is up and over his head. mark wastes no time in peeling your top off, too, large hands grabbing a hold of your hip and waist and breasts, all the while his mouth attaches to your skin. here, he stays for a bit, licking and nibbling as he pleases. 

there’s a warmth between your legs now, all of your nerves tingling as you lift your hips, hoping you’ll brush yourself against his front or his thigh. there’s no doubt in your mind that you’ve soaked through your panties. 

“i can’t believe i have you all to myself now, fuck,” 

“mark,” 

“yes?”

“please..” 

“please what, baby?” he coos, lifting his head up. behind, he leaves a purple mark on the part of your breast that pudges out of the cup of your bra. 

the sight makes you drool, “i need you, please. do something, anything,” nothing about your actions implies you have even a slight bit of patience left, and this doesn’t go unnoticed.

mark is gawking at you, lip tucked between his teeth harshly. he considers teasing you a bit more, but your pretty eyes that plead with him are too hard to not appease.

it’s short and sweet, the way he smiles and lands his lips on your cheek with a pop. at the same time, his hips meet yours, pulling a strangled moan from your throat. you claw at his shoulders, looking down to watch the way he rolls into you, dick swollen and bulging under the constraint of his pants. 

every inch of him presses onto you, your legs sneakily wrapping tighter around him. mark grunts and cups your jaw, pulling your mouth open slightly.

“stick your tongue out for me,” he instructs. 

when your eyes blink up at him curiously and your tongue sticks out, mark smirks, letting the spit he’s accumulated drop. the free hand that was previously wandering unhooks the top button of your bottoms, slipping inside to cup your heat.

somehow, it’s still not nearly enough. every touch makes you jolt in desperation, writhing beneath his hold. mark lets his lips mold over yours again, freely exploring your mouth, his middle finger continuously running over your underwear to feel your arousal.

“so wet,” he says against your lips. you nod eagerly, grinding into his hand.

“all for you, baby,”

“you want my mouth? or my fingers? tell me how you want me,”

when you shake your head, mark leans further back, confused, “baby,” you plead, “no foreplay, i need you inside of me so bad,” 

“i need to prep you, doll,”

“i’m already so worked up, look,” you insist, shimmying your shorts down. you grab his hand and move your underwear aside, pressing his fingers into you so that he can feel for himself.

“shit… you’re dripping,”

“please,” you whine out.

“are you sure?” 

“mark, yes. i’m literally begging you to fuck me.” 

“okay,” he laughs, “so needy, pretty girl,” a sloppy kiss is placed over your lips as he pulls off his joggers and underwear, your panties practically yanked off. you make quick work of your bra, unclipping it and tossing it aside. when his attention is back on you, his gaze falls to your chest in admiration.

“you’re perfect, all for me. all mine, baby.” he brushes your hair behind your ear and reminds you, “ i love you,” 

“i love you, but please, please,”

with a breathy laugh, mark lines himself up with your entrance. his thumb guides the head of his cock down until he’s collected some of your slick, a task that proves slightly difficult with your restless squirming. 

he’s about to order you to stay still when he presses into you and momentarily forgets how to speak. a shiver goes down his spine, and his eyes roll back at the feeling of sinking into your walls. 

you moan out loudly and mark hisses, desperately trying not to finish early.

the stretch doesn’t even hurt as much as you thought it would, but it does take some adjusting on both ends–you’re fluttering around him helplessly, sensitive and susceptible to his every move; meanwhile, mark’s tip continues slipping out and bumping your clit, before he manages to push himself back in.

“mmph, baby, you’re pushing me out,” 

“m’sorry,” you pant, “can’t help it,”

he manages to bottom out as you pull your knees to your chest. intrigued by your position, he grabs your calves to settle them over his shoulders, pushing you into a sort of mating press, one where he can still look down to where your bodies meet. it’s fucking dirty, the way you’re practically leaking, juices flowing down your ass and gathering on his sheets. 

with another experimental thrust, your pussy squelches and tightens around him. mark grunts out mindlessly, “i could fuck you forever,” and you nod, agreeing.

with every slow roll of his hips, your breathing grows more shallow. the angle he’s fucking you in is absolutely insane. there’s no containing the whimpers that fall from your lips when his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow circles on your sensitive bud.

“more, g-go faster, i can take it,”

he obliges immediately, rocking into you harder, and you realize how close you’ve actually been this whole time. you’re so turned on from the mere intimacy of this moment that in seconds, your jaw has gone slack, pleasure coursing through your body until it numbs your fingertips.

your mind is blank, and all you can manage to blabber are a few weak and strained chants of his name, followed by a string of praises and  “i love you’s.”

mark’s orgasm follows soon after, despite the way he tries so hard to hold it off. he tries to bite your leg as a distraction, or pinch your pointed nipple, anything to try to prolong the moment and work you until you’re pleasantly overstimulated, but it’s too late, because his breath has gotten caught in his throat.

his thrusts begin stuttering, his eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s coming so, so hard that his fingers are turning white where they grip your waist.

if he prepped you, he might have lasted just a tad longer, but he didn’t. mark knew he was done for the moment he entered you and you clenched around him.

“fuck yes, take it, baby, take it,” his cum shoots out in spurts within your folds and and he stops holding himself up, burrying himself all the way in your cunt, dick twitching uncontrollably. 

“you’re unbelievable,” he praises, working to steady the pace of his breathing.

a lazy grin finds your swollen lips, “that was really good,” you mutter, tiredly looking up at him through glossed over eyes.

as he moves to lean back, you make a noise of complaint, but he’s quick to soothe you. 

“shh, don’t worry. i’m only making sure you’re comfortable,” he brings your legs down from his shoulders so they can rest at his sides, and the ache you feel instantly be relieved makes you very grateful for his consideration. he doesn’t dare pull out, though, basking in your warmth until he’s gone completely soft. 

“you’re mine, yeah?”

“yes, baby,” you agree contently, tucking back a few strands of his hair so they don’t fall in his eyes, which bore at yours so tenderly.

“alright,” he kisses you, “and i’m yours,” 

ੈ♡˳

a/n: sorry it was a few minutes late. thank you to everyone who has supported this series. i hope you found it worthwhile <3 sidenote: if theres any mistakes pls forgive me omfg

[jacketkiszka]

Only You Can Set Me Free

Female Reader x Danny Wagner

Word Count: 5.3K

WARNINGS: Explicit Sexual Content 18+, angst, alcohol consumption, drinking to the point of memory loss, oral m receiving, best friends to lovers, DIG setlist at a SCWT show (sorry not sorry)

*Thursday night, 10 pm*

*Your POV*

“Can I get two beers? Whatever you have is fine.” You shout to the bartender over the noisy Nashville bar. You return to your group with two canned beers in tow, and pass one to your best friend, Danny. You are out celebrating tonight as Danny has a show in town tomorrow, but will be leaving for tour the following day. This will be your last chance to spend quality time with him for a while, until they have a break. You clink your beers together, as you always do, and you both take a drink. 

After a couple beers and a lot of talking, you head to the restroom. When you return, Danny is talking to a girl you’ve never seen before. She seems really excited to talk to him, so you think you know what’s going on. 

“Thank you, yeah… It means a lot.” Danny replies. You approach the two and grab your beer from the table behind him. 

“Oh! And you must be the girlfriend!” The girl asks. You practically spit out your beer in surprise. “Girlfriend?” You look at the girl and then to Danny. The question was genuine, and you’re taken off guard, so you just introduce yourself, avoiding the ‘girlfriend’ comment as a way to end the conversation quickly. The fan eventually leaves you two alone and you make your way back to the rest of your group. 

“Did you tell her we were together?” You ask. Danny busts out laughing. “No! I don’t know where that came from! Do people really think that?!” He responds as you approach the group.

“What’s that? Y/N and Danny are dating?” One of your friends says, loud enough to get the rest of the group’s attention. They chuckle. “Congratulations! Took you long enough.” Another friend teases. You both roll your eyes. You hope it stops there, but of course it does not. 

Deeper into the night, the music gets louder and the alcohol percentages get higher. One of the friends in your group comes back to the table with a tray of shots. Everybody grabs a shot and holds them up when someone in the group shouts “To Y/N and Danny!” 

Great. Clearly you two have been chosen as the butt of all jokes tonight. “Fuck you guys” You mumble after taking the shot. You know they’re joking, but the more they talk about it, the more you think about it… and you’d been trying not to think about it for a long time. Of course you liked Danny, everyone did. But you left it at that. It would not, and could not, ever be more than that. You realize that this will be a long night of trying to repress those feelings if they don’t stop picking on you. You clear your throat and stand to go back to the bar. You need a distraction, and another drink. Danny follows suit. You should have expected that, the man is practically chained to your ankle. You offer to buy him a drink but he’s already ordering his own and putting yours on his tab. He does that when he feels like something is wrong. You know it’s coming, so you brace yourself. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks, quiet enough that nobody else can hear. You nod, and do your best to look confused while doing it as if you don’t know what he’s talking about. You do, though, and he knows that you do. Sometimes you wonder if he knows because he feels it too, but you try not to think too hard about that. 

“They’re just messing with you, y’know.” He says, now sounding concerned. 

“Oh, I know… It’s not about them, I’m just tired and… well, I’m not looking forward to you being gone. That’s all.” You hope he doesn’t see through your excuse, but you know he probably does. 

His facial expression softens, and he smiles a little. “I know. I’m going to miss you too.” 

You smile back and you both stand there in silence. This is the side of Danny that made your heart melt. This side of him was tender, and reserved for only a select few. You were lucky enough to be one of them. 

After a moment he breaks the silence. “Man, no wonder they think we’re dating.” He laughs quietly to himself. 

The drinks he ordered arrive and he slides one to you. “Drink up, get out of your head. Let’s have fun tonight.” 

He was right. There was no sense in letting a good night go to waste. After all, you would miss him greatly after he leaves for tour. The two of you make your way back to the group and plop down on one of the couches in the corner of the bar that you all had claimed as yours for the night. In typical Danny fashion, he sits entirely way too close to you on the couch. Again, chained to your ankle. You hope to god you’re not blushing, but you try not to care. 

As the night goes on, the alcohol starts catching up to everybody. You and Danny have gotten pretty comfortable on the couch, talking about the upcoming tour and pretty much anything else that comes to your mind. You loved to talk and he loved to listen to you. You hadn’t noticed yourself leaning more and more into Danny the more that you talked, but your friends did. 

They’d asked you about it before but you always denied having any feelings. They knew, though. Everyone did. You could deny it all you wanted, but there was no questioning the way that the two of you looked at each other. The way that he listened to you, the way that he was the only one who could calm you down if you were upset. In fact, the only two people who couldn’t tell, were you and Danny. The way you both managed to ignore your own feelings as well as the possibility of each other’s feelings was extraordinary. You had both become so jaded by the need to preserve your friendship that you ignored the fact that you knew it was right. Maybe that’s why they teased you about it so often, maybe they thought if they badgered you for long enough, you’d see. And maybe they were right. Whether it was that, or the impending sadness that would be coming with your best friend going on tour without you, you’d not been able to stop thinking about him. 

You had just barely started to let the thought creep back into your brain when one of your friends approached the two of you. She’d already had plenty - if not too much - to drink and brought a polaroid camera with her to document the night. As quickly as she approached, there was a camera being pointed at your faces. 

“Say cheese!!” She shouted.

You and Danny sit up straight and smile for the camera. He puts his arm around you to bring you closer. You don’t mind. She snaps the picture and sets the developing photo on the table. She points the camera at you again. 

“Give us a kiss, lovebirds!” Another one of your friends yells. The others giggle and shush him. “Come onnn, just a little peck. It’ll be funny!”

The next few seconds are fuzzy.

Was it the copious amounts of alcohol? Was it the peer pressure? You’re not sure, but the next thing you know, you’re kissing Danny Wagner.

As quickly as it began, it was over. Everyone laughed and then continued on as if nothing had happened, and the girl set the new photo next to the first one to continue developing. You and Danny laughed it off immediately, making comments about what assholes your friends were. Nothing he said registered in your ears. In fact, nothing for the rest of the night did. Your brain was mush and your skin was hot. What just happened? 

*Thursday night, 3 am*

You made it back home and you’re lying in bed, rethinking the night's events. Your head is swirling thinking about the way Danny’s lips felt against yours. You felt stupid for thinking about it still. It was nothing, just a silly joke to appease your friends. You’re not even sure how it happened, you can’t recall leaning in. All you remember is his lips, a flash, and then it was over. You lie there thinking about it for longer than you should. The thought replaying in your head over and over again, preventing you from falling asleep despite how tired and drunk you are. You can’t stop wondering how Danny may have felt about it. Was it more than a joke to him? Was he still thinking about you the way you were still thinking about him? Suddenly, you remember something. 

“The picture!” You whisper to yourself with a small gasp, and you jump out of bed to find your wallet. 

You had quickly snagged the picture from the table when no one else was looking. The last thing you two needed was rumors starting, and perhaps there was a small part of you that just wanted to keep it… it didn’t matter. You needed to see it. 

You find the picture and pull it out. You gasp at the sight, because this was not how you remembered it. Your arms wrapped around each other, his hand on your thigh and a smirk on his face as you kissed. What?! You must have been too blindsided by the kiss to notice. Did this mean he felt the same way…? Surely not, but this picture was making you think otherwise. You decide against your better judgment to text him. 

3:12 am

You: I had fun tonight. Thanks for talking to me earlier, I get too much into my own head sometimes. What time should I be at the venue tomorrow?

A text bubble popped up almost immediately showing that Danny was typing. It quickly disappeared and you felt your heart sink a little. 

3:13 am

Danny: soudnchck at 2 im being there 1. any time.

Oh, he is still drunk. He went pretty hard tonight. You chuckle, reading the message again, trying to decipher it.

3:13 am

Danny: always have. funwith u :):)

Smiling, you clutch the phone to your chest and fall asleep without a response. 

*Friday Afternoon, 1:48 pm*

*Danny’s POV*

You open your eyes for the first time today and are immediately assaulted by the dogpiling combination of dizziness, nausea, and a migraine. The sun is too bright, the fan in the corner of the room is too loud. Everything is too much. What time is it? You turn over to face the clock on your bedside table, trying not to make yourself sick in the process. The clock reads 1:48.

“Fuck!” You shout, but you’re so exhausted it comes out more as an angry groan. 

You force yourself out of bed against your body’s will and make your way to the bathroom to get ready. You are certain you’ve never looked worse in your life. You’re certain that nobody has ever looked worse in their life. You brush your teeth and put your hair in a claw clip, just to get yourself out the door. You decided you’d freshen up after sound check. Trying to minimize the damage of how late you were going to be, you just grab your keys and head out the door, not even considering grabbing something caffeinated on your way out. 

Upon getting to the venue, it’s clear that everyone is upset with you, and rightfully so. You were not only holding everybody up, but in a funky mood on top of it. You slam your keys down and get to the stage to do your soundcheck. Everything sounds fine, except for you. You can barely think straight and keep missing the beat. What is wrong with you today? 

After soundcheck, you’re making your way back to the dressing room to get your shit together when you spot Y/N running through the halls. She is always doing what she can to help the band, despite not being a part of the crew. You appreciate her more than she’ll ever know. She’s clearly busy right now, so you dip into your dressing room instead of saying anything.

Shortly after, you hear a knock at your door. You open it to find your best friend, holding a box full of miscellaneous equipment and wires. 

“Hey,” she starts, “You okay? I didn’t see you earlier, you’re usually the first one here so I got concerned.”

You laugh and rub your hand on the back of your neck. “Oh, yeah… Sorry… I guess I drank a little too much last night. I slept until almost 2. I woke up with a violent hangover, I don’t even remember most of the night.”

“Oh..” Her expression drops.

What was that? What is that face? Why does she look disappointed? You furrow your brow in response. 

“Umm, maybe you should get a coffee?” She suggests. You agree. That would make you feel a lot better right now. You offer to get her one, as well. She appreciated that. 

She disappears into the hallway to go distribute the box of gear and you start to gather your keys and wallet… Shit. Your wallet. In your hungover haze this morning you completely forgot to grab it. 

You debate if the coffee is even worth it, but ultimately it is, plus you had offered to get one for Y/N. You couldn’t possibly let her down. You roll your eyes and leave the dressing room, finding her in the hallway and asking if you can borrow her card for the coffees. She agrees and hands you her wallet. You thank her with a hug, now setting off towards the coffee shop down the road. 

You order yourself the largest coffee they can offer you, and a regular sized one for Y/N. She didn’t have to tell you what she wanted, you already knew her order. In fact, you knew everything about your best friend… or at least you thought you did. 

Reaching into your pocket to pay, you pull out her wallet. When you open it, you stop in your tracks. The barista is staring at you with a confused look on their face, and you feel just as confused. When did you kiss her? Who took this picture? And why was it in her wallet? You try your best to shake it off long enough to pay for the drinks but on the ride back to the venue you can’t stop thinking about it. Is this why she looked disappointed to hear you hadn’t remembered anything about last night? You feel like your heart is going to break in half thinking about that. 

You’ve always liked Y/N. How could you not? You had always hoped if you ever kissed her it would be special. This wasn’t special. You couldn’t even remember it. You wondered how she felt, if she had thought it was special. If she wanted you to feel the same. Had you unknowingly ruined any chance you had with her by drinking too much to remember it? Maybe she doesn’t remember it either. Would that make it better or worse? You don’t know. Fuck.

You sit in the parking lot for a moment too long, trying to rack your brain. You force yourself to go back inside so that the coffee doesn’t get too cold. Somehow you managed to make handing off her coffee and wallet the most awkward experience of your life, barely looking her in the eye when you saw the corner of the polaroid still poking out of the wallet. You felt bad, but you didn’t know how to talk about this. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to find the words to say. 

She felt it, too. She felt the tension, she noticed the way that you looked at her as if she was fragile. You were terrified to say the wrong thing, and push her away. 

It wasn’t the fact that you’d kissed her. It was the way that you kissed her. It was the way your hand was gripping her thigh, the way you smiled against her lips. It was the fact that you couldn’t remember it, and it was the fact that she’d kept it in her wallet. 

*Friday Night, 9:23 pm*

The arena fills with cheers and screams as Safari Song comes to a close. You feel the anticipation building as you prepare for your moment. You start your solo as Josh exits the stage, and you catch a glimpse of Y/N standing side stage. She was always there for your solos, at the very least. Even if she didn’t catch the rest of the show, she made sure to watch you have your moment. You knew she’d be staying for the entire show tonight though. This was going to be a special one. You smile and get focused, trying to give this solo everything you had. If you were one thing, it was a perfectionist. Maybe the fans wouldn’t notice if you missed a beat every once in a while, some of them used your solo as a bathroom opportunity anyways, but you would know. Once you were in the zone, nothing could stop you. Well, almost nothing. 

Your time in the spotlight flies by and Josh comes back on stage, rambling his usual stage banter and more importantly giving you a breather before you transition your solo into the next song. 

“Better than sex!” Josh exclaims to the crowd.

You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek and shake your head, mouthing “I don’t know about that” to him before looking back to your left and watching the color flush in Y/N’s cheeks. 

“Well, how about a climax, Daniel?” Josh shouts. 

From the corner of your eye you see her turn and abruptly walk away from the stage.

What was that about? Was she- No. Daniel, focus. 

You try to push it to the back of your mind but you keep finding yourself thinking about last night, the photo you saw, and how flustered she looked as she ran off. Fuck, it was getting hard to stay in the moment. 

As the show goes on, you find it creeping back into your head more and more. Y/N still hasn’t returned and as you start Light My Love, you feel yourself getting more and more wrapped up in the thoughts of her. 

The music is swelling, the fans are holding each other tight in anticipation, singing along to Josh’s oohs. He throws his hand in the air and as the music stops, the lights go out. You give the drum two solid hits and right before the big moment, the photo of last night flashes in your mind again. 

You miss. 

You were late. 

The pyro goes off before you can crack your symbols and your heart sinks. What the fuck was that? You’d never been late like that at a show. Especially not for this song that you’ve played a hundred times now. You had to be better than that, right? You know you’re better than that. How could you let this distract you so much? You hoped you could recover and move on, but it was fucked from that point forward. Whether you were playing too fast, too slow, skipping a beat, hitting the wrong drum. It didn’t matter, you were struggling and everyone could tell.

Finally the main part of the show comes to a close and you run off stage before quickly being berated by the other boys. The worst part is you knew they were right. This was by far your worst performance and as the timekeeper of the band, you were screwing everybody else in the process. Thinking there was only one way to solve your problem and hopefully do better for the encore, you run to the mini bar in your dressing room where you spot half of the drinks had already been gone. You knew it was from Y/N, since nobody else ever helped themselves to your dressing room, but you didn’t see her anywhere. After downing a couple tequila shots, you slam the mini fridge door shut and turn around to see her standing awkwardly in the back of the room. 

“You’re not watching the show anymore.” Is all you say. 

“I’m sorry- I-” She tries to find the words but you can see in her eyes there’s far too much she wants to say, and now’s not the time to say it. 

“I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad…” She tries to console you.

“I ruined the entire show! Everyone is off and they’re all pissed at me and it’s all because of your stupid-” you stop. 

The tension is palpable. 

“…Stupid what?” She says sheepishly, fidgeting with the hem of her Greta Van Fleet t-shirt.

Your eyes flick down to the pocket of her jeans against your will and she adjusts her forearm, as if a half-assed attempt to prevent you from looking for the wallet. She knows you know.

“Why do you have that picture in your wallet?” You step closer. She steps backwards but is quickly met with a wall. Your in-ear monitor pings to let you know it’s time to return to the stage.

“I didn’t want anyone else to see it..”

“You didn’t want anyone to see it, so you put it in your wallet… and then gave it to me to pay for coffee.” You scoff. “This shouldn’t have happened. This is all-” You stop yourself before you can say something you’ll regret. With a shake of your head you start to walk away. 

A hand reaches out and grabs your arm just as you’re about to step out of the room. You look back, feeling the rage build up inside you. You knew none of this would have happened if it weren’t for her. You were just about to bite back at her when you’re met with the saddest, kindest eyes. The eyes you’d always had a soft spot for. For just a moment, everything you were mad about seems to fade away. 

“I’m sorry, Danny… I didn’t mean to upset you… I think we should talk about last night…”

Fuck, she makes your heart ache. 

You look into her eyes and she bites her lip, scared of what you’re going to say. You know exactly what she’s thinking, and you’re thinking it too. You get another ping on your in-ear urging you to hurry up. Without another word, you reach up to grab the sides of her face and pull her into a soft, quick kiss. With that, you turn away and head back to the stage, pulling another mini tequila bottle out of your pocket and taking it. 

*Your POV*

What the fuck just happened? It was like one second he wanted to tear your head off, and the next he’s kissing you in his dressing room? Trying to wrap your head around the events of the last few minutes, you make a mental note to have him work on his mixed signals. The warm and dramatic intro of Age of Man begins and like a magnet, you’re drawn back to the side stage. Sammy starts the song off with a hauntingly beautiful piano number and you watch as Daniel, now shirtless, settles into his drum kit. The dark blue lights mixed with the warm amber glow of the fire pits around the stage define every muscle in his arms and back in the most delicious way. Danny looks over to catch you staring him down and smiles. His demeanor is much lighter than before and although it could be from the tequila, something told you it had more to do with you. 

You watch the boys finish out their encore and as soon as you see Danny stand from the drum kit and Jake start throwing his spare picks into the crowd, you make your way back to the dressing room. Danny is usually the last one off the stage as he is always getting caught up handing out drumsticks and taking shots with the front row, but tonight wasn’t a normal night. That much was obvious. You make it back to Danny’s dressing room and within seconds he’s behind you, drumsticks still in hand, pulling you further into the room. 

Your bodies collide and he pulls you into him, your face in his hands as he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Danny…” You whisper, looking up into his eyes, your breath stuttering. “I think… I think we should talk about-”

He cuts you off.

“We have all night to talk about it. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted- needed to do this.”

He presses his lips against yours. Cautiously at first, but increasingly more passionate when he feels you melt into him. The hands around your face find their way backwards into your hair, holding you in place and even though this is the third time you’ve kissed Danny, you’ve never felt anything like it. You feel like putty in his embrace and he feels like heaven. You’re suddenly being pushed backwards against the wall of the dressing room, the same place you stood the last time he graced your lips with his.

Your hands run down his sides and rest at the waistband of his pants. He kisses you harder. It’s blissful. His tongue feels like everything you imagined and more. It’s all happening so fast, yet time moves so slow. You swear you could stay here for hours, days even, pinned between the wall and his body. With your fingers hooking into the waistband of the boxers that poke out just above his belt, you draw a sigh out of him. You snap the button of his jeans and close the sliver of a gap between your torsos with your hand snaking down to feel him. You pull away from his lips, looking into his eyes for his consent and he ruts into your palm, making his answer clear. He feverishly presses his lips back into yours, like he’s been made hungry in their absence. Starved. He lets you explore the feeling of him for the first time and you let him trail hot kisses from your jaw to your collarbone. 

“Please take these off,” you whisper, pulling at his jeans.

Danny looks down at you, and with a gentle bite to his bottom lip he guides you away from the wall and quickly rids himself of his denim before sitting back on the couch. You can’t stop your eyes from trailing down his body, inspecting every inch of his skin, parts of him you’d only imagined before. He was just as beautiful as you thought he would be, built like a Greek god and splayed out just for you. He looks up at you expectantly as he strokes himself gently. You sink to your knees before him and take him into your hand.

You drag your fingers down the length of him, he hisses through his teeth. His head rolls back and you watch his Adam's apple bob through the mess of his long curly hair. You lean in, your breath hot against his skin, and press a soft kiss to the sensitive tip. He groans, and his hips buck slightly, encouraging you to take more of him into your mouth. You part your lips and slowly take him in, swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip. His hands tangle in your hair, guiding you as you bob your head, taking more of him each time. His breath grows ragged as you pick up the pace. The sound of your mouth working him fills the room, accompanied by his desperate gasps. You’re addicted to the taste of him, the feeling of him throbbing against your tongue. 

Danny's grip on your hair tightens as his body tenses. "Look at me, baby," he rasps. 

You pull back just enough to look up at him, his length glistening with your saliva, as you continue to work him with your hand. He pulls you up into him for a sloppy kiss, mixing your spit and the little bit of precum on your tongue. He pulls away with a strained whimper. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this… Wanted to feel your lips wrapped around me… Watch your eyes tear up when you take me… You’re a fucking dream, baby, are you gonna let me fuck you?”

You smile at him, still pumping his length in your hand. Your grip tightens. 

“Mmm, next time,” You peck him on the lips before returning to your knees before him. “I’ve always wanted to know how you taste… You gonna cum for me?”

You take him back in your mouth, sucking him in all the way to the back of your throat. His hips jerk forward at the feeling.

“Fuck!” His head rolls back against the couch and his chest heaves, your hair still wrapped tight around his knuckles. He pushes further into your mouth causing a gag to rip from your throat. He hesitantly lets go of your hair, afraid he’s pushed you too far, but you pick up the pace, bobbing your head faster and faster. He writhes and his nails dig into the soft gray fabric of the couch beneath him. Your free hand finds its way to the heat between your legs. You moan around him as you grind against your palm, searching for friction. The vibration of your groan rattles through him bringing out a loud gasp. The sweetest sound you’d ever heard.

"You look so good like this, just like that, baby, just like that… just…” He praises, his voice growing desperate. 

You look up to meet his eyes and his brows furrow tightly. His cock throbs against your tongue and you’re hit with a sudden rush of warmth. Danny lets out a groan so strained you’d think he was in pain. You’ve never heard anything more beautiful. Danny consumed all of your senses. The taste of him, the sound of him, the feeling, the warmth. 

You pull off of him with a loud pop! He looks down at you and everything feels… different. He’s looking at you like you hung the moon, a way you’ve never been looked at before. Not by him, anyways.

He leans down to place a gentle kiss to your forehead, and then your lips. 

“So… did you still want to talk about it?” He whispers, smiling against your lips. 

You smile back up at your best friend. “Maybe we can talk about it at your place. I know you have a long drive tomorrow but maybe-“

He interrupts you enthusiastically. “I’ll pull the car around. This is long overdue.” 

He hops up from the couch, pulling his pants back up and grabbing his car keys. You start to gather your things from the dressing room but before he opens the door, he looks back to you. “Y/N?”

You look up, meeting his gaze. 

“I’m glad you kept that picture… Really glad.” He smiles and steps out of the dressing room. 

You didn’t know what your future with Danny would look like, but you knew one thing.

You were glad you’d kept it, too.

[kamisama1kiss]

How would they ask you out for the first time? {Ninjago Addition}

~~~

~ Lloyd Garmadon ~

He was teaching you new tricks he had learned, smiling proudly, but yet he had been more bashful with his ears red, which was unusual for him. This moment is interrupted to him being a hero, yet again, "We can continue later on, yeah." He says out loud to you but stopping at the door for a short second longer. "Let's call it a date, how about that?" Rushing down the hall after with a boyish grin on his expression.

~ Kai Smith ~

Of course, he had been the most confident about it. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer, reaching a hand out with your favourite flower handed to you. The infamous grin on his lips and a raised brow. "If you're free anytime soon, I could take you out. Hmm? What you say."

~ Cole Brookstone ~

Taking both your hands on his wishing on your whole attention as his face warmed up, "I've been thinking for a while.." Pausing as he himself needed to take a breath before continuing eye contact. "We should go out? Sometime in the upcoming free time, if you want." Laughing nervously, squeezing your hands carefully knowing his own strength.

~ Zane Julian ~

He had decided to go somewhat 'simple' with asking you out. There had been silence for a while with only you two standing on the deck of the ship. "I believe we should go on a date." Sounding more like statement than a question, deep down he was too nervous to even make eye contact at that very moment

~ Jay Walker ~

Simple. Simple as he walked up to you with a whole handful of flowers, chocolates, and a teddy. Wearing a black suit and a tie smiling sweetly standing there looking handsome as ever, "I hope you consider a date with me, on Friday at 6pm? I'll pick you up." Cocking his head to the side feeling as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

~ Nya Smith ~

Not only did she have a speciality with water and machine crafting, using what she knows of her water powers to write out her date proposals for when you joined her along the walk down the beach for a moment to relax. Doing her movements as a dark blush appeared on her face before looking back at you. "So?" She muttered nervously.

~ Morro ~

Often, was he grumpy, he seemed oddly less unpleased this evening. "Let's go out, I'll pick you up at 6." Crossed arms and a head turned to the side, not wanting to look weak in front of you, a scowl to be miss-matching how he actually felt. Especially since he thought so highly of you again, enough to even take you out.

~ Skylor ~

A few days before, she previously asked you to show up at the restaurant, saying she wanted you to try out a new recipe. When making sure she was the one who served your table, giving you a playful wink before leaving you alone. There laid a paper next to the bowl which was placed in front of you, which read, 'Taking you out on Friday at 6 xoxo Skylor.'

~ P.I.X.A.L ~

Knowing very well that you like, so she took time to get your favourite chocolate, which had been placing it in your hands with a simple tiny smile on her metal face. "I like you. Does thursday work for you?" Feeling as if her harddisk is about to overload.

~ Princess Vania ~

Sitting in the garden at her own palace, watching the sunset next to you. Reaching her own hand and placing it on your hand, with a soft squeeze gazing at you softly. "We should meet up another time, perhaps at night under the stars for stargazing?" Shuffling some golden hair behind her ear. Smiling softly.

~ King Benthomaar ~

There, he stood with flowers he had collected from the water searfice before meeting you. Toothy sharp grin with a blue soft blush as he voided eye contact, scratching the back of his neck and swallowing down the nervousness creeping up his features. "Hey, uhm... Would you want to maybe.. uh, go out? With me.. maybe." he chuckled quietly.

[riofann]

8. tempestuous

Tempestuous: characterized by strong and turbulent or conflicting emotion.

Previous Chapter

Thursday February 4, 2021

You walk into the bar, it was empty but he was there sitting facing the bartender. 

When he sees you he has a slight smile on his face and pulls the bar stool closer to him (A/N: We all know this infamous scene). 

“You rang?” He smiles but doesn’t say anything “What do you want?” 

He turns to face the bartender before facing you and smiling “Get her a tequila sunrise”  expecting you to object

You turn to face the bartender “a water please” 

The bartender nods and scurries away sensing the tension

“Why don’t you take a seat?” he pulls out the barstool so you could slide in Unphased by his gesture you say “No, let's just get this over with Rio. What do you want?” 

He takes in a deep breath and faces the bar, he hoped that with time you would have calmed down, he did, he had moved past it. 

“I need double the amount” he speaks before taking a sip of his drink 

“For how long?” 

He shrugs “I don’t know yet, I’ll let you know” 

“When do you need this to start?”

“Now” he turns to face you expecting a protest 

“Okay is that it? 

“Yea” he responds with his stoic expression 

With that you spin around and walk away

By the time you make it out the door the bartender had both drinks in hand “Oh uhhhh” 

“It’s alright, comp it” 

“Yes sir” 

Sunday February 14, 2021

“Where’s Rio?” you ask holding onto the bag, he had told you he was going to manage the pick up today 

Your phone vibrates right on cue like he is listening 

The man in front of you scoffs as if it is the most ridiculous question “He got a date today lady, it is valentines duh!” 

“Right” you say looking down at your phone and reading the text 

Rio: Got tied up 

“And I gotta go slap some cheeks so let's get this out the way” he says reaching for the bag 

“Right! Right!” you say handing him the money 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ later that day ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And then he took me to this like pop up thing very romantic” Alicia babbles on the phone recounting her date with her boyfriend as you were all on 3 way between yourself,  Gia, and Alicia

“That's good!” Gia comments

“I’m sorry I’ve only talked about me. How was yours? Working?” she asks noticing you hadn’t added much to the conversation 

“Yeaaaa” 

She sighs “Sissy we really would like you to have someone up there” she comments

You sigh back “Sometimes things aren't in the books for all of us Ally” 

“That's not true! What about that guy? What's his name? Christian? No! Christopher! What about Christopher?”

You remain silent 

“Sissy?” 

“Yes”

“Christopher?” Gia asks

You blow out air “Well you know...”  

“Are you two back together?” 

“Ugh” you express in disgust  “no, we just aren’t a good fit for each other” 

“Why would you say that?” Alicia asked 

“It's a hunch but tell me what happened after the pop up”  you ask wanting her to get distracted again and it worked.

After you get off the phone with her not too long after there’s a knock at your front door. You look through your camera to see Rio standing on the opposite side. It was almost midnight. 

“Yes?” you say as you open the door 

He walks past you. “Hey mama” he greets you. You lock the door and follow suit to your usual meeting point in your home. The kitchen. 

“You asked about me” he comments 

You look at him confused, “I asked where you were because you said you would pick up today and I was told you had a date. I gave Antoine the money”

He nods taking a seat by the bar 

“What do you want?” still confused by why he even stopped by 

He dips his head down and laughs to himself 

“Still mad huh?” 

“Nope” emphasis on the p

He looks at you and squints biting back a smile but you could see the dimples 

“How’d your date go?” you ask with your back to him, you feel the urge to just slap him at any moment so you need to distract yourself  He chuckles, “Worried about my love life now?” He asks watching you walk past him to the living room to pause the movie, then back and stand across from him 

“Noooo” You shrug “Just curious” 

He hums “hmm” a pause “How was your date?” 

You scoff “You know damn well I was at the bar making many women happy for their mans last minute date” 

He laughs “Valentine with no date” 

“Yea, well welcome to my life, at least one of us had a good date” you beam at him “got that after glow and all” 

He frowns “What you talking about?” 

You reach and turn his head gently by the jaw “Your date made sure to leave a parting gift” You say as you point out the subtle imprinted pink lips on his neck

He goes to your bathroom to check and you hear the water running which makes you laugh “Aww don’t remove it, it was her gift to you” 

After he is done he leaves without say anything else to you. 

Tuesday March 16, 2021

“I was summoned” you comment as you slide into the bar

“Hello Y/N!”  Nick greets joyfully

“Nick” you greet

“Brother sin...” 

Rio interrupts “Cousin”

Nick playfully rolls his eyes “This guy with semantics”

You take a deep breath. There's silence at the table as you wait for them to tell you the reason for their visit.

“How was valentines last month?” Nick asks

You shrug “I worked, dropped the money, worked again, then I went home” 

He frowns “How sad no date”

“No but I'm sure you were aware of that, so what’s up? Why do we need to talk?” 

Nick holds a sly smirk on his face “a beautiful woman like yourself”

“Nick!”  Rio scolds

“What do you want?” you ask irritated 

Nick turns to face Rio “Well brother“ Rio sighs and looks away. Nick turns to face you “He's being shy”

“Nick” Rio warns

“What brother?” 

“Stop!” he orders 

Nick throws up his hands in surrender “Fine! Fine!” he turns to face you and looks at you for a brief moment before saying  “We want you to proceed with the second location” 

You shake your head “I can't. I can’t do that it's too soon” 

“Well seeing that all of this is your fault”

“Excuse me!?” “Nick!” both you and Rio say in unison 

He smiles “Yea you see, had you not betrayed my family we wouldn't be here in fact the second location would be open right now if it wasn't for you” 

“I was put in a tough position”  you argue 

He tilts his head from side to side “Yeaaaa buuuut” he looks at Rio “brother here told me he gave you an option out of this and you still chose wrong seems to me you are indeed responsible for everything cariño” he speaks adding salt into the wound 

“Nick stop” he shoots daggers with his eyes at him 

You put your hand up to stop Rio “No it's okay I accept” you swallow a lump growing in your throat, you feel your hands shaking in your lap.  You clear your throat before speaking. “It was my fault” you speak confidently “and I paid the ultimate price that I accept. But opening up the second  location right now will not be in the best interest for anyone. The community will not agree to this and feel like I used this as an opportunity and no one will think Cure is the best bar in town an....”

Nick cuts you off “Well that's your problem isn't it?” 

“It's not even a year since she...” 

“We know” he smiles  

You shake your head in disbelief “I won't do it, kill me but I’m not doing it!” you declare

He looks at Rio “you did tell me..” 

“I told you” he says cutting him off visibly irritated with Nick 

Nick turns to face you again “We have to wash more money” He looks between both of you “so one of you needs to come up with a solution for washing double the amount of money!” 

“Get someone else to do it, a different bar a different shop” you offer

He shakes his head “Uh Uh that won’t do cariño, everybody is sloppy you’re not” 

“I can’t wash double if there are no customers” 

He smiles at you “Again that’s a personal problem, it’s what comes with running a business Y/N” 

“No! That’s my final answer!” 

He turns to face Rio “Brother” “Nick” he calls his name jaws taught. You look between them was Nick who he answered to? 

“Yes brother you know she’s the only one” 

“Y/N” Rio calls your name

You gauff “I’m not doing it!  Fuck it I don't care” you pull out your phone “let me just tell my family I love them” 

Rio puts his hand on top of yours to stop you before he turns to look at Nick “We need to find someone else” 

He smiles at Rio “No I want her” 

“It's not gonna work cousin” 

Nick stands up “Brother. Then I suggest you two come up with a solution because whether you like it or not she will be running that second location” 

You watch him leave before you turn to face Rio, he doesn’t say anything, just hangs his head low before getting up to leave too. 

Wednesday April 21, 2021

You knock on the door and wait for him to open. You wave to greet him as he stands in the entry way

He smiles “Hey mama” stepping aside to let you in 

You step into his office at the warehouse “I got called to the office again. What did I do now? I have been giving Alejandro the money no questions asked” 

He chuckles. Spring was around the corner but not quite so you paired your wrap dress that had a slit in it with thigh high heel boots. 

“Got your money” you say placing it on the desk 

He snickers “Didn’t call you here for that” 

You sigh “Well I brought it anyway incase I was in trouble” you take a seat on the couch as he leans against his desk

You both say nothing as he stares at you taking in your outfit. It does make you blush a little. Maybe the slit was too high and you adjust slightly so that the extra fabric covers your exposed thigh. 

“So what's up?” the memories of what happened last time you visited him were rushing back and you wanted to be out of there as soon as possible 

He clears his throat “I wanted to talk to you”

“About?”

He takes in a deep breath “The second location” You roll your eyes “This again”

“I need your help darling, got people I answer to, and I need double the amount you giving me now”

You nod looking down at your nails “Odd how I’m always the one you run to for help. Don’t you have other people in this freaking “empire” of yours” 

“I do” he responds smiling “but you’re my girl”

You groan “I can’t open up the second location you know how people will react” 

“You don’t have to it will be under an LLC”

“LLC that people can find”

“No an LLC owned by another business, owned by another business and so forth”

“Great” you sigh “Black rock style” 

He smiles “You get it”

“But they’ll see me there”

He shrugs “You can be behind scenes all we need you to do is manage the money”

“Why can’t you find someone else?”

He smiles at you “I just told you, you’re my girl”

“I’ll have to be at there to do all that”

He shrugs “We’ll figure out a schedule, make up an excuse, say you’re just consulting. Helping them get on their feet”

You shake your head still not liking the idea itself.

He pauses before speaking knowing what the reaction would be “It's already been decided” You scoff “Figured from the last meeting. Your boss did sa....” 

“Y/N” he warns

“Why am I here? You could have texted this shit”

“Needed your buy in” he argues 

“Doesn’t matter if you get it or not does it? Since the decision was already made”

“Come on ma’ don’t be like that” You roll your eyes standing up “Need your expertise in design” 

“Where is it gonna be?” 

“Different location on the north side of town” 

“The rich area? You think they want a bar?”

He shrugs “they want something, that's why I need you”

You nod “Okay get a planner and designer then” 

“Nah can’t have too many people involved.” He pauses “you’re good at it ”

“You’re gonna pay me!” you demand 

He puts his right hand on his heart and smiles “Scouts honor” glad you didn’t put up much of a fight. 

You stand there for a second looking at him realizing that once again you went against your own better judgment. You agreed to do something for Rio. You were supposed to be firm and not budge! But somehow some way he forced your hand and you always conceded. It made you hate yourself. 

“You good?” he asks walking closer to you bringing you back to the present 

“I’m fine” you say before walking out of the office not waiting for him to respond. The disgust you felt for yourself was boiling over and you were not going to let him see you cry. 

Monday May 10, 2021

“What are you doing here? I’ve been doing as you requested your highness” 

He chuckles sitting next to you, it had been a while since you last saw each other. Probably for the best. You had been unpleasant to be around. You were short, sarcastic, and uncooperative to say the least. 

It was a slow night, tonight  and you could find a seat at the bar so you moved all your work to a corner by the bar instead of being cooped up in the office 

“Hey Mike” you call to your bartender 

“Yea boss?” “Get him a GodFather (scotch whisky and amaretto)”  you turn to face him “it’s his favorite drink” Just something you picked up on over the years. 

He smiles at you happily accepting the attitude from you 

You don’t say anything but return to the laptop you were ordering supply for the next month 

“I’m tired,” he declares while taking a sip of his drink. He didn’t want to continue being at odds with you let alone fighting with you. 

“Welcome to the club” you state, not looking up from the laptop you were in the zone and didn’t want to be distracted or the system would time out and you would find yourself restarting. He doesn’t say anything but sits there next to you waiting for you to finish. When you’re done you close your laptop and leave him. 

You return after 20 minutes with food in hand

“Oh I’m not” he goes to stop you 

“Please this is practically your second dinner and you don’t gain any weight you can eat, plus I need unbiased opinion on this” 

He bites back a chuckle and picks up the fork. You both sit in silence and eat your meals after you’re both done you ask 

“What do you think? Spiced Lamb Burger with Fennel Cucumber & Celery Slaw, for next month” You ask when he is finished eating

He nods “it's good, a little spicy” 

“You don’t like spice?” “Nah I don’t mind it, it was good” 

You nod your head “good” and take the plates from him. He doesn’t say anything to you and you both sit in silence drinking and looking straight ahead at the TV. 

You turn to face him and blurt out “What's on your mind?” you finally break the silence you hated when he lingered, it normally followed with him telling you bad news or asking for yet another favor 

He chuckles and turns to face you  “What makes you think I have something on my mind”

You shrug “Well you don’t linger unless you have something to say” 

He smiles and nods “think you know me now?”

You smirk “You have to know your enemies”

He laughs, throwing his head back “Now I'm your enemy?” 

“Mhm! Or how else would you describe this?” you gesture between both of you pointing back and forth 

He picks up his glass to toast “A partnership” 

You roll your eyes and turn to face the TV “Not this again,” Suspecting him to ask you for a favor  “somehow I’m the one that keeps getting fucked over, interesting partnership we got here” 

He sighs “cuz you don’t listen to me” 

You hum “mmm...... not true but whatever. Agree to disagree” 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute “maybe I just like being around you” 

You scrunch your face and turn to face him “Horse shit!” He smiles at you “I’m serious”

“You’re lying! You want something so out with it your highness!” 

His jaw flexes looks you in the eye “I’m telling you the truth Y/N”  

You roll your eyes “Flattery isn’t your thing, your highness” you go back to your phone to distract from whatever it was you were feeling

“You don’t believe me?” 

You shake your head “I have a better chance  believing in flying pigs.”

He chuckles “Why tho’?” You look at him and smile, in a sarcastic tone you say “For the same reasons you didn’t believe me when I told you I didn’t steal your money!” His smile drops immediately, he turns to face the bar taking in a deep breath “I guess that's just the reality of our partnership” you finish. This was the unpleasantness he was trying to figure out. It didn’t take this long for you two to be back to some kind of norm. But this time was different. He doesn’t say anything and like before you break the silence. “You’re back to lingering, great” you mumble 

He turns to face you “What did I do? I know you’re mad at me just tell me what I did” you were holding onto a grudge he couldn’t resolve.

“Look in the mirror” you say refusing to face him 

“I’m trying here Y/N” he argues 

You turn to face him “By fucking me over? Making me do the work of multiple people while you and your boss, your brother, your cousin, whatever the fuck he is to you can maximize profit.” You pause “You can get literally anyone else to do this shit for you”

He sighs “Doesn’t have to be this way” he counters “Well I’m not the limiting factor here, every chance you get you’ll throw your weight and guns into the mix” 

“It’s needed” he counters  

You beam and respond satirically  “You see it's not me! Good first step! Honesty is the best policy!”

“It is you sometimes tho’” You smile at him keeping the same tone “Well my apologies your highness” He sighs rolling his eyes “Stop calling me that, rather you call me a asshole” You laugh “I thought you wanted things to be better? It's a fitting name. It’s something you said, ‘to be the king you gotta kill the king?’ Did I get it right? Medieval yadda yadda yadda blah blah blah.” you pause to see his reaction, it got under his skin exactly what you were looking for “I don’t know maybe someone else said it” “Y/N” “Yes! Mr. Christopher Serraño! What can I do for you?” He looks at you with a blank face all though you could see the rage boiling from the glare his eyes were giving you “Too far?” He doesn’t say anything “Forgive me then I won’t say a thing, women are best seen and not heard right?” “Y/N” he warns 

You motion with your fingers zipping your mouth and turn to get back on the laptop. A few minutes later he gets up and walks out of the bar. 

(A/N: What yall think Y/N should have extended an olive branch or not? What would you do if this was you?) 

Authors Note: Please leave your feedback, again please don't steal. Only repost, like, or give credit.

XOXO Rose

Taglist:

@katymae12344, @yinmaggiorebass , @flirtyjen, @wnbweasley, @meadows5, @ffenthusiastt, @rio-reid-whoreee, @belezaya, @meera10, @aunicornmademedoit, @stilestotherescue, @thatoneasiagurl

[jealousmartini]

Oh, nothing much, just a list of reasons why I am so excited to permashift to my ultimate 4d reality //better current reality//

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

— EXPERIENCING DESIRED SCENARIOS

I am a hardcore daydreamer just like my brother and sister shifters(you guys🫵🏾), and I can't wait to really live the silly imagines I always have in my head. Even if it's something relatively small, I will still get to live every second of them.

Idk if some of you guys will remember that one post where I mentioned Googlebox? But I'm mentioning it again🙄 because I scripted me, my love of my life, his sister who is my bff, my own girl bff and her boyfriend are part of the program teehee. I swear no one will ever understand how much of a comfort show Googlebox is to me and in general.

The idea of being on TV whilst watching TV and relaxing with my favourite people and eating my favourite food just makes me melt. It's such a core memory to me and idk I just love showing off how perfect my family is to everyone else

— FOOD

I can't wait for all the delicious food I'll get to eat. There will never be a single time where I have to eat something I don't like or don't want to ever again, because why should I have to? I'm mostly excited to have stuff like popeyes, McDonald's, seafood boils, those Korean and Japanese foods you see on mukbangs, loads of fruit bowls (I really do love fruit), basically everything meat/barbecue, pasta including ramen, and sweets too cus🧍🏿‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

— NO UGLY CLOTHES ALLOWED

Never will there be a day or night where I will ever need to wear clothes that don't suit me or clothes I don't like. My closet is going to be full of the cutest and gorgeous late 90s and early 2000s skirts, shirts, bellbottoms, flares, jackets, oversized ts, shorts, belts, slippers, jewelry, panties and bras etc etc

— ALREADY COMPLETED WORK

In my better cr, I scripted that I am already miles ahead of everyone in college work (and best believe all my work is at distinction level) so I have all the time in the world to do what I want until the next brief; I also scripted the date of month that I will wake up in my better cr in is the 17th April last week so I will have only 3 days of college next week (because i go in on mondays, tuesdays, wendsays and Thursdays) and 4 weeks of freedom to myself. (I also scripted my teachers let me do my own art work in my free time in class, cus sometimes all a girl wants to do is draw their ocs🥺)

Edit :: 17th of may now!!

— CURRENTLY IN MY MOVING ERA

In better cr, I am kind of in the planning process of moving out of my house to my apartment penthouse with my friend group. I'm thinking of moving out at 18 or 19 years old since I'm 17 rn and I still want to explore my better cr house cus it's wayyyy better than this one. But even once I've moved out I'll probably keep visiting my old home where my mum and her husband lives because.

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

Overall, I am so excited to experience everything I have ever dreamed of. I know I deserve my freedom and peace, excitement, and joy. Being able to just do what I want when I want and always knowing that no matter what, everything is going to be okay.

Life is so amazing, and it's so worth living. I know I will manifest my desired reality in no time, and I know all of the stress, time, anxiety, and patience won't be for nothing. Life is mine to explore, and I can't wait to do so

@4ellieluv @livingmydreamlife5555 @theshifterbear @cocozydiaries

[pandorasfavorite]

The Silent Love

AN: After 5,000 words I managed to write you guys something a little longer for fun.

The large beaming lights in the center of the ring felt so natural to you. From the young age of 6, the dream of being a wrestler was branded on your heart. And now that you are standing in the middle of the ring with spotlights on you and thousands of people cheering you on. Your dream actually felt completely real, that this is what you were destined to do with your life. No one could stop you from getting what you wanted out of life. Though you couldn’t deny the level of intensity your job brought….Every Friday thru Monday you get ready for work. Sometimes you weren't needed but the new storyline was hot and you just so happen got thrown in the middle of it. Rey Mysterio’s son turned heel and the whole WWE community was astonished at the change. Especially since Dominik was so loyal…and so dedicated to his father's work. As crazy as that was, it didn’t matter to you in the slightest. Dominik Mysterio and his father had nothing to do with you; none of that did.

You were brand new to WWE with no enemies, till Rhea Ripley changed the course of your career. After many matches (and wins), you seemed unstoppable; but you knew better than to let the success get to your head. What played to your advantage was your wrestling persona. You spoke no words, and when push came to shove you still stayed silent. The world has yet to know how you sound when you speak, and they would be waiting a long time. This silent streak was intimidating and many believed you could one day pose a match to Rhea Ripley (the current woman’s champion). You were astonished at the whispers. If anything you admired Rhea and how well she retained her title, yet she wasn’t as happy to be associated with you.

So you couldn’t help but be surprised at her intent to fight you next Friday just to show no one can top her. Partial fear coursed through you at the thought of fighting a champion only a few months into your career. Rhea was beyond adamant and a force to be reckoned with; she wasn’t a person you wanted problems with. Although she did do some things you opposed to. Thursday night was the worst, and Friday morning was no better. You felt terrified to put it simply. This match was going to be huge, Dominik Mysterio was still a fresh member in the Judgement Day meaning he was going to be glued to Rhea’s side. You had no one to back you up; just you, yourself, and the silence you accompanied. 

Now you stood in the middle of the ring, trying to act confident; though you really wanted to curl up and hide. She came out of the threshold with Dominik right beside her, you should’ve been looking at her but you couldn't look away from the man beside her. He was obviously out of practice and was adorning a frown that didn’t really suit his face. He was just a step behind Rhea and she was already starting her speech on how no one could take her place. Yet your eyes followed him the whole time and that only pissed her off worse, “Look at me!” she yelled at you now that she was standing right in front of you in the ring. You pulled your gaze away from him but not without difficulty.

You looked at her and managed to hold eye contact. “Do you have something to say?”, she laughed and got in your face. You said nothing and let your eyes flicker behind her, back to Dominik who was watching with no expression. You felt paralyzed when you had been pushed back, Rhea had picked you up and tossed you onto the floor like a bag of flour. On the floor you squeeze your eyes shut and roll over to avoid her hits, you knew this would hurt; but not like this. You are picked up again and draped over the post of the ring to be pushed off of, your cold and clammy hands only make getting your grip on things worse. Your body smacks on the ring again and you swear your head is ringing from the chorus of cheers. You lay flat on your back only to open your eyes to see Rhea standing above you grinning like a maniac. She kicks your side and you fold into yourself with a hiss of pain. She turns around and starts hyping herself up and pointing towards her belt.

With all the strength in your body, you rose up with one hand around the center of your stomach. When Rhea turned around you backhanded her across the face with all the strength you could muster. A sour expression sunk onto her face and before you knew it she performed her finisher on you. You knew that the chances of winning were below 1%, but at least you got a hit in. She pinned you and you laid there waiting for it to be over, though as you lay on the ground you turned your head to meet Dominik’s eyes again. He swallowed hard and looked away, fixing his composure. Then that was it, they left and you went right after them. You wanted to be alone after such a humiliating match you didn’t even want to do in the first place. You wanted to sit with your thoughts that kept revolving around the guy that you hardly knew.

You turned the corner about to go into the dressing room when you crashed into something hard. You looked up with an apologetic expression only for it to drop instantly when you saw it was Dominik. He shifts awkwardly on his feet as if he is nervous to speak, though he apologizes to Rhea, “I’m sorry she shouldn’t have done that”. You had said nothing and only looked at him with wide eyes. This was the last thing you imagined would happen. You nodded at him and smiled slightly to show that you were grateful for his apology. You were still clutching your stomach, but the pain was ignored in his presence. Though Dominik noticed, he frowned and stared, “Can I walk you to the infirmary?”. He said in a concerned voice but it was also laced with guilt. Surely he didn’t think this was his fault? You wanted to deny the offer and just deal with the pain on your own. But the more attention that was drawn to the ache only made it more painful. You sigh and nod, letting him lead the way.

You both walked side by side with no more words exchanged. And when you made it to the room Dominik rubbed his neck nervously, “Well this is it”. You nodded and looked at him all the same. He clears his throat and looks away from your piercing gaze; yet for some reason, his heart pumps faster. He turns to walk away but before leaving you completely he waved goodbye. You had to do the same. From that point on Dominik had to fight the thoughts of you out of his brain. It was like those small interactions were consuming his mind and making it hard for him to function. He hasn’t even heard you speak yet you already managed to get a hold of him. 

A week passed and your next match wasn’t until Monday. You were excited for more reasons than one. Firstly, you felt fully revived and ready to show off some of the new moves that you came up with. Secondly, Rhea hasn’t released any more statements and your fanbase has only grown since the match. And thirdly, everyone was going to be in for a surprise. You intended to be one of the most creepiest wrestlers out there.

Meaning your silence was going to be a magnet of fear if anything. Your eerily music rang through the stadium and all the lights completely shut off so you could roll out from under the ring and stand in the middle. The lights flickered and after a loud screech, they turned back on to show you in the middle. You were dressed in black attire with dark makeup that only emphasized the horror-type look. You heard whistles and cheers at the sight of you, honestly, it felt like floating in many ways.

You didn’t give a single fuck about who you matched today; you knew with confidence the win was yours. So when Baliey stepped out and rolled into the ring you looked at her with wide creepy eyes ( as the commenters put it). You let Baliey go on her stupid rant while you thought of the best way to shut her up. The match started with punches flying, if Baliey hit you she got a punch right back and so forth. You managed to get an upper hand by kicking her feet from under her. Bailey landed harshly on her back. You picked her up as high as you could and put her on your shoulders. She held onto the top of your head with absolute fear at the fall ahead of her. Just as you were about to drop her another loud blast of music startles you. You were still holding Baliey up when you saw two silhouettes walk out of the opening.

 But you continuously reminded yourself to stay focused and ignore the new people. Their interruption was not close to worthy enough for a loss on your part. Instead of dripping Bailey, you summersault with her on your shoulders. She slams onto the ring and ends up behind her, holding her legs over her head to pin her. Bailey squirms and kicks out on two. You stand up and survey the area for Rhea, you knew it was her just by the music that blasted through the stadium. She was standing at the side of the ring with Dominik to the side of her. You wrinkled your nose in disgust at the pair together. All the respect you had for her was lost.

Then again you looked straight through Dominik, his eyes widened when Baliey came running up behind you. You hold back a smirk at his unintentional warning, and you spin around just in time to punch her across the jaw. She steps back holding the side of her face with a shocked expression. You walk up to her and grab her by the shoulders to bring her stomach down on your knee. She groans loudly and exhales a hard breath, you throw her to the side to lay her down on her back. You pin her and after 3 lengthy counts, the win was yours. Rhea claps slowly and sarcastically to bring your attention to her. You glare unkindly and roll your eyes when she picks up a microphone.

 Again Dominik watches like a little puppy following their owner. You did what Rhea hated most, you ignored her and slid out of the ring to begin walking backstage. Only to come to an instant halt at Dominik’s hesitant voice. “It’s not what you think”, he says but it is drowned out by all the yells and boo’s thrown his way. Dominik looks side to side with annoyance. “Listen-”, he tries again but gets the same response to the same effect. He throws his hands up and just gives the mic back to Rhea, you are tempted to turn around and ignore her once again but Dominik’s pleading look roots you to the ground. She takes the mic but it seems as if it is hard for her to say what is necessary, “Join the Judgement Day” she finally rattles off. You scoff instantaneously.

The next few weeks are to the same effect. Rhea and Dominik interrupt your matches to convince you to join the group. They are hoping to wear down your resolve to the best of their ability. Eventually,,,, Damian and Finn also come out to pester you and in truth,,,, it is getting hard for you to hold your tongue. After another tiring day of constant interruption and nagging from the group, you manage to get away and inside of your dressing room. The moment you plop down onto the couch for a moment of rest, there is a knock on the door.

You groan as loud as possible so the person can hear how much they are inconveniencing you. You sat and hoped they would go away after the clear noise of annoyance. But another soft knock comes from the other side of the door. You take a steady breath and propel yourself off the couch to open the door. Yet you were surprised to see Dominik and Dominik alone on the other side of the door. He bites the inside of his cheek but leans on the doorframe as if he is not nervous. He motions inside, “Can I come in?”, you sigh and nod pushing the door open for him.

For some odd reason you felt drawn to him, and after weeks of looking at him and hearing him (or attempting to) plead for you to join, you kind of developed a small crush on him. Dominik walked in and lingered in the middle of the room, switching from foot to foot while he waited for you to close the door. You closed it shut and spun around to look at him, a small laugh fell from your lips at his awkward composure. Dominik’s heart instantly started to race and he recognized his chest getting warm at the sound.

You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. He blows out a nervous breath but takes a seat beside you anyway, he fiddles with his hands before rushing out what he came to ask you. “Have you thought about joining?”. You slightly shake your head but in all honesty that was all you thought about these past few weeks. You wouldn’t mind being closer to Dominik, and he would love that as well. But one thing kept you from making the decision. He rubs his face in mild disappointment, “Why not?” it almost sounded like a whine.

You pull your lips to the side, not wanting to share the true reason because Dominik surely wouldn’t appreciate it. You shrug and look at him in the most neutral way you could, though he knew. He always knew. “It’s Rhea right?”, he sighs and scratches his eyebrow. Your eyes fly open and you look panicked at being caught, you shake your head no in an attempt to deny it. Dominik clicks his tongue, “I know it is, Hermosa”. Did he just call you beautiful??? The name made your heart race faster than what is considered healthy.

You blush and drop your head to avoid his understanding eyes. Noticeably Dominik has changed since that first night you saw him, he has gotten more influence in his group. He is less nervous to be around you and more confident in himself. So maybe that's why he took your hands in his, you raised your head to look at him in confusion. “I’m sorry I didn’t stop her that night. But she will never hurt you or humiliate you like that again. I swear”, he says with serenity and positivity.

Dominik was convinced that Rhea would cause you no harm anymore. You close your eyes to process; you knew that if you looked at Dominik too long you’d have to say yes. Time and time again you told yourself no. No this wasn’t going to work out and no he wasn’t worth the trouble. Things change though. And Dominik holding your hands and consoling you was a change that helped you make up your mind. You open your eyes and give him a short and small nod. Dominik beams with dilated pupils at your acceptance. He lost control of his body which made him pull you directly into his arms.

 He wraps his arms around you and both of you share a similar feeling of embarrassment. Dominik pulls back and he looks mortified at what he had done. He pops up off the couch and mutter something along the lines of “I have to go tell everyone” and then he slips out of the room casually. Yet you could hear him running down the hallway. The long day was eventful and you just signed part of your career away because you were beginning to love a man. “Fuck”, you finally say and bury your head into your hands.

The next time you seen Dominik was in the Judgment Day dressing room, conveniently enough your name was also written on the door. You walked in with your head held high and confidence spilling from your body. You had been prepared for the worst which was ridicule and rude behavior. Yet you heard laughter. It was Dominik and Damian while Finn and Rhea sat with smiles on their face at the exchange. Rhea’s expression hardened when she turned to look at you, you gave her the same hard look and crossed your arms defensively.

Dominik noticed the tension and stopped laughing at the exchange. He rushed over to you and held you by the arm. He coughs to bring the attention to himself, “15 minutes till guys” was all he said before Finn cheered. Finn pops up off the couch and walks over to Damian to smack him on the shoulder, “The Judgment Day rules, right Damian?”. Damian responds with a simple, “Yea” and puts an arm around his friend. Rhea stands up and walks over to you and Dominik, you are noticeably tense under Dominik’s hand.

Dominik felt the nervous energy radiating off of you. He’s not sure why he does it but he finds his arm slipping around you shoulders. The tension in your face goes away in relief at the feeling of protection from him. “Ready then?”, Rhea asks you while quirking her eyebrow. You nod a bit apprehensively. “Still not talking?”, she asks with a smirk. You raise your eyes playfully, trying to be nice. She gives you a small smile back and pats you on the shoulder. Dominik lights up at the pleasant reaction and he can hardly stand still with excitement. You smile to yourself, just maybe you could get used to this. 

A month passes and things are only getting better, you still haven't spoken a word to anyone. But Judgement Day doesn’t seem to mind. They have found themselves accommodating to your silence, therefore they only ask questions that are yes and no. You appreciate their effort, but your silence was a choice of protection for yourself in a way. When you completely trusted someone you would speak to them, and the time came for that to happen.

 But Dominik would be first to hear, he deserved that much. Monday night 20 minutes before his match you pulled him into a closet, away from listening ears. He looks down at you; his hands almost reach out to hold your arms in comfort. You are currently working up the courage to speak by looking into his eyes; they were always so deep with emotion. “Everything okay Hermosa?”, he asks; though his eyes drop down to your lips frequently.

“Yes”, you whisper but it sounded more like a croak from how long it has been. Dominik’s jaw went slack and his shoulders dropped in awe. He couldn’t believe his ears, so much so he rubbed one of them to make sure he was hearing right. “W-what?”, he wants you to speak again, so so badly it hurts. You bite your lips; holding back from laughing at his insane and surprised expression. “Dominik”, you say. He shakes a sharp intake of breath and steps back; only to step forward right back into his previous spot.

He points at your lips and he looks astonished, “You just talked- I mean really spoke”. He shakes his head in disbelief and runs a hand down his face. You nod; the corners of your mouth going up. You knew he would react strongly but this was just perfect. He looks crazed to keep hearing you, and his hands finally find the sides of your arms; “Well don’t stop now! Your voice is so- I don’t even know how to put this… angelic”. He is shaking in excitement, you laugh and touch his chest with one of your hands.

His heart was nearly beating out of his chest as well. “When we go back out you have to pretend like nothing was said”, you remind him because surely he wanted to tell all of his friends. He opens his mouth without speaking and exhales heavily. “You're talking”, he pushes out… he has never felt this way before. The emotions he was going through right now were crushing in the best way. He wanted to kiss you and listen to you talk for days/ maybe even months. He never wants to see you nod again, he just wants to hear the soft sound of your voice. He was so struck, and so happy he had to pull you into his chest and wrap his arms around you in a hug.

 You hide your blush and smile into his chest, you suppose you could give him time to calm down and process. After a few more minutes he lets go and asks for you, “Ready?”. “Are you?”, you giggle and push him a bit. He stares for a moment, “You're killing me” he puts his forehead on your shoulder. You touch his hair and you tap his head, motioning with your head towards the door. “Okay I’m ready”, he mutters but makes no move for the handle. You nod and Dominik swallows hard at the denial of another word.

You both step out into the hallway and begin walking towards the group. They all turn around and sigh breathes of relief. “Where have you guys been?”, Rhea says in a strict voice. “Sorry, we got held up by the camera crew. Finn shrugs and looks away but Rhea and Damian aren’t as easily as convinced. They will ignore it for another day…they guess. 

Yet another week passes and Dominik has taken advantage of his privilege of hearing you speak. More often than not he would find time in the hectic day to hear your sickly sweet voice. But today, he could get very few words out of you. It was Wrestlemania and you had a surprise match. Meaning the type of match and who it was with was completely and utterly sheltered from you. You were anticipating the worst as always, but at the end of the day, you were going to make the most of it. Now your match was 8 minutes away and Dominik quickly pulled you into a janitor's closet, “Good luck” he rushed out as if he was nervous for you.

You look up at him from your lashes, “Thank you, see you after?”, you affirmed. “Yeah”, he said like he was breathless. You quirked your brow at him in confusion but time was running out, and a strike of confidence hit you. You rose up to kiss his cheek and you left the closet with a minute to spare.

 Your music blasted and the arena went dark as always, only to flicker when you finally made it to center stage. You stood in the middle with your arms raised in the air and a sinister creepy smile plastered directly on your face. You circled the ring only to come to a complete stop when the music played. Your face dropped and you already felt the tears of betrayal burn your eyes; it was Rhea’s music. She came out alone with her title thrown over her shoulders and you felt no fear.

You felt sick to your stomach, the man you loved had to have known. They all knew and none of them told you a word. You start blinking quickly to wish away the tears, yet the moment Rhea towered over you with a victorious smile. A tear happened to roll down your cheek for the world to see. You whipped it away harshly and gritted your teeth at her quick look of pity. The match started and you grabbed her by the shoulders and punched her across the face 3 times. All your pain and sorrow flowed out of you the entire match. Each kick and push was with hatred for what she did to you.

Worst of all, as you lay flat on the floor with blinding tears; all you could think of was Dominik. You were back in the same position as the first time, thinking of him as you lost. Every piercing pain in your body was nothing compared to how your heartfelt. And when Rhea’s arm was raised into the air, you rolled out of the ring and moved as quickly as you could muster to the dressing room. You pushed the door open so hard it rattled the hinges but you weren’t intending to confront anyone. You wanted to grab your things and get the fuck out of there.

You had been expecting all the boys to be in the room but it was just Dominik. His face was crestfallen and he stood up as soon as you walked in. You spared him no look, your hands fumbled with every article of clothing you had in the room. And you walked right past him to grab all your makeup. You had no use leaving it there anymore; there’s no way you’d be back. Finally, you turned to Dominik with your bags in hand and just stared at him with a quivering lip. You wanted him to see how bad it hurt. He can barely look at you, “I couldn’t tell you”. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit is what screamed in your head.

Your eyes were empty and your silence made him finally look at you. Tears are flowing down your face uncontrollably and Dominik looks just as wounded as he feels. He knew he fucked up, but there may be no coming back from this. “I’m sorry”, he whispers what he can get out. Your hands shake at the apology. You wanted to smack him, you wanted to curl up in a ball and hide, you wanted to scream until your throat burned and you collapsed. He only got closer to you, 3 steps away to be exact.

Your throat burned in disgust, his eyes filled with tears much like yours. “You don’t know how sorry I am, what can I do?”, he was on the verge of sinking to his knees and pleading at your feet. His knees felt weak and he cursed himself for not telling you like he was going to days before. You shake your head at him; no words would be enough. His breathing has gotten fast and your silence is hitting him hard, “Say something. Fuck just say something” he pleads. You swallow hard, “What do you want me to say, Dominik?”. His glossy eyes widen when you take a step closer to him with fury deep in your eyes.

“You want me to tell you about how you broke my fucking heart?”, you take another step towards him. “Or how you betrayed me? The ONLY person I trust?”, you take the final third step towards him and you push him back harshly. Dominik clutches his chest because it feels like his heart is shattered. He fucked up, he fucked up, he fucked up. You're leaving and he can’t stop you, he can’t get you back… he ruined his life. “I tried to tell you-”, he croaked and moved towards you again. He held your arms carefully just like he used to, only to be pushed back roughly again, “Don’t touch me!”. He sinks to his knees and begs you to stay, “I need you please, please, please don’t leave me”.

Your breath caught in your throat and your lip quivered again, your face was flushed with tears and your throat felt tight. “Tell me why”, you demand him and harshly wipe the tears again. He looks down shamefully. “Tell me”, you grit out. He stands up on shaky legs and breathes carefully, “It was a contract when you first joined. This was planned since the beginning. But things changed, you changed me Hermosa”.

You scoffed and clenched your fists. You grab your bags off the floor and turn around to leave with a broken heart. “I LOVE YOU! Is that what you wanted to hear?!?! I love you” he yelled in hysteria after you. You sucked in a shaky breath at his confession; because after it all you loved him so much more. You turned your head to look at his crestfallen face, “Not enough” you replied. He clenched his hands and a lonely tear rolled down his face, “Hate me”. Your body stood still in awe, “What?” you gasped out.

He took another prodding step, “Hate me but don’t leave it like this. Don’t leave us like this”. “You’re my everything” his voice cracked with his last notion of hope. Your voice shook and so did your body; one thing was for sure you loved him. You couldn’t let go no matter how much it hurt, “I need time”. He nodded instantly, he would give you anything now that he lost everything.

Your lips pressed together and a new wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, “I love you and I need you but not like this” you sniffle. “I love you”, he says back in one breath though his hands were shaking to stop your tears. Part of you knew you’d come back to him in time but for now, you leave the room and shut the door. “I love you”, you hear from behind the closed door; you turn around. 

[the-fiction-witch]

Mr Crown

Media - Morbius Character - Lucien Crown Couple - Lucien Milo X OC Reader - (OC) Anastasia Morton (Assistant) Rating - flirty + Cute Word Count - 1435

Anastasia made a grand entrance as she sashayed into the opulent mansion. Her every step was marked by the distinct clicking of her black Louboutins against the marble floor. She wore sleek black stockings that complemented her skin-tight black dress, accentuated by a vibrant red belt. Her hair cascaded in carefully arranged curls, framing her face with effortless elegance. Around her neck, a delicate silver necklace shimmered, catching the light as she moved with grace and confidence.

Lucien couldn’t help but smile from his chair as he sat receiving his usual medication from his private doctor. He did have... A rather large crush on her, but surely he couldn't be blamed after all, to Lucien she was gorgeous! Not to mention her shapely body and large... Assets, the kind of chest you dream to squeeze, and a backside you fight the urge to spank. 

She played the crucial role of being his right-hand person, handling all administrative tasks, and managing the various businesses operating under the umbrella of Crown Industries. This company was involved in a wide range of ventures, from producing bottled water to providing private jets, and served as the source of his vast wealth and luxurious lifestyle.

"I hope I'm not disturbing Mr Crown," she said as professional as ever,

"You could never be disturbing, you have the right to disturb me any time of the day." he smiled, "That dress certainly suits you."

"Why thank you, sir," she cooed, "I must say, you're looking strong and handsome today," she cooed,

He chuckled at her praise, he knew he looked far from "strong" and "handsome" being as sick as he was, but he enjoyed the reassurance she gave him daily. A grin came to his face as he teased her in return. "Strong and handsome huh? Well, aren't you just so very charming today,"

She approached his chair and opened her folder, "Shall we?"

He let out a playful groan as she brought up the business, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. Deep down, he wished she would abandon the business talk and join him in a more leisurely pursuit, like sitting on his lap for example? Nevertheless, he nodded in agreement, signalling his willingness to engage in the discussion. As he reclined, he adjusted himself to get comfortable, preparing for a serious conversation ahead.

"The accountant has finally returned my phone calls he is back from his vacation in Figi and the numbers are in, all separate LLCs and company holdings have doubled from last quarter. The factory strike has finished on the east coast with only minor recruits needed. The builders have sent the quote for the upgrades to the downstairs bathroom," She explained, "And ... We seem to be paying for a boat? Don't know when you got a boat and didn't tell me?"

Lucien listened intently, impressed by her efficiency in handling all the business dealings. He chuckled when she mentioned the boat. "A boat? can't say... I remember... buying a boat. Put a pause on that."

"Is it perhaps something to do with Michael?"

"Perceptive as always. Perhaps it is." He had a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice as he continued. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"I like to know where every dollar goes. And his lab has been a large drain lately so perhaps I'll schedule a call with him," she said, "Tomorrow is the gala, Thursday is the opening and next week is the ceremonies so I'll pencil the call in sometime next week,"

Lucien nodded a smirk on his face at her efficiency and attention to detail. He chuckled at her comment about Michael's lab, knowing all too well it was taking a big chunk out of his wallet. "That's my girl, always planning ahead." He cooed, "The call can wait until next week, there's no rush. How many times are we going to end up at galas this month? I've lost count."

"... Sixteen." She answered, "The charity equitable, the Upper Billion club, the grand gallery, the museum, the anniversary which is taking four slots alone. Along with all the business part summer garden events and of course the upper billion clubs gala auction tomorrow,"

His eyebrows raised as she rattled off the list of events and he let out a low whistle, looking at her in surprise. "Sixteen? Well, we're certainly going to be busy these next few months." He chuckled and shook his head, but beneath his amused expression, there was a hint of weariness. "I don't know how you keep up with it all. You must spend your life organizing my social calendar."

"I have plenty of time to organize your time. Mr crown" she answered just she dropped her pen, rolled her eyes and bent over to grab it,

However, she did so in front of Lucien her slightly crooked stocking and the hint of the top of her suspenders,

Lucien's eyes widened and his breath stuttered as he got a glimpse of her backside and the top of her suspenders, his gaze travelling up her figure as she stood back up. He swallowed and cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way her curves were emphasised by the tight dress.

"I... I see what you mean." He said in a slightly strained voice, a small smirk on his face as he tried to focus on the conversation. He slightly adjusts himself in the seat moving his hand a little to try and conceal that he was getting a hard-on from the sight, "I suppose I should just leave all the organizing to you then."

"It's what I do best, ohh I did get a call about tomorrow for the gala, asking to confirm your plus one," she asked,

Lucien chuckled when she asked about the plus one, knowing they went through this every time. He shrugged his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. "As always, you know I never have a date for those things." He looked at her for a second and an idea came to mind, he gave her a playful grin half kidding. "Unless you want to volunteer yourself, that is."

"As delightful as your company would be, I have enough work to do here,"

Lucien chuckled at her response, "Ah, of course, the ever-diligent assistant." He let out a theatrical sigh, "Here I am, the world's richest bachelor, and ... I can't even get a pretty girl to attend a gala with me. A mockery, really."

"Would you want me to?" She asked half teasing,

Lucien's smirk widened having not expected this usually it was only ever mentioned as a joke between them, but his gaze roamed over her figure appreciatively once again. "Now that's a stupid question, of course, I would. You're a beautiful and intelligent woman. What man in his right mind wouldn't want you on his arm?"

"Very well Mr crown. In that case, I'd like to drop off a last-minute holiday request for time off tomorrow morning in order to become adequately beautiful for such an event. And perhaps get use of the company credit card for a dress?"

Lucien chuckled, "Of course. I have no doubt you'll be gorgeous, as always. As for the credit card, consider it yours. Go and buy the most expensive dress you can find. Spare no expense."

"Thank you, sir. Well, be leaving at seven taking the Bentley."

Lucien nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face as he looked up at her, "Excellent. Seven o'clock it is. I'll be sure to be ready and waiting." He gave her a wink, his gaze roaming over her figure once more before settling back on her face.

"If that's all you need me for today Mr Crown?"

Lucien's gaze lingered on her figure for a moment longer, a faint hint of disappointment that she was leaving so soon. But he forced a smile onto his face as he nodded. "Yes, that's all I need for today. You better go and start getting ready for tomorrow." He leaned back in his chair and gave her a playful grin. "And remember spare no expense, the most expensive dress you can find I want you on my arm as the most beautiful woman for miles."

"I have a few ideas," She smiled fixing his hair and stroking her hand down his cheek,

Lucien's breath caught in his throat as she touched his hair and stroked his cheek, his gaze roaming over her face, taking in every feature. He leaned slightly into her touch, savouring the moment before she pulled away.

"Have a good evening, Lucien." She said as she headed out,

"You as well, my dear. Until tomorrow evening."

He watched her leave, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure, a mixture of longing and anticipation for tomorrow's event swirling within him.

[pinkestofpanthers]

i wanna write for richie but i want to test out the waters and actually make sure people like what i write for him because i do have a work in progress for him at the moment...

besides the occasional game of uno, you did not play cards much. every single time someone tried to explain a card game to you, your mind went blank and you found it hard to follow along. and if there was another thing that was to be known about you, you could be a people pleaser at times. in part, it's the reason you're out in the back of the restaurant sitting on a milk crate. richie's right across from you, shuffling the deck of cards that he sneaks into his suit pocket for occasions like this.

this has become a ritual between the two of you. every thursday after closing, he calls over to you and mouths a "you down?". your response is always a big smile, which you didn't even think you could muster because of how late it always is. he grabs three milk crates. two serving as a seats for you and him, and one as your playing table. to thank him for always setting a seat for you, you bring two glasses of water out to the back.

it started on a particular thursday morning. richie strolls into the kitchen looking as giddy as you've ever seen him. he's waving around a box of bicycle brand playing cards and bragging about how eva won them in some sort of gift basket from school and she didn't want them.

"kid doesn't know what she's missing out on," he looks to ebra, who just clocked in for the day. "sometimes all i needed was a deck of cards. a good game of solitaire, rummy, even poker. won my first pack of smokes at fifteen from a game of spit."

"spit?" you looked back to the two men. you didn't even realize you spoke what you were thinking out loud. you catch richie's attention, and he lightly scoffs.

"you've never heard of spit?" it almost sounds like an insult coming from him.

"never even played. i'm not good with card games," you explained, smoothing out the small little wrinkles in your dress shirt. you had tried getting them out of your waitressing uniform the night before, but had no such luck.

"you know what? what about a quick game before we open? i promise i know this game like the back of my hand, i'll tech you in no time," he sounds so sure, like he could shuffle and deal the right amount of cards in his sleep. as you're about to respond, carmy busts out from the walk-in, yelling about how there's only twenty minutes to open and everyone should start prepping their stations. he motioned to you and richie,

"you two, get out front. and no card games!" he shouted, and you both mutter out a "yes chef".

"come find me after closing, i'm gonna school your ass," he whispered as he held the door open for you.

and that's how you're here, week after week without fail. you feel a bit bad because you haven't necessarily gotten the hang of the game yet, and you don't want richie thinking you're not enjoying yourself. just being in his presence, having him acknowledge you and take the time to really teach you how to play, it warms your heart. it makes you feel a way that you want to say is strictly platonic. you feel there might be something there for you two, but you just chalk that up to you being delusional.

you're so close to the end of your game. this is probably your fifth or sixth round, you seriously lose count every single time you two play. richie has three cards left and you only have two. you don't have high hopes because there's been times you've been left with one card and richie won regardless. you've only won two games, and you didn't really win them. richie just made you win, and that made you feel a certain way too.

you stare at his cards. he has one queen of hearts, a two of hearts, and an eight of diamonds. you have an ace of spades and a two of clubs. you could win, if the next card drawn made you lucky enough. richie looks to you, eyebrow raising and hovering his hand over the deck placed to his right.

"come on, hit me, richie!" you both laugh as he turns over the next card, revealing an ace of hearts. richie lets out an "ooh" as he placed down his two of hearts. that's all he can do, and you realize this is truly the game where you finally get your first real win. you start to laugh to yourself as you place down your final cards and leave richie stunned.

"holy shit," he blurted out, double-checking the cards you placed down to make sure there wasn't some kind of mistake. you hated the way it made you giggle, it made you feel like a little girl.

"you didn't make me win this time, did you?" you accuse him, making him hold his hands up in defense.

"i had nothing to do with this, sweetheart. did this shit all on your own," he chuckled and collected the cards and gave them one more shuffle. you never let him know, but you love it when he calls you that. you wish he would only call you that, but you know it's a term of endearment he uses on everyone. sugar, sydney, and even carmy (that only happens when they're yelling at each other in the back). you wonder if one day he could call you something else, a nickname he had just for you.

"now that you've gotten your actual first win, maybe we can try another game. i'm thinking blackjack next, but the cards are in your favor," he cringes at his own joke but you do find some humor in it.

"what about poker? it's a card game everyone knows about, i just don't know how to play it," you look at him and he nods.

"we can do that. i don't play it much anymore. i think last time i played was when me and mikey tried impressing this girl. she turned it into a game of strip poker, though," he explained, packing the cards back into their box.

"well, i wouldn't mind doing that," you don't know what came over you, really. your eyes widened by your own comment, you hope he thought you were just referring to poker itself, not strip poker.

"then we better move it somewhere inside, then. your place or mine?" he winks at you and you know you have him right where you want him.

a/n: please i hope this reaches the right people & my richie girls are able to enjoy this :) if anyone is interested in the richie fic i have completed like 25% of, let me know!

[billthedrake]

HALL PASS

Story idea from @aestheticsupremacy

It was still summer warm as the two lacrosse jocks walked across campus after practice. Brian was going on about the chick he had a date with late that evening and was teasing Jake.

"Dude... if you ever wanted pussy, you'd be so set. Girls fucking love gay guys."

Jake laughed, his blond hair still on the lighter side from summer beach time. He and the star attacker got along great because they never BS-ed each other. "Bro, I don't think it works that way," he said, flashing his dimples. "Besides, I think all those sorority girls want a gay pal they can go to the clubs with. I can't dance worth shit."

"You can't," Brian grinned. "You got the moves on the field but, fuck..."

Both guys laughed as they entered the residence hall, one of the nicer ones where a lot of the athletes lived.

"Hey Jake!" the student worker at the front desk said when he saw the two jocks. "Some mail came for you."

"Mail?" he asked as the walked up to the desk. Normally, mail got delivered to their mailboxes, which Jake didn't check regularly. Who the fuck sends mail these days anyway, other than advertisers?

The desk guy nodded. "Yeah, certified or something. Looks important." He reached over and pulled out a document sized cardboard envelope.

"Hey, I'll catch ya later, Hoss," Brian said as he bumped fists with his teammate buddy.

"Yah," Jake said, then looked back down at the envelope. There was a familiar return address. It was his dad's work. Jake's father was a high-powered executive - not Fortune 500 but CFO for a top financial firm. Leave it to Dad to send paperwork in hard copy. Jake tried to rack his brain to guess what document was so urgent, but maybe it was some school form he needed to sign. Maybe Jake should take more responsibility for those things, but his dad tended to look after the details.

"Thanks, Mitch," he told the desk guy, then went to the elevators to go up to his room.

It was quiet in his room, since his roommate had taken off Thursday afternoon to go home for a long weekend. He got along well with Ed, a varsity baseball player, but they weren't real tight. And Jake liked having the alone time and privacy sometimes.

The lacrosse jock set down his phone and keys and shook his head with a chuckle as he opened the envelope. "You're so fucking old school, Dad," he said aloud. "I love it."

It wasn't a form inside, but instead there was a linen-white stationary with his Dad's company logo and his father's name and title embossed. "From the Desk of Steven J. Weir."

It was what was printed below that made Jake's heart stop.

"Dear Mr. Wier:

This letter serves as official notice that Jacob Peter Weir has his father's permission to have sex as often as he likes and with whomever he likes, from the date of August 20, 2023 to May 14, 2024. This arrangement will be extended in subsequent years unless the two parties renegotiate their terms.

sincerely,

Steve Weir"

There was his father's recognizable wide, cursive signature, undoubtedly written with one of his favorite blue-ink fountain pens that his family had given him for Christmas.

Jake was rock hard. "Fuck," he hissed.

Only then did he realize there was something else in the envelope. He reached in and pulled out three photographs, each 8x10 glossy portraits of this father. They were different poses of his dad in business attire, like professional headshots for a company website or something.

"Got your package," the jock texted his father.

It took a second but then a message came up from Dad: "You able to Facetime?"

Jake got a big grin as he hit the dial button to video call his father. His heart jumped a little as the image filled his phone screen. His dad was in his C-suite office and looking handsome as fuck in his tailored suit as his own horny grin matched his son's.

"Hey Sport," he said. "Looking good." He leaned back in his swivel chair and angled the phone to give Jake a better view of his suited upper body. He had a good knowledge by now of what pushed his boy's buttons.

"You too Dad," the jock hissed, reaching down to paw his crotch again. "I can't believe it's only been 24 hours since I've seen your face... fuck."

His father laughed. Because Steve felt the same way. He knew it would be hard when Jake went off to college, but he was going through sexual withdrawal in addition to the normal empty nest syndrome.

Only now his bright smile got a hint of nervousness. "What did you think of what I sent you, son?"

Jake felt that constriction in his throat. Sorta like the first time he knew he was gonna fuck his dad... that combination of sheer horniness and disbelief it was gonna happen.

"You know, Dad," the 19-year-old smirked, "A hall pass isn't an actual piece of paper."

Steve's brown eyes seemed bright. Happy. Excited. "I wanted to make it official. For you. For us." The exec was definitely getting that bedroom voice, and Jake could tell by the movement in his dad's upper body that the man was reaching down to unzip and haul out his cock.

For his part Jake tugged down his shorts with one hand to free his junk, which was firming up real fucking fast. His father had given him the encouragement to freeball it, and it was now Jake's preferred way of casual dress. It made him feel free and sexual.

Jake prided himself on the sexual confidence he'd learned to project with his dad, but times like this he still felt unsure, deep down. "I told you, Dad. I don't need to have sex with other guys."

"You're 18, Sport," his dad said resolutely. "A college kid should be spreading his wings."

Jake got a playful grin. His right hand was working up and down his bone while his left hand held the phone. "You really want me to fuck other guys?" he asked. Pointed. Challenging.

Steve shook his head no. "Honestly, no. I don't. But I want you to lead the life that's going to make you happy." His own fist was working up and down in his lap. "I want you to become your own man, Jakey."

Something about that nickname drove the jock wild. He felt a spurt of precum in his palm. "You think sending me 8x10 glossies is gonna make me happy," he hissed. Jake's tone was halfway between a statement and a question.

Steve loved watching his son get in horndog mode. He'd like to think he passed that on to Jake genetically, but something about the kid's sex drive seemed innate. And all Jake.

The exec's voice got low and gravely. "You tell me, son. Did they make you happy?"

Jake just let go of his prick and angled his phone down to capture the hard teen bone that stood up long and rigid. "This is the reaction those pics got." He pulled the phone back up to see the amused and pleased look on his father's face.

"I'm glad," Steve said. Then with a pause, he angled the phone to show Jake his own fatherly prick, standing out from his unzipped suit.

"I wish I could suck that, Dad," Jake said, enjoying the freedom to talk aloud like this. "I wish I was there right now."

"You primed for some office sex, Sport?"

"Fuuuckk, Dad." Jake's fist was now steadily pumping his jock bone. "I'm still pissed off you won't let me fuck you there."

That got a laugh out of his father. The 49-year-old was even more handsome when he smiled. "You're a spoiled brat, you know that?"

"Fuck yeah I am," Jake shot back, getting into the zone with the teasing sex talk with his father. It came to them so fucking easily. "Something about nailing your dad regularly will make you that way."

That got a soft growl from the executive, and Jake watched as his father reached up to flip his tie over the shoulder of his suit coat, getting it out of the way.

"Damn, you gonna cum on your shirt today, Dad?"

Steve shook his head. "Hopefully not... but just in case. You get me so worked up, Sport." Off screen Jake knew his father had gone back to stroking his hard dick.

"So, Dad... if I take you up on that hall pass... what are you gonna do?"

"Whaddya mean, Jakey?"

"I mean..." the teen's own fist was working up and down his cock. "Does that mean you get a hall pass, too?"

"That's not part of the deal," Steve said, his brown eyes now wide with excitement. "But Buddy... I honestly don't know how I'm gonna get through this year. I guess I'll be doing a lot more of what I'm doing right now."

That got a matching growl from his son, whose hand moved faster and faster on his prick. "A fucking waste of dad cum."

That got a grin from Steve. "You like my sperm, huh, Jakey?"

"Can't get enough, Dad," came the immediate response. For a confident top when it came to fucking, Jake loved to taste his dad's prick and to eat his father's semen. When he wasn't sucking his dad off, he'd be licking the cum off the man's well-fucked body.

The jock felt another spurt of precum when his Dad brought the phone down close to his crotch, that solid, thick seven incher sticking out from the unzipped suit trousers.

"That's my dad," Jake growled. He'd have to find a way to have phone sex more often.

"Wanna cum for me, Jakey?" Steve asked, his voice signaling he was already on the edge.

"Nah," the jock said. "Hold off one second," he urged. He set down the phone and stripped off his T-shirt and kicked away his lax shorts. He then angled the phone just right on his desk and stepped back. Even from the distant view, he could see his dad's face will up the phone screen.

"Damn..." Steve growled. "That's my boy."

Jake felt fully alive, head to toe, as he stroked his cock and showed off for his father. He knew he was a good looking stud, with a great toned, athletic body. But his father's approval made him feel that much studlier.

"So Dad..." the teen asked. "If I used that hall pass, you wanna hear about the guys?"

"I don't know, Sport," Steve said with visible mixed feelings. "I'll let that be your call, OK?" He watched his son intently, as if it was the last chance he'd see Jake naked and hard. "I almost didn't send it," he confessed.

That made his son grin and Jake removed his fist from his dick, showing off the erection by swinging it side to side. "Yeah? It was so fucking hot to read it, Dad. You know, that you'd even send it."

"I'm glad, Jake," came Steve's reply.

"We're you hard writing it?" the son asked.

Steve's voice got soft and low. "I was, son."

"You want me spreading my wings in college, huh?" Jake's hand resumed its stroke. He really wanted his dad to cum first today but he didn't know if he'd be able to hold off.

Fortunately, Steve was getting into the zone now. Jake could only see his face, not his cock or masturbating fist, but he recognized that horny tone in his father's voice. "God, Jakey, you're such a fucking stud... seems wrong if you can't enjoy college a little, you know?"

Jake grinned, getting into a slow stroke that seemed to keep things on the boil without erupting over. "Maybe I'll line up some hot coach to fuck... but you know if I do, I'll be thinking of you the whole time, Dad."

That got an audible groan from Steve. Which only encouraged Jake to go further.

"Yeah, I'll be balls deep in some daddy ass and have to shut my eyes so I can think of my father... of fucking you..."

"Yes," Steve hissed. He was getting closer to cumming.

"of bending my dad over his office desk and pulling down those suit pants of yours..."

"You're not gonna stop pestering till you get that will ya, Jakey?"

"No, sir. I wanna get my way. Nail you hard to that expensive desk of yours... in your expensive suit... to thank you for all that expensive tuition you paid over the years."

This was new territory for the Weirs. They'd never talked about money, other than some of Steve's jokes about how much Jake's private school cost and some practical dad-son talks about personal finance. But Jake was bringing it into the sex talk and both men were surprisingly turned on by it.

"FUCCK!" Steve cried a half second before choking his reaction to be quieter in his office.

"Go for it, Dad!" the lacrosse jock said more openly. He stepped up closer so he could see his dad's face as he rode out an intense orgasm. "Nice!"

Steve's face was flush red as he caught his breath. "Goddamn, I needed that," he said. Then playfully he tilted his phone down. Huge splotches of his pearly white seed dotted his dress shirt after all.

"Cumming!" Jake cried, unable to hold by his ejaculation now. Steve had to look, had to watch his Jakey in full nut. It was just a beautiful sight. The only thing more beautiful was watching Jake orgasm as he was buried deep inside his father.

"Attaboy, Sport," he encouraged. "Goddamn, that's a huge nut."

Jake grinned as he felt the aftershocks. Playfully, he squeezed out dribbles from his long piece of jock meat and brought it up to his lips to taste. Not his dad's but a second best. Jake just loved the flavor of cum.

He could now tell his father was wiping off the cum from his shirt and his cock before pulling the phone back.

"That was incredible," Steve said.

"I'll say. I'll have to thank Rich for giving me the free time," Jake laughed.

"Is he away?"

Jake nodded. "All weekend. Maybe we can go long and deep this weekend, you know, edge a little."

Steve grinned. "I'll try, Sport.... awful hard to last with you, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Jake agreed.

His Dad seemed happy and yet sad at the same time. "Listen, I should go."

"Yeah," Jake said. "I need some dinner."

"I miss ya, Sport," Steve said. "So much."

"Miss ya too, Dad."

****

Steve felt nervous all Saturday. Jake had suggested they wait till later in the day for phone sex. The father tried to kill time with household chores and a super long session at the gym.

"You're a fucking mess, Steve," he said to himself as he drove home from the fitness center where he'd been spending a lot more time since the divorce and especially since he and Jake started fooling around. It felt wrong to be so attached to his own son, and yet he was.

There was a package on his front porch. FedEx Saturday delivery. Steve picked it up.

"What the fuck?" Steve laughed as he saw his son's dorm as the return address. "That little bugger."

As he opened the door and stepped in, the man squished the sides of the plastic package-envelope. It was soft inside. Steve opened the end with the pull tab.

As he pulled out the fabric, Steve Weir recognized the shorts immediately. They were a well-worn pair of Jake's high school lacrosse shorts. Wadded inside was a worn jock strap.

"Jesus," Steve hissed with excitement. Maybe Jake wanted him to have these for their session today. Or maybe this was just for the times it was Steve, alone in his bedroom, imagining a grown son who wasn't there with him.

Either way, Steve knew both the shorts and the jock were gonna be crusted with his own cum before long.

It was only after a second that he noticed scraps of paper on the floor. They'd fallen out, hand torn.

Steve immediately sensed what they were, and a quick look confirmed it. It was the hall pass he'd sent Jake.

"Man, buddy," he said aloud in the quiet room as he pulled out his phone. He had to call his son.

"Hey Dad"

"Oh, Jakey..." Steve said.

"You got it."

"Yeah, I got it," his dad replied. "You're not doing this just to make me happy are you?"

"Maybe," Jake said. "But not really. I don't know, Dad. I just realized I'd rather have blue balls than fuck a substitute you, you know?"

"Sport, that's the most fucking romantic thing anyone's ever said to me," Steve beamed.

That made his son laugh. "Yeah, that's me, one romantic fucker... just promise me one thing, Dad."

"Anything," Steve said.

"We gotta find away to see each other through the semester. Yeah, I know you want me to go off and be my own man. But I can't wait till Thanksgiving. For real, Dad."

"Yeah, we'll make it happen. I'll come down next week. And fly you up whenever you want. Promise." This was a backpedal from the promises Steve made himself when Jake went off, but he realized he was happy changing his stance.

"Cool. God, Dad, I love you."

"Love you too, Jakey," Steve said. He looked down at the scraps of paper and everything they represented. "And son... next time you're here, I'll let you fuck me on my desk."