#tourists trying to impress me

[expirisims]

No! No! No!

Andrew is already off to work so the kids have to get ready on their own.

This rando tourist sim is giving major "pick me" vibes! Girl, you get an A for effort in the dressing for the occasion department, LOL!

Aaaand my computer is still not capturing screenshots...Genevieve got invited to prom! She accepted an invitation from Lawerence Lum, which should be interesting because she's actually dating John Snooty, who is Lawerence's best friend and the sim Lawerence move in with when Lilly kicked him out! DRAMA!!

Speaking of John...There he is, playing chess with Andrew after school!

Making up after a sibling fight before bed.

OMG are you serious!!?? I've been selling off inventory to spruce up the kid's rooms and make them match their personalities better and forgot to place an ALARM!! Facepalm...of course... Thankfully Andrew was up and on the phone with the police before the burglar even set foot on the lot.

That's right! That's what you get for messing with this home! All the commotion drew the attention of a passing townie, LOL!

[rosecoloredknight]

How does someone overcome the fears of driving through the highways/interstates?

Asking for myself

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν είναι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[bunnis-monsters]

🕸️Legend of the Drider🕸️

Bunni’s Monstertober Event(Oct1)

Male!Drider x Fem!Reader

Oct2

warnings: light web bondage, breeding, oviposition, possessive behavior, reader is a bit insecure about her body, body worship and praise

summary: You go on a trip, hoping to build your confidence before you go back to college. When you get trapped on a mountain during a storm, you realize a legend about spider people may be real when you encounter a horny one for yourself.

A/N: I don’t know much about college so don’t kill me if things are inaccurate 💗 also don’t expect all of the halloween posts to be this long, some will be short and some on the longer side >< also guess the inspo for this story in the comments…

my ko-fi if you’re feeling generous~

If you had known how your trip up a nearby mountain would end with you in the clutches of the spider creature you’d only heard of in legends, you would have stayed home that October day.

But you were bored, wanting to find some fun stuff to film and meet a cute stranger while you were at it. That’s why you packed your bag and left for the nearby tourist attractions.

First you walked through a big pumpkin patch, taking pictures with a 50 pound pumpkin. It wasn’t as impressive as some you had seen online, and you knew that wearing a burnt orange sweater while posing next to it would only bring on ridicule.

You weren’t thin, and if someone from your college saw that picture, you were sure they’d compare you to the pumpkin, saying it was your twin.

Well… you had never even really talked to a single in any of your classes. You weren’t the type that liked to socialize. Too many times had you been burned, finding out they were being your friends for a prank or had been talking about your body behind closed doors.

Part of you knew it wasn’t right to judge others before even meeting them. After all, it happened to you more times than you could count… but you were still too shy and insecure to take that first step into making new friends.

That’s why you took a bit of time off of college to try and build up your confidence. It was important to you, learning how to love yourself so you could truly love others.

Ever since you went through puberty you had been aching for someone to love you, to adore you with their entire being…

How would you even be able to believe them if you didn’t love yourself first?

So you laughed at the picture of you next to a pumpkin and placed it into your scrap book before packing it away in your backpack.

You repeated this at several tourist attractions, even finding the courage to speak to a few attractive men and women. It wasn’t as scary as you thought, they didn’t look at you with disgust or say anything mean. They simply spoke with you before giving a smile and going about their day.

‘Maybe there really isn’t anything to be afraid of after all?’

The last stop on your list was the Arachne Mountains, named after a certain legend surrounding the area.

“Huh… spider people have been sighted several times over the year, and there’s a reward for anyone that can catch them on camera…”

You squinted at the pamphlet in your hands, trying to read the small print at the bottom. “What does that say? It’s so small…”

With a shrug, you stuffed the pamphlet into your bag, pulling out the bug spray instead and spraying every bit of bare skin. Mosquitos just loved you, and you didn’t want to be itching the whole bus ride home.

As you walked up the mountain trail, you took many pictures, but mostly of the gorgeous scenery.

A vast forestry landscape spread out beneath you, and the mountain path winded through the forest. As you continued walking, the path worn down by several years of hikers began to become more overgrown and less accessible.

“Huh… doesn’t seem like anyone’s been this far up in a while…”

When you thought about it, the stand with all the pamphlets was abandoned and dusty, the window broken. You just assumed they didn’t have the budget to fix it… but now you were second guessing yourself.

And that’s when a storm hit. Earlier that day you had heard something about a thunderstorm on the radio, but it was supposed to be that night, not now!

“Shit!”

You ran through the rain, slipping on mud and losing your way. The rain was so thick you could barely see in front of you. Tree branches scraped against your sides and caught on your clothes, ripping your sweater and scraping you up.

By the time you were finally able to take shelter in a nearby cave, you were absolutely drenched and covered in scratches and scrapes.

You slid down to the ground, panting and taking off your sweater, now heavy with water. It plopped against the ground, and you reached into your backpack.

“Fuck…”

Your phone had no signal, and you wouldn’t be able to go down the mountain to call anyone until the storm died down.

You yelped, jumping up from your seat and backing away from the entrance to the cave when lightning struck close by.

This sent you further into the cave, nearly tripping on the uneven, rocky ground.

Most would expect a cave out in the middle of nowhere to be cold and damp, and smell of moss and dust. Surprisingly, the further you traveled inside, the more… “cozy” it seemed.

It smelled almost like cinnamon and felt pleasantly warm. This made your shivering die down, your soaked clothes forgotten at the entrance of the cave.

Little did you know, you were slowly being lured in deeper by the inviting warmth and pleasant smell…

The first sign that something was wrong was a skittering that could be heard further into the cave. The hair on your neck stood up, but you tried your best to reason with yourself.

‘It’s probably just some rat or bug…’

But as your phone battery went out and darkness enveloped you without your only source of light, the noise got louder as whatever was making it approached.

You yelped when something brushed against you, and tried to scream, but your mouth was covered and something sunk into your neck…

Darkness.

——————

When you awoke, you felt something warm yet sticky enveloping you, keeping you from freezing while trapping you in place.

You were barely awake when you heard a purr like sound coming from the dark corner of the cave. A man’s face was barely visible within the shadows.

He was handsome, his eyes a dark red and hair a soft blonde, almost platinum color. It seemed he had been the one to trap you there.

“Hello, my dear. You’re finally awake…”

As soon as you were fully conscious, you began to struggle against your bonds, finally looking down to see what was keeping you from breaking free.

“Are those… webs..?”

You felt almost faint, staring down at the whitish, substance wrapped around you. It looked like thick, velvety ropes, but they were so sticky that you knew that they couldn’t be.

“Indeed.”

The man began to move forward, the same skittering sound appearing once more. You looked on in horror as his lower half was revealed.

Below his torso was not a set of legs like a normal, no, it was the abdomen of a spider.

‘The legend… is true?’

You had been captured by one of the spider people of myth…

“You must be scared… you’re just a human girl after all, and I’ve taken you away.”

He reached out, caressing your soft cheek with his hand. “But do not fear, I’m not planning on eating you, little one.”

His hand traveled down your face to your shoulder, his fingers playing with one of your bra straps.

“Far from it…”

Your cheeks heated up as he easily cut through your bra, his eyes on your now bare breasts.

“I’m in need of a mate to carry my eggs… and you’re the only woman that’s traveled to this mountain in ages…”

He breathed against your neck, licking the bite mark he left there earlier. “God, I could hardly hold myself back the moment I saw you. Such a plump, perfect woman, you’ll carry my eggs well…”

You whines as his lower half creates more webs, keeping you suspended in air, but freeing your soft cunt.

Quickly, he tore off your panties as well, growling lowly at the sight of your pretty, fat pussy. “Oh, my little mate, already this wet? Perhaps this was fate, for me to be sent this angel from above…”

He plunged a finger into you, pressing against your gummy walls and stretching you out as one of his spider legs nudged against your sensitive clit, just enough to stimulate you and get you to cum all over his fingers.

“There we go… such a good girl…” he purred into your ear, beginning to stroke his monstrous cock. He drew out several orgasms from you, prepping your virgin hole for him.

Within seconds, you were lowered down, your hips hovering over his as he nudged the head of his cock against you.

“Gods, you’re so soft…”

He kneaded your fat belly and thighs, purring in delight. “You’ll make such a good mother… you’ve got child bearing hips, like you were just meant to carry my eggs…”

Soft nips and nibbles were left on your neck and breasts.

“Every ten years, us driders go out to find a mate that’s suitable for us. I am the last of our kind, so there are no females left for me…”

He smiled, beginning to push in.

“But you… are not just going to be the woman that carries my eggs. You’ll be my mate, and I’ll cherish you.”

It was uncomfortable and painful, the way his cock stretched you out. You gritted your teeth and he cooed, but wouldn’t allow you to close your legs, two of his spider legs kept your thighs apart so he could sink deeper into your fat cunt.

“Shh, shh… it’ll feel good soon, my love…”

And he was right, his cock stretched you in such a delicious way, hitting all the right spots and making you cry out in pleasure.

He mounted you, fucking into your needy cunt as he groaned into your ear. “Gonna take my eggs, okay? My sweet girl, you’ll be such a good mommy won’t you?”

Suddenly you felt something push into you. Was that…

He was cumming, eggs filling up your pussy and settling into your womb. Soon your belly would swell as the eggs grew and developed, but for now, you were tired…

He kissed along your shoulders and neck, nuzzling into. Slowly, he lowered you down from the webs, curling up with you in a dark corner of the cave.

“You’ll be pampered, well taken care of… never again will you worry about a single thing…”

As you began to drift off to sleep, you realized that this creature truly thought you were beautiful… it made you happy.

So you snuggled into him, too full of cum and eggs to really even try escaping. Why would you?

You were loved… you felt truly beautiful for the first time in your life.

“I’ll prepare a cabin soon, there’s plenty of abandoned ones nearby. Wouldn’t want my mate to be uncomfortable.”

The way he nuzzled into you was filled with such love and care. He must have been lonely, being the last of his species.

So you decided to stay… at least for now…

Want a part 2? Send me a kofi and ask for it~

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[leafostuff]

Blind sexDate[Ft. StayC's Isa & Fromis_9's Chaeyoung]

Tags: none, its a threesome

Word count: 6.5K

Author's: that...took a while, started to write this in 26th of August so i did take a very long time to finally have this out but here it is: my October upload

I really want to thank @prael @capslocked @octoberautumnbox and many others from the discord for helping me with stuff I wasn't sure about, i am really proud of that fic and i hope everyone else will enjoy reading it as much as i had fun writing it.

=================================

She sounds pretty.

It's the lilt of her voice, how it does a cute thing where she almost, but not quite rolls her r's and chews on her consonants. A voice that sounds like it belongs to someone small. Someone, you know - conventionally attractive. 

Four minutes, fifty-five seconds. And that's pretty much all she has going for her.

"Let me tell you about my friend's vacation," she starts again, and you've lost track of if this is the same friend, same vacation - or a new one. They're all blending together.

you always thought the ‘blind’ was a figure of speech. it's fucking pitch black, you wonder if compared to the other guys you were underdressed,, you did see one guy with a blazer and jeans your paycheck couldn't even pay a quarter of it.

But back to the girl, her non stop ramble is now a background noise in your ears, not even sure you can recall who is the ex of who and which boyfriend cheated on her best friend with her sister. Your brain can't keep up.

but regardless, the first round is thankfully over, say your goodbyes to the first girl and stay in your chair.

you consider leaving right now to try and not get disappointed even more, however…

“Hey” The next girl is already here, it will be rude of you to leave just like that.

“Hi I am Jake” you respond

“Nice to meet you, my name is Chaeyoung, but you can just call me Isa” she responds. The first impression you gather is her voice, Airy and sweet like honey

“Huh, it's a pretty name, First time I ever heard a name like that ” you can hear a quiet giggle to your compliment.

“Thank you, I am actually from South Korea, I came here to LA for summer vacation”.

“That's cool, I actually live in LA myself” You lean back in your chair, getting comfortable around the mysterious girl.

“Oh wow” you could hear the excitement in her voice. “Do you have any places you can recommend to me?” she asked.

“Uhh…well, Here in Santa Monica Pier it's always fun for tourists too walk around here, I assume you have already been at the walk of fame in Hollywood and Universal studios” you answer. 

“I have to say though: this whole dating in the darkness is very fun, isn't it?” Fun is certainly one way to describe this, the other way is a gamble but for the sake of keeping the conversation fun you agree with her.

“Its like all of my other senses are much stronger, like some superhero…” Isa giggles, it's addictive that you can't help but join, with the sound of small shifts on her chair you can imagine how she is doing some battle poses.

“Hehe thats truuu-” quickly shut your mouth, that voice crack was the last thing you needed on a date but fortunately for you, Chaeyoung sounds a short laugh.

“Nervous?”

“hehe���Yeah, been a while since i was on a date” you explain, recalling your experiences with your failed relationships, it still stings a bit.

"Let's play a game then." There's some faint sounds of movement—a ruffling of clothes and the creak of a chair. She sounds clearer now, her voice doesn't have to carry as far and she's far more pronounced. 

"Help you relax a bit: What do you think I look like?” she asks, her tone is playful and happy as if she is the host of a game show, This second date goes better than you expected.

“Hmm…let me think…I am gonna guess that you have…black hair…is it long?” Your first answer is hesitant.

“Not telling~” she responds with a playful note. “How about my clothes?”

There is curiosity in her voice, excited to see how you will respond, you could hear her fingers tapping on the table, remembering to not waste time. “Well, you sound like a sweet girl, like the simple things in life, so…” you pause, trying to imagine her in many different styles and clothes that could fit her in the 5 or so minutes that you got to know her. 

Remember who is wasting who’s time so better lock in your answer now and say.

“My guess is… a summer dress?” quite the answer you give out, and the way you say it like you are one answer away from receiving the grand prize of Chaeyoung's game show, but back to her answer…

“You think it's something I will wear?” Isa questions, her tone sounds like she is also imagining herself wearing one.

“Yeah, it looks cute,” you respond. “And its not too crazy to wear on a first date” you add, hearing a small giggle after.

“Ok, i will keep it mind next time we meet”

“Will there be a next time?”

“I don't see why not”

You're happy, a bit surprised it didn't take you that much time to find someone in this speed blind dating thing, expecting more or less what happened the prior date but here you are.

“It's your turn to guess now?” You ask, already feeling comfortable around her.

“Ok ok, so i-”

But sadly as if life has decided to cockblock you, the time is over as an alarm can be heard as a signal to switch, you can only look at the general direction of where Chaeyoung could be and sigh, showing your disappointment.

“We can always meet later if you want” you can feel her wanting to continue her date with you but every good thing must come to an end

“Of course, it was very fun talking with you”

“Same to you as well” you can hear Isa lift herself from the chair. “See ya” she added in a happy tone before leaving you at the lone table. You can't help yourself but smile.

“Maybe it won't be as bad as i thought” 

=================================

Time goes on and other girls come and go, however, you can't help but wonder more about Isa, what makes her laugh? What does she like to do on the weekends? what are her dreams, aspirations and everything in between, the curiosity killed you inside.

more importantly: you wonder what she looks like, outside of the darkness you were both in. If it wasn't clear enough: you are interested in her, they all say love at first sight doesn't exist but here you are, letting your mind fill with the idea of her.

You are set in stone of your choice, and there is no chance you will change yo-.

“uhm Hello? Are you there?”

Zoom out of your thoughts, focus on the husky, feminine voice coming from what seems to be in front of you. How long has she been sitting there? How long have you been daydreaming?? Thank god it's dark so quickly compose yourself before it can get awkward and start talking.

“Oh hi, im jake. Nice to meet you”

“Uhh, nice to meet you too,” she responds, it's not hard to hear the shakiness and in her voice showing her nervousness to you, the small shifting sounds in her chair. “I am Chaeyoung”.

You're caught off guard, the world is smaller than it seems with you meeting two girls Sharing the same name, “isn't that a Korean name?”

“Uh, yeah, how…how did you know?”.

“I actually met another girl named Chaeyoung before in here” you say, it would be funny if they actually knew each other but the chances are slim. It's not like you know every Jake either.

“Oh, that's cool…” she mumbled, sounding as if she was disappointed to hear it

The silence is now getting awkward, you both wait for the other one to start breaking more of the ice and it seems that she was the patient one between both of you since you are the first to give up and get the conversation going.

“So what do you do? For a living I mean” you are met with unintelligible mumbles as an answer, a bit unsure you ask her again to clarify.

“I…model, it's not super serious though” Chaeyoung quietly answered, you could hear light, quick taps beneath the table.

“Oh wow, I bet you are like, really pretty if you do modeling” you dont know how much confidence you got to say such a thing but you are already mentally face-palming yourself. You could feel yourself gaining some creep points in her mind over this comment.

“Oh, uhh Thank…thank you very much” Chaeyoung stutters, her tone jumps an Octave, sounding a small giggle. You can only sigh in relief that you didn't weird Chaeyoung out.

“I'm in LA for a photoshoot, since we finished earlier than expected i got a couple of days free to hang out around the city” she explains, still sounding nervous but much more at ease than before. “So what do you do for work, Jake?” She returns your question to you.

“Ah, I just work as a barista in a small café, nothing much.” you manage to say in a montone, unpleasant tone. You are a bit embarrassed that you have the chance to blind date a model while you are the equivalent of nothing compared to her

“It’s-It’s okay, i'm honestly not some super popular model” her words quickly come out of her mouth. “Besides, I can imagine being a barista is much more relaxing of a job, not trying to get every deal possible just not to lose money.”

“I mean, it doesn't pay much but it is less stressful,” you respond. You can hear two glasses of water placed on the wooden table with one of them handed to you, together with a straw since you could imagine how drinking from the cup would end like.

“So, what does a model like you” you stop, taking a small sip of the water to refresh yourself. -doing in blind speed dating?”

“It's just easier for me, usually when i go on dates I get nervous, and my eyes travel too much, and I kind of panic…” Chaeyoung explains, lightly giggling at her own experience before taking a sip from her water glass as well .“So I thought doing something like this could help me feel uhh you know… less stressed.”

“Hey, you do you, as long as you are comfortable.”

“Yeah, that's true,” Chaeyoung replied. Her voice turns less shaky and more clear than at the start of your date, it was clear that both of you had fun on that date.

So much so that in fact, you both were caught off guard by the timer for your date finishes and the lights suddenly turn up again, revealing the girl in front of you for the first time.

Right off the bat; you understand why Chaeyoung is a model.

A heart-shaped face and a delicate, soft jawline paired with brown, expressive eyes and Black shoulder-length silky hair that is enough to make every man look at her in awe, including you. Even her clothing is model-like with a Chic, stylish black off shoulder shirt and Denim jeans that show her features exceptionally well. By the way, you should say something before you will sound weird

“Oh, nice to meet you” stand up from your chair and raise your hand to a handshake.

“Nice to meet you too, i gotta say that i didn't see that coming at all” Chaeyoung cheerfully responded while shaking your hand, sounding a sincere chuckle while her eyes joined her wide smile.

“Same, i almost had a heart attack” you jokingly say while you get your jacket off your chair. “Say, wanna go outside? Maybe get to know each other more” she only nods, taking her jacket from her chair as you both head out from your table toward the exit of the bar.

=================================

“Oh, here you are” you recognize this airy voice, taken aback as you look at where the voice comes from.

Though you were right about the black hair, you did miss the mark on Isa's outfit. Short crop top and tight jeans, that cute summer dress was nowhere to be found.

Her cat-like eyes lock onto yours, she flashes a sweet yet devilish grin before heading toward the two of you.

“Gotta say Jake: i had a feeling you were good looking, but i didn't expect you to be this good looking” Isa compliments you, giving a small wink then her gaze turns to Chaeyoung with curious eyes.

“Your friend?” She asks you,

“Hi, I'm Chaeyoung, nice to meet you” She says, reaching her hand forward as Isa is suddenly taken by surprise.

“Um, I am Chaeyoung”

“That's my name”

“That's… also my name"

“What's your family name?” Chaeyoung asks, now intrigued by the other girl.

“Its Lee” Isa responds, now it's Chaeyoung’s turn to be surprised.

“that's also…my family name”

During this, you are just looking at what's happening in front of you. As much as you are curious, you are also worried since it seems like both were interested in dating you after this.

However, one quick look at each other, another one to look at you and then looking back at each other, the two girls started laughing, both covering their mouths to muffle the volume. You can only sigh in relief that it turned for the better.

Eventually they both let their laughs out as Chaeyoung speaks. “It's quite a surprise to meet another Korean here in LA”.

“Please, call me Isa, and same, nice to meet you too Chaeyoung” she replies, chuckling lightly as the other girl can't help but start chuckling as well before they reach their hand for a small handshake

“Well that went better than expected” you manage to slip in the conversation reminding them that you are still here.

“You also met him on Speed dating?”

Chaeyoung nods. “We were the last round before the lights turned on, you two met earlier?” 

“Yeah, the other guys were kind of boring but he was a breath of fresh air” Isa explains, turning her gaze to you and winking at you. You could swear your heart skipped a beat.

At this moment one question rose in your mind and as you looked at the two girls with an awkward look, they both realized what you were as they sounded a small ‘oh’ before looking at each other again. As much as you didn't want you, you had to choose one of the girls to be your date.

“You can go out with Jake” Chaeyoung quickly says, smiling sweetly and lightly pushing Isa toward you, both you and the cat-like girl are surprised.

“Chaeyoung? Are you sure?” you question, why was she suddenly

“Yeah yeah, I'm sure, You two met before I met you, so she should have you” she explains, her eyes joining her smile. You did feel bad about leaving Chaeyoung out however an idea was about to be suggested that would fix that problem.

Then again, you aren't sure if this was an actual fix…

“I dont mind you dating us both”

What

“What?” Chaeyoung raises her eyebrow in surprise at Isa, the one who suggested that idea out of the blue, you were not far behind Chaeyoung in your reaction as well, being completely confusement.

“I mean dont see why not, I like you, you like me, she likes you, You like her. I am bad at math but it doesn’t seem too hard to solve this problem” Isa explains looking at you, You and Chaeyoung swap looks, you can feel your cheek heating up and changing to a pink shade.

“I mean uh…as long as Jake doesn't mind, it's okay by me” Chaeyoung stutters, Isa likes this response as she smiles at her new friend, her arm goes around Chaeyoung’s shoulder.

“Im sure it will be great, So what do you say Jake?~” Isa’s voice is sweet when she looks at you with her warm smile, Chaeyoung’s smile is also there but is much more timid.

The choice was now in your field, you didn't expect there to be a third option in the first place and all in honesty: That idea seemed like trouble. But when Isa looks at you with her cheerful smile, standing like that next to Chaeyoung with a smile that makes them look together like the next cover page for a magazine, it's hard to say no to them.

And deep inside: you don't want to.

“Sure, if that's what you two want” you respond, it seems they are both satisfied with your choice as they look at each other with warm smiles. 

you honestly didn't mind this idea as long as they were both happy, besides, what's the worst that could happen?.

=================================

“Dang it!” Isa yelled, almost managing to block your hit of the air puck but it ended up inside the goal because of the unusual angle you shot it. “So…a model, that sounds like a cool job to have, no?” She directed her question to Chaeyoung, giving her the mallet she was holding.

“Huh? Oh yeah, it's fine, I'm not getting many offers compared to the average model” Chaeyoung answers, half focused on aiming the first shot before quickly shooting it at your goal. “but it's good money”

You reflect the puck. “I mean, if it's something you like to D-” Stop what you are saying and block the surprise attack Chaeyoung does, look at her cheeky smile as you know she almost scored“-Do, you can do almost everything you want” you continue what you were saying as you send the puck toward her direction.

“Yeah that's true” Chaeyoung smiled toward you, then quickly smacking the puck directly into your goal, getting herself a point. “So, what do you two work at?”.

“A Gaming cafe, Came to LA as a summer trip with my friends after exams” Isa replied, taking your mallet and shooting the puck from her side.

“Damn, compared to you two my job sounds boring as fuck, You are a model, you work at a gaming cafe, and i am just a barista at a cafe” you jokingly roast yourself, eyes moving from side to side with each side the puck goes to.

“Huh, not my first thought when it comes to your job,” Isa says, a bit surprised. “But…i imagine you look quite handsome in barista clothes” And there she goes again, with that flirty smile and curious eyes that you swear you fall in love deeper than you were.

Now look at Chaeyoung, not as flirty as the other girl but it seems that, unlike the first time you met her, she is much less tense, more at ease around the two of you, genuinely enjoying her time.

After the air hockey game is over and a quick stop to get some of LA’s finest street food (which the two seemed to really enjoy for their first time), the three of you are now sitting on the boardwalk, the sound of the waves going back and forth is singing in your ears, however now they topic of the conversation seems to get more…laid-back.

“So let me get this straight: your best friend is Korean, right?” You ask, Isa responds with a small nod

“And she has a British accent?” Chaeyoung continues your question, getting Isa to laugh again.

“Yes-” she stops talking to take a sip from the water bottle in her. “Fully Korean, with a British accent, one time my friends and I were listening to a song called ‘Run 2 U’ by some random group, and she said the name of the song as” she suddenly released a small chuckle unable to keep her cool.

“As what? Just tell us” Chaeyoung comments, half smiling as if she already knows the answer, Isa meanwhile slowly downed the water so she wouldn't choke before finally saying after a deep breath.

“Raeun tew yew…” The mock accent that Isa adds gives the punch line more of an oomph as you all start laughing, small tears of joy leave your eyes as you slam the wooden deck, meanwhile, Chaeyoung covers her mouth to hide the amount of blush she has on her cheeks from how hard she is laughing.

“Oh that was good, I didn't expect to laugh this hard” You exclaim, taking a deep breath as you now go back to staring at the waves. “Honestly…this date has been really fun, with both of you,”.

“Like-wise, we both enjoyed your company as well” Chaeyoung replies, sweetly giggling while her left fingers go to her hair, pushing it aside with the side effect of getting your cheeks slightly pink, luckily the weak lighting make it hard to see for the two girls.

“Same for me” Isa chimed in with a smile. “Say, want to continue it somewhere else? It's getting late” she prompts as a soft yawn escapes her mouth.

“Huh? Okay, if you want my place is close” you say, standing up from the deck as you lend your hand to help her stand up.

“That's great” She says as her gaze turns to the other girl. “You're coming as well Chae?”.

Chaeyoung suddenly tensed up in surprise. “Chae?” she asks, to which Isa just giggles at her rather cute reaction.

“Yeah, it's a cute nickname, you don't mind it, right?” Her tone is sweet when she asks her friend with a warm smile, that way when Chaeyoung smiles, she mirrors the same warmth with her own smile.

“Of course i don't” she responds, standing up and lightly stretching to gain some sense of her body, “So? Lets go”

“Great�� Isa comments before turning her gaze to you. “Jake, mind leading the way?”

=================================

The ride home is quieter than usual.

Not that there were not any talks inside the cab you decided to take to your place, but most of the talking was done by the two girls, sitting on each side of you, only speaking in a language you can only assume is korean.

It’s a simple loop: Isa says something, they look at you (which you could only smile awkwardly at their happy gazes), Chaeyoung answers with something else and they start giggling, sneaking another look at you and then it goes back again.

Eventually the taxi stops, leaving you right in front of your apartment complex. “Hmm, it really is close to the pier” Isa commented, easy for her to say when the entire bus ride has been ten minutes but for you it felt like an eternity.

As you scale the stairs up to your floor and walk to your apartment, you manage to fish the keys to your apartment out of your jeans pockets and open the door.

“Well here we are,” you say, getting inside and turning the lights on, revealing the living room, a couple boxes of instant-noodles on the table, the tv is on with a random news channel. “As you can see, it's not that big but its co-”

As you turn around to look at the two girls, your mouth opens wide in shock.

In front of you is Isa, head tilted slightly to the side as her lips close the distance with Chaeyoung’s. Her hands are not left idle as they both smoothly travel across the older’s back, feeling every inch of her partner’s body.

Meanwhile Chaeyoung's eyes are wide open and her body froze, surprised by the sudden act of Isa. It's not long until she as well eases up into the kiss, gently closing her eyes and putting her hands on the younger’s hips, you can hear how tongues slowly starts getting into the mix as the two girls vocalise small hums and whimpers. Eventually the torture comes to an end as their lips part from eachother but not their hands

“That… was your plan in the…end?” Chaeyoung asks in between pants, trying to collect air to aid surprise

“Of course, and besides…” Isa answers, turning her head enough to get her eyes on you, more specifically a bit down from your eyes. “It seems like he enjoys the show”.

Look down at the visible tent that is forming inside your pants and your hand that is slowly stroking itself to the beautiful yet unholy sight in front of you, another look into their eyes and you can see the arousement both girls share at your own prize.

“Come behind her jake, she feels divine” Isa elongates the last word-just the right way to get you Following her prompt, walking toward the two girls and getting behind Chaeyoung, your hands wrap around her midriff and your lips find themselves on the back of her neck causing her to quietly gasp.

With each second that your threeway makeout session was passing you could feel your pants getting tighter and your lust growing larger, enough that in a very bold move you let your palm find Isa’s right buttcock, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes her release a soft moan and take a look at you with a slutty smirk.

“You sneaky motherfucker” she playfully said, getting one of her hands off Chaeyoung's hips and wrapping it around your length. “You're hard already” she exclaims, leaving the two of you standing in front of her, wanting more from her, and from each other.

“I cant wait any longer~” Isa breathily says, giving you two a playful wink before disappearing into your bedroom. As lust quickly takes over your body you grab Chaeyoung by the hips and pull her into a kiss, and by how Chaeyoung quickly reciprocates the kiss and doesn't pull away, you can tell she wants it too.

You don't have time to process the texture of Chaeyoung lips, or how her long, soft legs are wrapped around your waist. Your only goal is to get the two of you into the bedroom, where Isa sits on your king sized bed with hungry eyes, licking her lips in anticipation. 

You let Chaeyoung get on your bed as you quickly join the two girls while tossing your shirt off to the side of the bed letting the two girls marvel at your naked chest.

“Fuck” Chaeyoung mouthed.

“Told you he was hot” Isa adds, scooting herself in front of you to get a hold of your chest before leaning in for a quick peck on your lips. “You don't mind undressing yourself, do you? me and Chae here have a show we need to give you” No answer was needed besides a nod as you went to the edge of your bed, letting the two girls begin.

It starts with kissing, slow yet sensual with Isa taking the lead by Straddling Chaeyoung's lap while one of her hands begins to glide across Chaeyoung's curves, ending at her left breast. “Fuck unnie, the things i will do to have a body like yours”.

Chaeyoung elicits a muffled moan to the soft grope Isa gives her, eyes completely shut and her and head looking up to let the pleasure take over. Soon Isa begins moving her hands all around her body, giving every inch of skin attention until eventually she stops one hand on the hem of Chaeyoung's shirt, the other supporting her from behind.

“You don't mind letting me take it off, right?” A quick nod of approval from the older one and Isa begins to slowly pull it up, moving to the right to let you see how slowly but surely more skin is revealed until finally the shirt is completely above her head giving you a clear view of Chaeyoung's black, lacy bra.

During all of this you are hard as a rock, can't take your eyes off from the two girls in front of you, even while you attempt to zip your jeans and rid them off your legs leaving you only in your briefs. You could swear you saw Isa lick her lips at the first sights of your briefs.

“Can I take yours too?” Chaeyoung's question is needy, eyes showing every sign of want to her Partner, hands are not left idle either with both of them resting on the upper part of Isa’s midriff, slightly below her two mounds.

“Of course, Unnie” she responds, leaning her body back and relaxing herself to let the older begin a strip tease of her own, every second that passes raises the sexual tension between them to a new level.

Unlike Chaeyoung, Isa’s crop top is not as loose compared to her black shirt, revealing the younger's breasts, covered with a crimson colored undergarments of her own with nipples taut from the arousal.

“Much better” Isa sighs in relief, feeling lighter without her crop top that is now thrown somewhere to the floor as once again she looks at you with a soft gaze however her mouth is anything but, painted with a sultry smile that can only speak trouble, finally with a breathy voice she playfully asks

“You're coming, Jake?”

The way Isa says your name, it's enough to let your primal instincts take over you, every red light is now turned green as you quickly pull Isa from behind into your lap, feeling her naked skin in your palms, right hand rests on her breast while the left hand goes to her thigh, rubbing and squeezing it to your heart's content.

“Oh god, yessss” Isa hisses the last word, it was clear that she enjoys every second of this, enough so that she doesnt pull away but instead leans in, meeting you in a torrid, messy makeout session, you two don't notice how Chaeyoung has already got rid of her whole bottom, only with her bra on with fingers already inside her pussy, definitely enjoying the view.

“Don't just stand there Chae, join us” This might be the most confident thing you have said this entire evening but it sure works on her since Chaeyoung now sits in front of Isa, palms massaging her clothed thighs, giving you a free hand to grope Isa’s other breast.

Those are not the same girls you met a couple of hours ago during that blind date, any semblance of innocence and fluff was left outside the door, now replaced with Lust and it's oh so clear with how Chaeyoung's eyes get aroused with each button she pops out of Isa jeans until eventually she finds her undergarment, same color as her bra with a wet spot in the middle.

Knowing what Chaeyoung was doing, Isa takes her hands into her denim jeans, lowering both the jeans and her own panties before throwing them away, leaving her creamy, thick thighs for both of you to revel in.

With the excitement in your body. You don't notice how Isa left your grasp, crawling away with a sway of her hips from side to side, now near her Chaeyoung they both look at you with an inviting smile, now giving you a chance to see both of them in their full glory.

With a devilish smirk Isa now moves behind the older girl, her eyes looking directly at you in an attempt to lure you in. Then a click can be heard as Chaeyoung’s bra now falls onto the mattress, Isa quickly joins her as now in front of you, two naked, gorgeous ladies sit in front of you.

And finally, knowing what the last piece is missing from the puzzle, you finally grab the hem of your boxers, pulling it down to let your Hardened cock stand strong and proud.

“Told you he was big” Isa exclaims, giving a small nudge to Chaeyoung with a small giggle, her friend quickly joins her.

“Yeah…so big” she mumbles quietly, her finger inside her mouth, lightly chewing on it to hold in the excitement of seeing your size. 

However, you didn't come this far with them just to watch each other naked, and they are not either as without saying a word, the two of them playfully shove you down into the mattress and get into their positions.

It starts off with Isa finding her place on your legs once again, looking directly at you with her thighs wrapped around your cock, only the tip is exposed to the air as after a flirty wink, she starts rubbing her thigh on you.

“Oh shit, Isa…” 

You groan, the rest of your voice comes out as a moan that gets her excited, you could have witnessed the obscene act of her thigh job until the end of time, however it is quickly obstructed by Chaeyoung's ass planted on your chest, her rear side all for you to view how it moves, you are not surprised why she is a model with a body as divine as hers.

“Jake…i can feel you twitching ” Isa whines, feeling your tip slightly touch her entrance is enough to let some precum leak out of your tip with you releasing another moan.

“Hey, let me have some too” Chaeyoung interrupts, taking her thumb and brushing it over your tip and grabbing some of it as you could hear how she gives it a small lick before humming cheerfully at your taste.

“Ooo, he taste good~” how the fuck did you even think this girl was innocent again?

“Can I have some unnie?”

“Sure” as if Chaeyoung’s timing was perfect, your first shot of cums leaks out of your member as she quickly gets some on her fingers. 

“Say ahhh” Chaeyoung prompts as Isa happily obliges, letting her fingers get inside her mouth, tasting . Its down right torture how you are not allowed to see what might as well be a scene from an adult film but regardless you can only enjoy the sounds, its not like you didnt do it before.

As your libido starts growing, so does your confidence as your palms firmly hold each buttcock of Chaeyoung, feeling its texture by softly squishing it, kneading it like dough causing Chaeyoung to utter a moan while arching her body back to give you all of the signals that she is enjoying it.

“Okay, this is enough teasing, we want the real thing now” Isa exclaims, Freeing your cock from the confines of her thighs giving it a breath of fresh air as now she squats over your face, giving you a clear view of her shaven pussy. Chaeyoung meanwhile heads over to sit next to your cock, still standing, waiting for the next storm to hit.

“I assume I am still not gonna get a look aren't i?” You ask, trying to sound cocky however Isa didn't say anything as she was slowly lowering her body, obstructing your view once again. With her thighs around your body and her pussy so close to your face, you let your tongue out giving her lips the first lick, just to test the waters.

“Oh fuck, yess” You hear Isa muffled moans from pleasure, feeling her ass gyrating on your tounge, enjoying every moment as you could feel the friction of her thighs on your face.

“You should join us Chaeyoung-AH, i can see him waiting just for you~” you could feel yourself getting even harder than before by the way Isa playfully invites her friend, all the while she is overtaken by pleasure. you are excited to see how Chaeyoung goes off with you, however your thoughts are stopped with a loud groan, not expecting your cock to feel the tightness of her pussy wrapped around you.

After the first contact Chaeyoung starts slowly moving up and down, each dip takes your cock deeper inside her, you could feel how each time you were inside her fluids were coating you more and more. “Oh my god Isaaaaa-” she stops her sentence, quickly releasing a sultry, husky moan. “His f-feels so good…”.

“His tongue too unnie, he is eating me out so well” Isa adds. It's nice to hear the compliment, so much that you get the confidence to start moving at your own pace, pushing your tongue inside. Meanwhile your hands grope Isa’s ass, giving you the grip to start pushing your hips in a matching pace to chaeyoung’s downward movement, Causing the two girls to scream from pleasure, holding each other in order to not collapse on the spot.

You could only Imagine how the girl’s lewd expressions were, just from the ungodly sounds, the scent of lust and cum, and the feeling of their curves on your body you could guess the fun they were having, but it would not be over until you all finally relieved yourself.

“Are you close Jake?” Isa manages to form a question while looking down, you could only respond with a muffled ‘yes’ and a nod of approval.

“I'm close too guys, i have to cum” Chaeyoung replies, releasing another moan in between bohnces it seems like you were all in on the same train of thought as you could feel yourself getting closer to your climax, even without Isa’s Ass directly on your face your view was getting hazy from ecstacy.

“Shit girls, i am going to-” you couldn't even finish the sentence before finally releasing your cum, thank god you pulled out of Chaeyoung just in time.

Your thick load goes all over their bodies, on Chaeyoung thighs, on Isa’s midriff, some even spills on your own abs, you are also not alone as they both get their own orgasm which goes all around your body, Chaeyoung coating your cock and Isa spilling around your face and abs

It takes a while but eventually you are all drained, both girls fall into each of your side, finally giving you a chance to see the two girls laid on the mattress, their bodies painted with cum from the three of you, their faces happy and satisfied.

For a couple of minutes it's quiet, the only way you communicate is with your eyes, looking at each other not with lust but instead with a warm, peaceful gaze.

Eventually Chaeyoung finally breaks the silence. “Fuck, im not a virgin but i gotta say; that is the best sex i had in my life”

“Same for me, i don't know if i want a round 2 or to stop” Isa joins between heavy pants, her hands wrap around your body as she looks at you with the same warm smile she had back when you first saw her.

“I don't know about you two, but i need a good rest after this” you manage to say as you once again lay down on the bed, eyes looking at the ceiling with each hand goes behind the girls’s back, pulling them closee to you.

“Okay then, we will start cleaning and then join you” Isa replies, letting you close your eyes and get some rest. However not before you can hear faint sounds of slurping as you open eye and see Chaeyoung's lips wrapped around the tip of your cock, isa behind holding her hair and tying it to makeshift ponytail.

“Hmm, it seems you two wanted another” you say, smiling at the two girls.

“Hey, you're still hard and we are still horny, you complain?” Isa asks, her eyes locking into yours paired with a flirty grin and a cute wink.

Something tells you that you wont get a good rest from those two girls.

[wonderjanga]

Gender? Who Cares About That?

Billy’s never really been one to really care about gender. Look, if you wanna be a girl, you’re a girl, same if you wanna be a boy. Or at least that’s what he thinks. He just doesn’t get the hype about it. So, whenever he feels like it, he just turns into a girl. No one really cares and he’s been doing it since the sixties so he’ll keep doing it. Well, at least no one cared until nowadays.

Marvel: *in female form picking up some rubble to clear it after a villain attack*

Reporter: “Ma’am!” *trying to flag Marvel down*

Marvel: “Yes, miss?” *carefully puts rubble down*

Reporter: “Hello, ma’am. We at channel five news have been meaning to ask you a few questions. Are you related to Captain Marvel, and if so, are you blood related?”

Marvel: *visible confusion* “Uh… I guess.” *honestly thinks it’s a little funny* “But, miss, I am Captain Marvel.”

Reporter: “Huh…?”

Marvel: “Did you not ask any of the citizens?”

Reporter: *looks to the camera guy before looking back at Billy* “Yes- I’m sorry, I was under the impression Captain Marvel was a man.”

Marvel: “I am.”

Reporter: “Yet you’re a woman…?”

Marvel: “Yeah. Whenever I feel like it, I turn into a girl. Then, whenever I feel like it, I turn into a boy.”

Tourist: “So you’re gender-fluid?”

Marvel: “What is that?” *sounds confused*

Tourist: “Literally just what you described.”

Marvel: “Oh. Then I guess I am. I didn’t know there was a label for it.” *

For reference, female Marvel looks like Marilyn just with blue eyes and black hair. As for why he doesn’t know what gender-fluid means? Well apparently it originated in 1994, and in my AU he was trapped in a time bubble and got out in 2016. He’s an old man guys. He can’t work computers. They’re too overcomplicated. If you were to ask a random citizen from Fawcett, they wouldn’t know either.

Marvel: *back in male form, frosting some cookies at the Watchtower*

Supes: “Cap?”

Marvel: “Yes?”

Supes: “So… uh…” *awkward and looks the other JL members*

Other JL Members: *peaking from behind a corner*

Supes: “We just want you to know we support you.” *awkward smile and pat on shoulder*

Marvel: “Cool? What’re you supporting?”

Supes: “Well you know… Do you really not know why?”

Marvel: “No…?”

*silence*

Marvel: “Do you want a cookie?”

Supes: “Yes, please.”

Yeah, he doesn’t care. Like stated earlier, he doesn’t care, and neither did the Fawcett’s citizens. He didn’t even think this was something that people were supported for. That’s why he had no clue what Clark was talking about.

Marvel and GL: *have monitor duty together*

GL: “So, dude, are you going to the pride parade in Metropolis?”

Marvel: “Why would I go to one of those?”

GL: “Cause you’re gender fluid?”

Marvel: “What?” *already forgot what that meant*

GL: “You know how you switch between girl and boy all the time?”

Marvel: “Ohhhh that. I still don’t see what that has to do with the pride parade.”

GL: “Dude, that’s apart of pride.”

Marvel: “I thought pride was for queers?”

GL: “Yeah. You being gender fluid makes you queer.”

Marvel: “Really?”

GL: “Yup.”

Marvel: “Huh. I had no idea. I guess I could go, but I don’t really wanna go alone. Are you going?”

GL: *nods head* “Me and a couple others.”

Marvel: “ ‘kay, then can I go with you guys?”

GL: “Hell yeah, man!”

Bonus:

Mary does the same thing as Billy! Whenever she turns into a boy though, she looks like Billy because twin power.

[mr-cha-n]

Glass Towers

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, architect AU

Warnings: Profanities, drinking, angst, sexual content, penetration, mouth stuff (f. receiving), tension, yearning

Word Count: 18.2k

Summary: City lights are beautiful, but they're nothing compared to the spark between a hopelessly optimistic architect and his no-nonsense boss. He hopes.

Mingyu's always had a thing for the city skyline. He stands there, staring up like a tourist in his own city, while the lights blink back at him. He's convinced that the twinkling stars work overtime in the winter to brighten up the world for busy employees, wonderstruck sightseers, and homebound natives alike. 

And the people? Oh, don't get him started. City folk are like ants with a caffeine addiction, scurrying down streets wide enough to do doughnuts on (he's tempted), all on their own secret missions. Got places to be, people to bump into, lives to live. And every now and then, there's a stray tourist wandering around like they're decoding a map from a century-old pirate treasure hunt, or a food vendor desperately offering free samples and a good, if unique, conversation.

But, most of all, he's got a soft spot for buildings. Those skyscrapers that loom over everyone like friendly giants are his favourite. They're tall, dramatic, stoic - but also weirdly welcoming, like they're saying "Come on in, friend, there's an elevator with your name on it." Each one holds a mini-universe of people with no clue that they're all part of this giant city love affair. And honestly? That's what Mingyu loves most.

That is why he is practically vibrating with excitement as he makes his way to the towering glass-and-steel behemoth that houses his new firm. This building is the pinnacle of urban architecture. It has a shiny, almost reflective facade that makes every other building on the block look like they'd shown up to the party in sweatpants. Windows stretch floor to floor like a series of portals to success.

He's read about this building, of course. Brought it up in the interview for the position. Its architect was apparently a big deal who had once described it as "a dialogue between the earth and the sky." Which, as far as Mingyu is concerned, is just fancy architect-speak for, "Look at how absurdly tall I can make things."

Stepping inside, he is immediately hit with that professional smell - a mix of leather-bound sofas, artisanal coffee, and freshly printed documents. The lobby is decorated with minimalist sculptures that seem like they could either be priceless modern art or just very confusing coat ranks. Either way, Mingyu thinks they look amazing and decides that he'd probably best never trying to lean on one.

He stops at the reception desk, where a sharply dressed woman with an impressively unflappable expression sits.

"Good morning!" He says, a little too enthusiastically. "I'm Kim Mingyu. I'm starting as the new project architect, so you'll probably see a lot of confused-looking, lost-guy moments from me."

She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile quirking on the edge of her lips. "Good luck, Mr Kim. This building does tend to eat people up on their first day."

Mingyu lets out a small chuckle, unsure if she's joking or not, but he takes the smile on her face to signify that she is. After getting directions to his new office space, he makes a point of talking to every staff member he sees on the way, hoping to gain a little bit of familiarity with the new space. There's the security guard by the elevator, who gives him a quick nod of approval, the intern rushing by with a stack of blueprints precariously balanced like they are training for Cirque du Soleil, and the coffee cart guy, who looked positively thrilled to tell Mingyu that they're starting a 'Mocha Monday' deal, envisioning half-price mochas flying off the shelf to cure those start-of-week blues.

The elevator itself is sleek, fast, and almost comically over-engineered. Encased in glass and stainless steel, it features a control panel with buttons for every floor and amenities like a mini espresso machine, a retractable tablet and an adjustable lighting system for 'mood optimisation'. He barely has time to catch his breath before the elevator doors ding open, depositing him on the top floor. 

Waiting for him is Mr Choi, the firm's head partner, a man so put-together than even his cufflinks look like they could close a business deal. Mingyu recognises him instantly - the same piercing gaze from his interview, though today softened by the faintest hint of a smile. Or, well, something that might one day consider becoming a smile.

"Good to see you again, Mingyu," Mr Choi greets, his voice as smooth as marble. He gestures down the hallway, as if guiding him into an architectural wonderland (which, for all intents and purposes, he is). "Shall we?"

They pass through a maze of glass-walled offices and open spaces dotted with architects, designers, and enough blueprint paper to wrap the world's largest birthday present. As they reach Mr Choi's office, Mingyu makes sure to hold the door open for his new boss.

The space is less of an office and more of an architectural shrine, humming with the wisdom of ten thousand blueprints. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, as if the whole skyline had been personally curated just to keep Mr Choi inspired. His desk - a sleek slab of dark walnut with edges so sharp they could probably slice bread - sits precisely in the centre of the room. On the walls sit framed sketches of the firm's most iconic projects, each one hung and lit like a small art gallery. The coffee table at the centre piles high with glossy architecture magazines and books with titles like The Future of Concrete and The Language of Buildings. It is as if every element in the room had been strategically selected to convey that Mr Choi is not just any architect. 

And, most stunning of all, is you. Tall, poised, and commanding a presence that immediately silences whatever joke Mingyu has mentally queued up to break the ice. You're seated across from Mr Choi's desk, reading through a thick stack of documents with the intensity of someone evaluating world-changing data - or possibly planning the most efficient way to dismantle a skyscraper with your mind. You don't look up when he enters.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," Mr Choi says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "this is Kim Mingyu, our newest project architect. He'll be working under you, as we discussed."

Finally, you look up. There's a flash of something unreadable in your eyes as you meet his, and Mingyu's heart skips a beat. You're beautiful, of course, but not in the approachable way he'd normally charm his way though. There's a quiet sharpness to you, like the edge of a blade hidden under silk. You nod, polite but detached, and extend a hand across the desk. Mingyu's hand is halfway to yours before he realises he's probably grinning too wide.

"Mr Kim," You say, your tone flat and calm. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, Ms (Y/l/n)," he replies, fighting the urge to launch into an unnecessarily enthusiastic monologue about how honoured he is to work with someone as formidable as you. Instead, he forces himself to stick with, "It's a pleasure to be here."

Your handshake is brief, controlled, and you retract your hand almost before he's registered the contact. Then you sit back, folding your arms with a measured kind of grace that makes Mingyu feel like he's just been granted an audience with a queen.

"We'll be starting you off on the Langham project," you say, consulting your papers as if double-checking this fact - or maybe just avoiding his eyes. "I'll be overseeing your work and guiding you through our procedures here. We have high standards, and I'll expect you to meet them."

"Of course!" He nods vigorously, attempting his best I-won't-let-you-down smile. "I'm up for any challenge, Ms (Y/l/n). High standards are, uh, my middle name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking slightly perplexed, as though wondering if he might be serious. Mr Choi clears his throat, breaking the silence with a faint smirk that betrays a hint of secondhand amusement.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," he continues, "has been with us for nearly a decade. She's an invaluable asset to the firm. I trust you'll learn a great deal from her."

Mingyu nods earnestly, glancing at you, but you're already back to scanning the documents as if he's drifted into background noise. He's mildly disappointed, though he can't exactly blame you - after all, he is juts the latest recruit with probably a hundred questions, and you seem like the type who doesn't have time for aimless chatter.

"Any questions before we begin?" you ask, in a tone that suggests the answer you're really hoping for is 'no.'

But of course, Mingyu has questions. Too many, probably. He opens his mouth to ask one, but then catches the faintest glint of what he thinks might be impatience in your eyes and quickly changes gears.

"Actually, no," he says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good to go!"

You don’t seem particularly impressed by this, but there’s a flicker of something — amusement, maybe? — before you turn back to Mr. Choi. "Shall I take him to the Langham briefing room, then?"

Mr Choi waves you off with a nod, and you rise with a brisk elegance that makes Mingyu almost trip over himself in an effort to follow. You walk him through the halls with a calm, businesslike air, giving succinct, precise explanations as you go. Every step you take feels purposeful, every word perfectly chosen. Mingyu feels like an eager puppy trotting beside you, but he's determined to keep up.

As you reach the briefing room, he can't resist trying to break the ice one more time. "You know," he starts, grinning. "I really love the city skyline. It's kind of why I got into architecture."

You pause, giving him a look that manages to be both blank and withering at once. "Is that so?"Yeah!" He barrels on, encouraged by the fact that you responded at all. "It's like ... it's all a big love letter to everyone living here, you know? Every building, every floor, every light in the window - it's all just there, lighting up people's lives."

There's a moment of silence. Mingyu wonders if maybe he overdid it.

Finally, you nod, albeit with an expression he can't quite place. "That's an ... optimistic way of looking at it, Mr Kim."

Optimistic? Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he'll take it. He smiles, trying to hide his excitement at the fact that you actually acknowledged his point. "I guess that’s me — hopelessly optimistic."

You glance at him with what he might, just might, dare to interpret as the tiniest hint of a smirk. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by your usual professional demeanour.

"Well," you say crisply, gesturing to the plans spread out on the table. "Let’s see if that optimism translates to effective project execution."

By the time Mingyu finally steps out of the firm's towering glass sanctuary, the city has dipped into that golden hour where the skyline looks like it's been dipped in honey. The streets are packed with people still racing to meetings, or dinners, or late-night escapades, but Mingyu feels like he's in his own little bubble, still buzzing from the whirlwind of his first day.

He's not sure what's more overwhelming - the Langham project itself, which already feels like it's going to stretch every ounce of his architectural prowess and patience, or you. The way you carried yourself like you were born in this building, with all its sharp edges and polished surfaces. He isn't sure how to keep up with that level of composure.

But there was something there, wasn't there? A flicker of something. Maybe you were just humouring him, but there was that slight tilt of your lips when he said something slightly amusing. Or the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary when he spoke. Of course, he could just be imagining it. But Mingyu isn't about to let go of that feeling just yet.

The subway ride home does little to calm his excitement. He thinks about the massive pile of documents he's expected to digest tonight for the briefing tomorrow. As the train rumbles beneath the city, Mingyu cracks open his bag and pulls out the folder that was handed to him this morning - a mess of blueprints, floor plans and complicated notes that look like they were designed to break a person's will to live. 

But he's not scared, not by this at least. The only thing that kind of scares him is the realisation that you are going to be watching him closely. Judging. Monitoring. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he’s ready for that sort of proximity.

The train screeches to a halt, and Mingyu exits at his stop, shaking off those thoughts. Tonight, he’ll just have to forget about all that for now and focus on getting some food in his stomach. Besides, he’s almost home.

Mingyu’s apartment building isn’t anything to write home about. It’s not a shiny, glass-covered marvel like the office, but it’s cozy and warm, with enough character to make him feel like he has a place to call his own. His apartment is on the fourth floor, up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. As he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door, the familiar smell of instant ramen and coffee hits him. His flatmate, Wonwoo, is already home.

Wonwoo’s there in the living room, sprawled across the couch with his laptop on his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee next to him. He’s the polar opposite of Mingyu in almost every way: quiet, reserved, and extremely not into architecture, but somehow they’ve been rooming together for the past few years without any major conflicts. Mingyu’s loud, chaotic energy and tendency to overshare perfectly balances Wonwoo’s brooding, half-mysterious vibe. It’s a friendship forged in caffeine and mutual understanding that sometimes, you need someone who won’t judge when you blast pop music at 2 AM, or when you eat cereal for dinner because you forgot to go grocery shopping.

"How’s the first day?" Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his screen, his voice cool and unbothered. But Mingyu can tell he’s asking out of a form of polite curiosity, like a scientist observing a very energetic specimen.

Mingyu drops his bag on the counter and flops onto the couch next to him. "It was ... intense," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "The project I'm gonna be working on is a beast. There's this whole ocean of details to sift through. And then there's Ms (Y/l/n)."

Wonwoo looks up, his brow slightly raised. "Your boss?"

"Yeah," Mingyu says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "She's something else. Like she doesn't seem interested in me at all, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. But she's got this, like, presence. Makes you want to impress her, y'know? Even when she's totally stone-faced - especially when, actually."

Wonwoo hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, you're in love with your boss already. Good to know."

Mingyu shoots him a mock glare, his cheeks ringing with a hint of pink. "I'm not in love with her, okay? It's more like ... fascination. She's just really intimidating."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, the picture of dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what's her deal, anyway? Too professional for your flirty smile?"

"She doesn't seem flattered by it." Mingyu dramatically drops his head into his hands, mimicking a tragic melodrama. "I might have to rethink my whole life strategy if I can’t get her to crack a smile at my jokes."

"But hey," Wonwoo adds with a smirk, "if you want to survive your first week, I suggest you do not mention the city skyline and your theories about how it’s a love letter to people. That’s a hard pass."

Mingyu groans, covering his face in embarrassment. "I’m never telling you anything ever again."

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "You love me and you know it."

Mingyu snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ve got work to do." He picks up the pile of documents, pulling them closer with a resigned sigh. "Gotta impress Ms (Y/l/n) somehow."

Gulping down a quick 'dinner' of left-over stir fry and a couple of eggs for good measure, Mingyu picks back up the Langham project folder, its content still a chaotic swirl of technical specs and words he can't read, and flips open the first few pages. The project itself is a massive undertaking - a luxury hotel and mixed-use complex nestled in the heart of the city, right by the river. The building is going to stretch twenty stories high, with glass facades that'll reflect the river's light like a prism. The design includes state-of-the-art amenities, with the goal of being the ultimate urban getaway - a haven for tourists, business moguls, and the occasional local who just wants to treat themselves to a little luxury.

Mingyu's eyes light up as he scans the proposed design. There's a grand atrium in the centre, stretching all the way up to the top floor, with cascading gardens and open-air terraces. "So fancy," he mutters to himself. His team is clearly trying to push boundaries here, blending modern steel and glass with organic elements - like a giant metallic tree-house hybrid for the city's elite.

He flips to a page filled with notes about sustainability and energy efficiency. They’re aiming for a platinum LEED certification — top-tier green building status. It’s all about using smart, eco-friendly tech to make the building as self-sustaining as possible. Mingyu groans inwardly, wondering if he’s about to become an expert on solar panels and rainwater harvesting.

As he continues reading, one particular detail catches his eye. The signature design element for the building is a series of “floating” glass bridges between the upper floors — a bold architectural statement meant to make the building appear less like a typical office block and more like something out of a futuristic movie. It sounds incredible, but Mingyu can already picture himself pulling his hair out over the engineering calculations required to make sure the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down in a windstorm.

By the time he reaches the end of the folder, his mind is spinning, and a mild panic starts to creep in. Your expectations are clear, and the project’s scope is enormous. But Mingyu can’t help the tiny spark of excitement that flickers in his chest. This is what he’s been working toward — to be a part of something that will change the city’s landscape, something that will make people stop and look up.

He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It's late, but he knows he'll need all the preparation he can get for tomorrow.

With one last long look at the papers, Mingyu closes the folder, shoving it aside with a resigned sigh. "I’m going to need a lot more coffee," he mutters, flopping back on the couch beside Wonwoo, who’s already half asleep with his laptop still glowing faintly in his lap.

Wonwoo snorts without opening his eyes. "You’re going to need more than coffee for this, buddy."

"Tell me about it," Mingyu grins, grabbing his phone to order another coffee, just in case he didn’t have enough already. Tonight, it looks like he’s going to be living on caffeine and architectural dreams.

A few weeks into the job, Mingyu has already made a significant number of mistakes. Well, significant is probably an understatement. More like a collection of blunders so impressive that, if anyone were to catalogue them, they might think Mingyu was trying to break some sort of world record in architectural mishaps.

It starts innocently enough, with a small miscalculation on the elevator shaft dimensions that nearly caused a minor freakout in the engineering department. Then there was that time he mixed up the load-bearing capacity for the glass facades and accidentally sent an email to the whole team saying, "We could use stronger glass" when technically, the existing plans were fine. And, of course, who could forget that time he got overzealous and rearranged the project's timeline, shaving an entire month off the construction schedule, only to realise later that it was a little bit too ambitious for anyone's taste?

He still hasn't lived down the elevator incident, which, for the record, wasn't even entirely his fault. But it's hard to explain that when your eyes are drilling into him from across the room, a careful blend of disappointment and 'I'm trying not to send you into an existential crisis right now.'

Today, he's perched at his desk watching the clock tick down the minutes until the inevitable meeting with you. His fingers drum nervously on the edge of his notepad. There's a fresh stack of papers in front of him, each one brimming with red-inked corrections, and he knows what's coming. He's almost perfected the art of nodding in silent shame during your critiques, hoping the earth might swallow him whole.

When the meeting finally comes, you walk into the room, as poised and unbothered as ever. He tries to stand up to greet you, but he stumbles into his chair instead, catching himself just in time.

"You've been busy," you say dryly, as you flip through the stack of appears, your eyes scanning the marked-up blueprints. Your tone is sharp, like an exam proctor giving him one last chance to pass without the lecture.

Mingyu forces a grin, wiping his palms against his pants. "Yep, learning a lot on the fly, you know?"

You don't smile. "You've certainly given us a lot to work with."

Mingyu winces, cracking for the inevitable storm of corrections. He can already feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him. He's been trying so hard to make a good impression, but it seems every time he tries, he only ends up making things more complicated.

But then, as if you've suddenly decided that maybe he hasn’t completely bungled everything, you pause, tapping your pen against the papers in front of you. “But there’s one thing...”

His heart stutters. "What's that?"

You flip to the last page in the folder, revealing a neatly detailed diagram of the building's eco-friendly water filtration system, a proposal Mingyu put together at the last minute after a rather inspiring lunch break (where he might have gotten just a little carried away talking to the environmental consultant). You tap the diagram. "This," you say, your voice softer than he's ever heard it, "This is well done. You identified a potential issue with the system that we hadn't accounted for in the original design. We'll need to revise a few things to integrate it fully, but this is exactly the kind of thinking we need."

Mingyu stares at you, completely caught off guard. His brain is still half-parked in panic mode from the earlier mistakes. and he can't quite process your words. Did you just ... praise him?

"Really?" He blinks, his surprise making his voice higher than usual. "You mean the, uh, water thing? I just thought it might be better if we-"

"I know," you interrupt, your gaze steady on him. "You found a solution we missed. We'll be able to integrate it without a massive redesign. Good work."

Mingyu blinks again, this time in pure disbelief. It's like someone just handed him a bag of cash and told him to keep it. "I - uh, wow. Thanks." He tries to act cool, but he's pretty sure he looks like a kid who's just been handed an extra cookie.

You don't break your composed demeanour, but there's a subtle shift in your expression - a quiet respect that wasn't there before. "You're capable, Mr Kim," you say, your voice calm but with a hint of approval. "Despite your tendency to make things a little more complicated than necessary, you're on the right track."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Mingyu feels an odd rush of pride — a mix of relief and the kind of warmth you get when you find out you didn’t totally mess everything up. For once, he’s not the guy who ruins everything in your eyes.

And, maybe, just maybe, he can keep that “capable” label for a while.

“I’ll expect the revised plans on my desk by Friday,” you say, your voice steady. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t!” Mingyu promises, his voice more confident than it’s been in weeks. “I’m on it.”

Mingyu throws himself into revising the plans with a fervour that borders on obsession. He’s got spreadsheets, CAD files, hand-drawn sketches, and a brand new stack of sticky notes covering his desk like a rainbow-coloured fortress of architectural ambition. The water filtration system has turned into his personal magnum opus, and he’s determined to make sure it’s nothing short of revolutionary.

He's started to stay later than usual, his desk lamp becoming a beacon in the dimmed office. At first, he doesn't pay much attention to who else is around, his mind so wrapped up in calculations and potential pitfalls that he barely notices his own hunger or fatigue. But after a few nights, he realises he's not the only one burning the midnight oil.

Your office light is always on. Sometimes he'll glance up, bleary-eyed and half delirious from staring at documents, and he'll catch a glimpse of you through the glass walls - hair pulled back, eyes locked on your laptop screen, fingers tapping briskly on the keys as if your thoughts are sprinting ahead of your hands. You're a constant fixture, as much a part of the office's architecture as the polished marble floors and unbreakable glass doors. And, he realises, you're usually there even later than he is.

One evening, after finally signing off on what feels like the hundredth draft of the plans, Mingyu yawns and stretches, feeling every vertebra pop like bubble wrap. He glances at the clock. It's nearly midnight. As he stands to grab his coat, he sees your office light flick off, and you appear, looking just as composed as you did this morning, as if working fifteen hours straight is just part of your weekly routine.

You both walk to the elevator in silence, the quiet stretch of the office settling around you like an unspoken truce. When the elevator doors close, you glance at him, breaking the silence with a casual, "You're still here, Mr Kim."

He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, still making sure I don't mess up the Langham project. You know how it is."

You don't smile, but your expression softens. "I do."

The elevator ride is quiet, filled with the low hum of machinery and the faintest scent of Mingyu's cologne - a last-ditch attempt this morning to feel professional. When you step out onto the ground floor, you hesitate by the door, glancing out at the street. The city is dark and quiet, the only lights the occasional passing car and the soft glow of streetlamps.

"Do you have a way home?" You ask, your voice so casual it takes him a second to realise you're actually offering him a ride.

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, well, I was going to take the subway. But if you're offering..." He trails off, grinning sheepishly.

You nod, motioning to the car parked just outside. It's as sleek and polished as you are - a dark sedan that looks like it would have absolutely no patience for speed bumps. He slides into the passenger seat, trying not to fumble with his seatbelt, and you start the engine, pulling into the quiet streets with a calm, practised ease.

For a while, you drive in silence. Mingyu glances out the window, his thoughts tangled between the day's work and the surreal feeling of sitting in the same car as you.

"You're ... very driven," you break the quiet, your tone almost contemplative. "I don't often see people put in that kind of effort, especially so early on."

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Guess I just don’t want to let you down. Or, you know, be known as the guy who destroyed the Langham project.”

You finally smile, a small, genuine expression that feels like a rare peek beyond the wall, and leaves Mingyu feeling a little breathless. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Mingyu hesitates, taken aback by the question. He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always loved buildings. Ever since I was a kid, I’d spend hours sketching skyscrapers in my notebooks. It’s kind of a dream come true, being here. Getting to work on something this big.”

You listen, your eyes fixed on the road but your expression soft, focusing now somewhere beyond just his words.

"This job can consume you, if you let it," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "It's a rare thing to see someone bring genuine excitement to it. Most people, they burn out or let it harden them." You glance at him, and for a brief moment, he sees a flicker of something almost vulnerable in your gaze. "It's good that you still ... care."

Your words hang in the air, and Mingyu feels a strange ache in his chest - a sudden realisation that beneath the cool professionalism, you had been through this same path yourself, fighting to keep that spark alive in an industry that seems determined to grind it out of you.

"Thanks," he says softly, the playful tone absent for once. "I mean it. And ... I think I get what you mean." He hesitates, then adds, "But I don't think I'll stop caring anytime soon."

You nod, a faint smile ghosting your lips. You drive on through the city, the lights casting soft, shifting patterns on the glass.

When you finally reach his building, he unbuckles his seatbelt, giving you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride. And, you know… for everything else.”

You nod, your expression back to usual, but there's a warmth in your eyes now. "Goodnight, Mr Kim."

"Goodnight," he says, stepping out and closing the door gently. He watches as you drive away, the taillights disappearing down the street, and feels a strange mixture of inspiration and relief, and a hunger to get back in the car and learn anything else he can about you.

It's a week before his presentation, and Mingyu is thrilled about his latest proposal for the Lagham project - a sleek, eco-friendly rooftop space designed to collect rainwater, enhance natural cooling, and serve as a green oasis in the middle of the city for all visitors to access. It's his baby, his architectural pièce de résistance. He’s already named the design “Green Above” in his head, but, apparently, the client is less than convinced.

The hesitation comes during a routine check-in meeting, when Mr. Choi casually drops the news that the client has “concerns.” The term is as vague as it is ominous, and Mingyu’s heart sinks. Apparently, they’re worried it’s too “experimental,” too “risky” for the firm’s conservative image. Mingyu tries to hide his disappointment, nodding as Mr. Choi politely recommends that he “polish up his pitch” before the big day.

By “polish,” of course, he means pull a miracle out of thin air.

Enter: you.

Later that afternoon, you call him into your office, the door clicking shut behind him as you gesture for him to sit. He braces himself, ready for another dissection of his work, but instead, you surprise him by pulling out his sketches and nodding. "The client might be wary," you say, your tone clinical and level, "but there's a strong case for this. You just need to learn how to show them the vision." You pause, looking at him. "I'll help you with that."

Mingyu blinks. "You'll help me present?"

"Yes, Mr Kim," you say. "We'll work on this every evening until you're confident enough to convince a room full of sceptics. You'll have to be better than good. Exceptional."

And so, every evening for the next week, Mingyu stays late in the conference room, rehearsing his proposal with you. The first night, he stumbles through the trial run, mumbling about sustainable design, only to have you stop him after two minutes, unimpressed.

"Start over," you say, tapping your pen against the table. "And this time, stop burying the lead. Walk in there and make me believe it's the best thing I've ever heard."

You're relentless but patient, correcting him when he gets too caught up in technical jargon, showing him how to highlight the benefits rather than the process. "This is a story," you tell him one evening. "Show that what it feels like. Make them see the vision before you go into how it works."

Somewhere around the fourth late night, you sit back into your chair after another dry run, watching him with an intensity that makes him nearly forget his lines.

“Stop talking like you’re trying to convince them you’re good enough,” you say, "You are. You have to believe it, or no one else will."

Mingyu blinks, the words landing with unexpected weight. You say it like it's a fact - as if there's no question about his abilities, just his confidence. Something in your gaze is softer than he's ever seen, and for the first time, he wonders how many long nights like these you've spent not just perfecting your work, but holding yourself up to impossible standards too.

He nods, taking a breath. “Right. Believe it.”

By the night before the presentation, he’d rehearsed the pitch so many times he could recite it in his sleep. You give him one last nod, a subtle flicker of approval in your eyes. "You're ready."

The day of the meeting dawns, and Mingyu arrives early, the faint taste of nerves tingling in his throat. When he enters the boardroom, the client representatives are all seated, an assortment of tailored suits and sceptical expressions. Mr. Choi offers a nod of encouragement from his place at the head of the table, and you stand nearby, arms folded, watching him with that same quiet intensity.

As he begins his pitch, Mingyu can feel his initial nerves settle, his voice steady as he moves through each point. He doesn’t just talk about “Green Above” like an idea on paper; he paints it as a vision, something meant to make the city’s skyline greener, bolder, better. He gestures to the architectural mockups, describing the rooftop garden as not just a feature but a destination, an asset that would be both functional and iconic.

He can tell, halfway through, that the room has shifted. The clients sit forward, nodding, leaning into his words, their initial scepticism melting as he lays out the plan. The numbers, the materials, the maintenance — it’s all there, practical but wrapped in the bigger picture he’s been rehearsing for nights on end.

When he finishes, the room is silent for a beat before the client’s lead representative nods, visibly impressed. “It’s… ambitious,” he says, almost smiling. “But I see what you mean. Let’s move forward.”

Mingyu grins, fighting the urge to fist pump as the clients exchange approving glances. He looks over at you, who gives him the slightest nod of approval. He can almost see a glimmer of pride in your expression, faint but undeniable.

As the room empties and the clients file out, Mingyu's heart is still racing, his whole body humming with triumph. He turns to you, grinning wide. "We did it," he says, his voice barely containing his excitement. "I mean ... I did it. But only because you..."

He trails off, realising just how close you're standing, the quiet of the empty room settling around you. Your gaze meets his, and for a moment, you don't look away. It's a long, lingering look, like you're seeing him not just as an employee or an eager architect but as… him. Someone who cares, who tries, who’s just won his first major victory and feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “For all of it. I don’t think I could have pulled it off without you.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering with something he can’t quite place. Your expression softens, your lips parting slightly as if your about to say something else. And in that moment, there’s a warmth between them, a shared understanding that words alone wouldn’t quite capture.

“Just… keep going,” you say finally, your voice so quiet it feels like a secret. “You’re more capable than you realize, Mingyu.”

The way you says his name — with that subtle, unfamiliar warmth — makes his heart skip. He nods, still holding your gaze, feeling the weight of everything you’ve shared in the past week in that single, electric second.

And then, as if the moment might disappear if you linger too long, you step back, your usual composure slipping back into place.

For the first time, Mingyu feels that maybe — just maybe — there’s more between them than late-night work sessions and professional boundaries. And as you walk side by side down the quiet hall, he can’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, you might be feeling it too.

Mingyu's gotten good at convincing himself he's not entirely losing it. So what if his boss, who barely blinks at a 15-hour day and thinks "weekends" are a suggestion, is suddenly occupying 90% of his mental bandwidth? That's just ... professional admiration. So when he finds himself thinking about you at odd times - like, mid-bite of his breakfast burrito, or what he's supposed to be learning zoning codes - he brushes it off. After all, it's normal to be totally absorbed by someone you admire.

One evening, after bringing home takeout and trying (again) to casually mention his most recent success, Wonwoo decides to drop a bomb. "I saw an article about your boss the other day, you know. Back when she first joined the firm. People in the comments kept talking about something called the Westbrook Project - ever heard of it?"

"Westbrook Project?" Mingyu repeats, a little too quickly, his brain scrambling. Nothing. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard the name before, but it’s his boss, so he’s probably supposed to know. After Wonwoo can't provide any more details, Mingyu does what any self-respecting architect does at 2 a.m. when faced with a mysterious professional tidbit: he Googles it. Expecting, like, a vague overview, maybe some old press releases. What he finds, though, are words like "abandoned," "budget issues," and, worst of all, "failure," with your name all over it. Ouch. Big, deep ouch.

The next day at work, Mingyu manages to strike up a casual conversation with the marketing guy who's practically the office encyclopedia. "Oh, the Westbrook Project?" he says with a knowing smirk. "I read the case files. It was supposed to be, like, revolutionary. Eco-forward, huge downtown build. A lot of drama when it got shut down. Man, Ms (Y/l/n) was obsessed with that thing. You've gotta respect someone who fights like that for their work." He laughs a little, but there's something almost pitying in his tone, like he doesn't quite know what to make of someone who has been through such a high-profile professional failure.

Mingyu's stomach drops as he realises that there's a whole side of you - this weight - he never saw before. He feels embarrassed for not knowing. But, maybe, it explains the way you hold yourself together, so careful with your words, so precise in every gesture. Because what happens when you give so much of yourself, and it still isn't enough?

Mingyu can't help but glance at you differently when you walk into the office. You're still the same, all business and poise, but there's a weight to you now that he hadn't noticed before. It's not his place to ask you about Westbrook, and he's not sure he could even bring it up without tripping over his own words.

So, Mingyu brings it up.

Not immediately, because he's not that much of a disaster. It's not the same day, or even the same week. It's one of those late nights when he's deep into pretending he's not panicking over math, and he's only going into your office to ask if you've seen the last-minute email from the client. 

Except. 

He sees the bottle of red on your desk.

It's sitting there, a little too casually, with half of it in a glass that's perched too close to your mouse. 

It's not that Mingyu thought you didn't drink. But seeing it there, on your desk, is like catching a glimpse of a teacher's pet outside of school. His brain starts spiralling. Are you getting drunk? Are you able to get drunk?

Still standing in the doorway like he's caught in some sort of personal disaster movie, Mingyu clears his throat. "Uh," he starts, because his brain is still stuck on you drinking alcohol in the office, "What's the deal with the wine?"

You glance up from your computer, completely unfazed. "Oh, this?" You wave a hand, almost like it’s nothing. “A gift from a client. They thought I needed something to ‘relax’ after all the late nights." You flash a teasing grin. "I didn’t think anyone else would be in the office this late, though."

Mingyu freezes again. Seeing a smile on your face is unnerving him. "Uh, well, yeah ... just ... I thought you were busy, y'know? I didn't want to disturb you," he stammers, as if that makes any sense. Of course you know he's here. He's always here. He's practically a fixture at this point.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly not fooled. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway, now that you’re here," you say, looking at him with a glint of curiosity, "what’s been keeping you up lately? Besides zoning codes and whatever else you’ve been trying to memorise, that is."

Mingyu, caught completely off guard by the question, opens his mouth to respond, but his brain, still fighting the urge to melt into the floor, can't form a proper sentence. His gaze flicks back to the wine bottle like it holds all the answers to his life right now. Finally, he blurts out, "Uhh... I’ve been, uh, thinking about the Green Above project. You know, the one we’re working on?"

“Right,” you nod, leaning back in your chair. “Big, green rooftop. You’ve got your hands full with that one.” You take a sip from your glass, and Mingyu swears the way your lips wrap around the rim is completely unfair to his focus. “What else?”

Mingyu, not used to people asking him personal questions that aren’t about work or how he’s planning on saving the planet with his architectural genius, scratches the back of his neck. “Uh... I mean, well, I’ve been wondering about... you. I mean, your—" he pauses, shaking his head, "your work, of course. Like, how you got into all this. You’ve clearly been through a lot, right?”

You chuckle softly, eyes softening for a brief moment. "A lot? Yeah, I guess you could say that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now, is it?" You lean forward. "What's really going on, Mingyu?"

Mingyu’s mind is officially in crisis mode. He could barely form a sentence when talking about wine, and now you’ve flipped the tables. What is he even supposed to say?

“I—uh, well, it’s just... I’m curious,” he mutters, struggling to sound casual. He bites his lip, then his curiosity gets the best of him. “Wait, can I ask about something?”

You lean back again, clearly amused. “Go ahead.”

He takes a breath and gestures to the cabinet rested against the back wall of your office. "That picture there .. of a building, I think? It kind of looks like the Westbrook Project. Was it yours?” He winces as soon as he asks, knowing full well how awkward this must sound. But now he really wants to know, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending he hasn’t been thinking about it.

You blink, clearly not expecting him to ask, but then you just sigh and open your desk drawer, revealing an old architectural sketch, detailed and bold, with a city skyline in the background. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter now. “It was.”

Mingyu swallows hard, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone. “What happened to it? The project, I mean... why didn’t it go through?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another slow sip of your wine, letting the moment stretch out. When you finally speak, your voice is calm but laced with something unspoken. “It was a good idea, just... not the right time. But that’s how it goes sometimes in this field. Things get started, and then... they don’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, processing what you’ve shared. “I get that,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been there too. You know, not everything works out exactly the way you expect.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, there’s this quiet weight in your expression, something raw you don’t usually let slip. The smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness—more like... an understanding, an acceptance.

“The Westbrook Project was supposed to be everything I’ve worked for,” you begin, your voice softer now, like the walls are coming down just a little. “My goal has always been to help the community, to build things that people can actually enjoy, not just walk by and forget. I wanted something that would be a part of the city, something that people could use—a space that felt like it belonged to everyone.” You stop, looking at the picture in the drawer for a moment as if it’s not just a sketch, but a piece of your heart. "The Westbrook Project was supposed to be the culmination of all that. The perfect mix of green spaces, architecture, and public access. I wanted to create something people would look at and feel like they were part of it, you know? Not just bystanders."

You take another slow breath, running a hand through your hair, looking a bit less put-together than usual, but somehow even more... real. “I think that’s the hardest part. It wasn’t just a project to me—it was everything I believed in. And when it got shut down... it felt like a piece of that belief just... crumbled.” You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. “I know it sounds dramatic, but when you spend so much of your time fighting for something, putting everything into it... and it still isn’t enough... it makes you wonder what the point is.”

Mingyu watches you closely with a strange mix of admiration and empathy. For a second, he’s struck with the urge to reach out and say something comforting, but all he can manage is a quiet, "That... sounds incredible. You must have been really proud of it."

You nod, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was. Still am, in a way. But life moves on, right?” You glance back at the bottle of wine, then take another sip, before setting it down and meeting Mingyu’s gaze again, this time with a lighter, almost teasing glint. "You want some?"

“Uh... yeah?” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement, as if he's still trying to make sure this is actually happening.

You pour him a glass, your movements slow and deliberate. Mingyu watches every little gesture, thinking that maybe if he looks at the wine long enough, it might just turn into something less dangerous. It doesn't.

He takes the glass from you, trying to act casual, but honestly? It's a miracle he doesn’t spill it everywhere. "Thanks," he mutters.

You smirk at him as if you know exactly what’s going on in his head, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if you can hear it, too—the way his pulse skips whenever he looks at you. He takes a sip of the wine, hoping it will steady him. It doesn’t. It only makes him more aware of you, of the way your eyes glint in the dim light of the office, how close you’re sitting, how warm it feels in here all of a sudden.

“So,” you say, your voice dropping a little lower than before, “Now that we’ve gone through my failed projects, do you feel enlightened?”

Mingyu laughs, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard. He leans back, trying to appear cool, but it’s hard to be anything but a mess when you’re so close and everything feels a little off in the best possible way. “Enlightened? I’m still figuring out if you’re real,” he admits, voice cracking just a bit.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment as his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. “It’s just ... you’re different than what I expected. I mean, you’re still, like, boss mode, but there’s this whole other side to you. Like, I don't know ... I think I’ve been seeing you as this untouchable, perfect person, and now I’m realising maybe I’m not the only one who’s human.”

You blink at him for a moment, and then—before he can get too embarrassed—something flickers across your face. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe it’s something else. You lean in just slightly, the air between you thickening, but you don't break the distance just yet.

“I think,” you start slowly, “you might be onto something there, Mingyu.”

His breath hitches. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, the late hour, or the way your voice dropped that has him leaning forward a little. It’s all of it, really. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a knowing smile. “You might find I’m not so untouchable, after all. But—” You pause, the tension rising as your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his eyes. “We’ll see if you can handle the reality of that.”

Mingyu’s mind is going full tilt now, brain in overdrive, as his hand involuntarily moves closer to yours on the desk. He's this close to spilling all his thoughts and feelings—about work, about the project, about the way you make him feel—but instead, he blurts out, “I—uh, I’m pretty good with challenges.”

The words hang there, thick in the air between you. And then, before Mingyu can think any more about it, you break the tension—just slightly—by leaning even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you are.”

The space between you shrinks, just a little. And Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, finds himself absolutely certain that if things don’t shift soon, this office might just catch fire from how hot it’s gotten in the last few minutes. The tension in the air is thick, like static before a storm. Mingyu’s hand hovers just a fraction too close to yours on the desk, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He’s this close to losing all control, caught between wanting to say the right thing and just leaning in and kissing you. But what would that even mean? Would it be the worst decision of his life? Or the best?

His thoughts are a mess, but then—just like that—it’s like you’ve made up your mind for him. You close the space between you with a single, deliberate movement, your lips pressing softly against his.

Mingyu freezes for half a second, too stunned to process what’s happening. And then, without even thinking, he leans into the kiss, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It’s slow at first, soft, like neither of you can quite believe this is actually happening. Your lips are warm, and the taste of wine lingers on them—something sweet and intoxicating that has his head spinning.

You pull back just slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, and he feels his pulse race. You look at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're not regretting this, are you?" you murmur, voice low.

“No,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “Definitely not regretting this.”

And then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your hands moving to his collar as if you’re suddenly both starved for this closeness. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and all he can think about is how right this feels, how every inch of him seems to have been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grows more urgent, more heated. His body presses into yours, the desk suddenly feeling too small, too far away. He wants you closer, needs you closer, and the way you move against him makes him ache with desire. He’s so lost in you, in this kiss, that everything else fades away—the Westbrook Project, work deadlines, the office. There’s only you, only this.

You're mumbling something and Mingyu's not sure he has the brain capacity to listen when he can feel your hands on his chest and your body pressed against his.

"... couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, who looks like this?"

His brain practically short-circuits at that. 

You’re grinning now, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. But before he can manage a reply, you reach up, your hand grazing the back of his neck as you lean in again. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly his brain clears—just long enough for him to close the remaining distance between you two.

The kiss this time is less hesitant, filled with a kind of urgency that makes the room feel smaller, more intense. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against him, and he feels your fingers twisting in his hair as if you can’t get enough either. Every brush of your lips sends another jolt through him, and he’s quickly losing any sense of professionalism or reason. He’s just Mingyu, in this moment, in this office, completely undone by you.

You’re mumbling again, half-laughing as he trails his lips down to the corner of your mouth and just slightly to your jawline. “I mean, really,” you manage between kisses, breathy but amused. “Did you even realise the effect you have?”

He lets out a breath of laughter against your skin, half a smirk forming. “I—I mean, maybe,” he says, but the words come out more as a gasp because you’ve got your hands back on him, your fingers trailing along his jaw in a way that has him melting. “I might have... kinda hoped, at least?”

“Oh?” Your voice is soft, teasing, and he catches a flash of that mischievous smile just before you lean in again, catching him in another kiss that’s more intense, more consuming than before.

Mingyu’s senses are a blur, but he manages to break away for just a second, eyes dark, a grin of his own tugging at his lips. “I think,” he says, his voice low, “I’d like to show you just how much I can handle.” His tone is playful but edged with a confidence he didn’t know he had until this very moment.

The moment is thick, like honey, everything moving slower and faster at once. Mingyu’s hands slip around your waist, and you’re tugging him closer, a little breathless, a little reckless. You’re both lost in the feeling of it, the thrill and warmth that seemed impossible just minutes ago.

But then—a sharp vibration echoes against the desk. The hum of your phone springs to life, startling you both. The screen lights up with an urgent notification, reminding you exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

You pull back, your lips just a whisper away from his, and a flicker of reality cuts through the haze of the moment. “Oh—” Your hands drop from his collar, fingertips brushing his chest as if the memory of the touch will fade otherwise. “Mingyu, I...”

His eyes meet yours, still dark and soft, a little dazed, a little too hopeful. But he pulls himself together, straightening and running a hand through his hair, somehow flustered and grinning at the same time. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he says, though it’s not clear who he’s apologising to.

You swallow, nodding as you try to steady yourself. “I—need to go,” you manage. “We both do, actually. It’s...late.”

Mingyu blinks, nodding, though he can't help the hint of disappointment beneath his expression. “Right. Of course. We probably... shouldn’t even be here right now.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if that could somehow erase the last few minutes. “Guess I should close up?”

You nod, and he watches your hand move to your chest, as if to catch your pulse before it runs off. “Yeah, let’s...do that.”

As you step out of the office, you glance back one last time, catching his eye in the dim light. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

His gaze is steady, his voice warm. “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mingyu stands there, staring at it as if it might magically swing back open. For a moment, he doesn’t move, too stunned to process the fact that you were just here, inches away, closer than he ever thought possible, and then—gone. The warmth of you, the softness of your touch, is still buzzing on his skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not replay every single second in his mind.

He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his face, laughing softly to himself. “Wow,” he mutters, barely believing it. Did that really just happen? His boss—the woman he’s spent months trying not to have a full-on crisis over every time she looks at him—just kissed him. And it wasn’t just a peck; it was real, and his head is still spinning.

He paces the office, catching his reflection in the dark window. His hair’s a mess, his shirt collar a little crumpled, and the look on his face is somewhere between ecstatic and completely lost. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff—excited but terrified, staring down into something he can’t quite see.

“Okay, pull it together, man,” he whispers, clutching the edge of his desk like it might hold him steady. But he can’t shake the lingering feeling of your hands against him, the way your voice softened as you spoke to him about your dreams, how for a moment, he felt like he’d glimpsed something real and vulnerable and human in you. It’s like he’s been handed the answer to a riddle he didn’t even know he was solving.

He glances back at the empty doorway and smiles, a little helplessly. Because he knows—there’s no going back from this.

On Monday, Mingyu is ready. He's had days to replay every single second of that kiss, dissecting the tiniest details: the way you'd smiled before leaning in, the way you'd pulled back just a bit only to close the gap even tighter the next time. He’s convinced there’s no way you could look at him the same after that. He’s barely looked at himself the same.

So when he walks into the office Monday morning, there's this nervous excitement buzzing in his chest. He expects maybe a shared look or even a subtle nod, something that says 'yeah, we're definitely not forgetting that happened'. But he doesn't get that. In fact, he doesn't get much of anything.

“Uh, good morning,” he finally says, attempting a smile, hoping to break whatever tension he’s imagining.

“Morning,” you say briskly, barely looking up. “Did you get the updated renderings for the Green Above project?”

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard by how quickly you’ve brushed him off. “Yeah, I—um, they should be in your inbox. I, uh, made some adjustments you might want to look at.”

“Great. I’ll check later,” you say, curtly, already turning back to your computer. It’s not even like you’re being rude, exactly; just… distant. Professional. Totally not how you’d looked at him last week when he’d practically melted into you against this very desk.

The day drags on with more of the same. Every time he tries to catch your eye, you’re looking somewhere else. Every attempt at a lighthearted comment, something to bridge the gap, lands with a dull thud. By mid-afternoon, Mingyu’s just staring at his computer screen, feeling completely lost. Did he imagine everything? Because suddenly, it feels like he’s reading way too much into every little thing, wondering if the smile you’d given him that night was all in his head.

By the end of the day, he can’t take it anymore. He decides to be subtle—or something like that—and casually leans into your office as you’re gathering your things.

“Hey, um… are we good?” He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge of worry there that he can’t quite hide. “It feels like—well, last week was—”

You glance up sharply, your expression guarded. “We’re fine, Mingyu,” you say, with a tone that’s just a little too even. “You’re doing great on the project. Keep up the good work.”

There’s that polished professional mask again, and this time it feels like a wall. Mingyu’s stomach twists, and he can’t help but feel a sting in his chest. He nods, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in. "Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that up.”

And just like that, you walk past him, your footsteps echoing down the hallway as you head out for the night, leaving him standing there, staring after you, wondering what just went wrong.

It’s Thursday, and Mingyu’s still thinking about every clipped interaction you’ve had all week. He’s convinced he’s somehow messed everything up, but he’s not sure how. By lunchtime, he’s already halfway through a takeout sandwich in the break room when some of the other junior architects drift in, plates and coffees in hand. He’s only half-listening to their conversation, until, like a magnet, he hears your name.

“Did you see how she restructured the timeline?” One of them—Hyun, a friend from Mingyu’s first week—says, rolling his eyes. “Feels like she’s trying to prove something to everyone.”

Another snorts. “Yeah, she’s always like that. Like she has to make everything harder just to remind us she’s the boss.”

Mingyu freezes mid-bite, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest. He’d learned more from working with you in the past few months than he could’ve in years of grad school. You didn’t ask anyone to work harder than you did yourself, and Mingyu’s certain no one stays later or puts in more effort than you do.

“Maybe she just actually cares about the projects,” Mingyu snaps, dropping his sandwich. The room goes a bit quiet, a few heads turning his way in surprise. “I mean, do you guys know how much time she’s spent on this? She’s doing half of our jobs for us so we don’t mess it up.”

Hyun raises an eyebrow. "Calm down, Mingyu. Everyone knows she's intense."

“‘Intense’ doesn’t mean you have to talk about her like that,” Mingyu says, his voice a bit sharper than he means it to be. “Maybe if people here actually appreciated all the work she does, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘intense’ to get things done.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, everyone looking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Hyun mutters, "That's easy to say when you're the one getting special favours from her."

Mingyu's jaw clenches, the insinuation making his blood boil.  Special favours? He opens his mouth to snap back, but then catches himself. Getting defensive will only make things worse, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for the late nights or the extra hours you’ve spent on his work. The truth is, he’s learned more from those “extra” moments than he could ever explain to Hyun and the others.

“Look,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “If you guys actually put in half the effort she does, you’d see it’s not about favourites. It’s about getting things right. Maybe if you tried it sometime, you’d get the same attention.”

Hyun snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Must be nice, though, always getting her undivided attention. Pretty convenient, huh?”

The others chuckle, and Mingyu feels his face flush. He glances down, jaw set tight as he clenches his fists under the table. He can feel the weight of their stares and half-smirks, their words pressing in on him like a slow burn he can’t shake off.

The door swings open just then, and he catches sight of you standing there, eyes narrowed, a faint frown on your face. His heart drops, and suddenly he realizes you must have heard—possibly all of it.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mingyu?” Your tone is measured, calm, but he can tell there’s something icy underneath. The others exchange looks, clearly ready to gossip the second you both leave.

Mingyu follows you out of the room, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. As soon as you’re out of earshot, you turn to him, arms crossed.

“So is that how you’re spending your lunch breaks now?” you ask, a cool edge to your voice. “Defending me in the office cafeteria?”

Mingyu swallows, unsure how to respond. “I just… didn’t think they should be talking about you like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he can feel the intensity of your gaze. “It wasn’t right.”

You sigh, pressing your lips together, something almost unreadable flickering across your face. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mingyu,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to handle what people say behind my back. You’re here to do your job, not to play protector.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. He wants to argue, to tell you that maybe you don’t need anyone’s help, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be dragged through the mud behind your back. But something in your expression stops him. He nods, swallowing back whatever words were fighting their way to the surface. “Got it,” he says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but then you just shake your head, walking away with a tense set to your shoulders. He watches you go, the frustration and confusion still churning inside him, wondering just how much further away you both seem to get with every step.

Later that evening, Mingyu slumps into the apartment, looking so defeated that Wonwoo’s expression goes from mildly bored to instantly entertained. “Let me guess. It’s about your boss?” Wonwoo doesn’t even wait for confirmation before tossing him a soda. “You’re like a walking rom-com.”

Mingyu sighs, collapsing on the couch. “Wonwoo, I think she hates me. I mean, really hates me.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were practically having candlelit takeout dinners in her office.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, deflating. “Yeah, well, that was before I kissed her.”

Wonwoo’s phone slides out of his hand, falling onto the couch like a lead balloon. “You what?”

Mingyu nods slowly, a rueful look on his face. “We were working late. It just—happened, okay? And now she’s all distant. Like, avoid me at all costs distant.”

“You kissed your boss?” Wonwoo repeats, still processing. He’s looking at Mingyu like he’s a particularly unsolvable math problem. “As in, the one you worship and whose entire life story you’ve googled?”

“Yes, that one,” Mingyu mutters, covering his face with his hands. “And it was incredible. Like, the kind of kiss that makes you think about life and all your choices and, you know… stuff.” He trails off, his voice a bit dreamy despite himself. “But then, after that, she started acting all cold, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo stares at him, baffled. “Did you, uh, talk to her about it? You know, use words and stuff?”

Mingyu gives him a look. “Of course I tried talking to her. But she’s been all serious and professional and—ugh.” He sinks deeper into the couch. “And today, I may or may not have defended her in front of everyone. Like, really aggressively.”

Wonwoo groans. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?”

“Look, it just came out! They were acting like she’s some kind of boss robot or something. I just couldn’t listen to it.” Mingyu shakes his head. “And of course, she overheard it and was not happy. Told me she doesn’t need someone to protect her.”

Wonwoo considers this, eyebrows furrowed. “So basically, you kissed her, defended her honour, and now you think you ruined everything because she’s distant?”

“Exactly,” Mingyu sighs. “I feel like I messed it all up, and now she thinks I’m just some junior architect with a crush or something.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean, to be fair, you kind of are a junior architect with a crush.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo. Really needed that.” Mingyu glares at him, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Wonwoo nudges him, his tone a little lighter now. “Look, man, maybe she just needs to know it was more than a one-time, late-night thing for you. Like, a serious talk. But not at the office, where everything’s so formal. Just the two of you.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “A serious talk… outside of work. Like, maybe over coffee?”

“Or dinner. Or anything where you can show her that you’re interested in more than work. Just, you know, don’t do that thing where you panic and say something weird.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically. “So, no pressure.”

Wonwoo grins, giving him a slap on the back. “You’ve got this, Romeo. Go win her over.”

Mingyu stands in front of your office door, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves like he's preparing for a public execution. He’s been rehearsing this moment for the last twenty minutes—while staring at his desk like it could offer him some sort of guidance—and he still has no idea what he’s doing. He only knows that if he doesn't get his foot in the door right now, he's going to spend the rest of the day overthinking this until his brain short circuits.

So, he knocks.

And of course, you don’t answer immediately. He stands there like a complete idiot, holding his breath for about five seconds before taking the most awkward step inside. Your eyes flick up to him, and for a second, he’s sure his heart is going to stop.

“Oh. Mingyu.” You sound surprised. Great. That’s just what he needed. "What do you need?"

He smiles, too big, too eager. This is fine. “Hey! So, um, I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as if you already know where this is going.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says quickly, forcing himself to sound more convincing than he feels. “I just, you know… you’ve been working super hard, and I was thinking, you deserve a break. So, what do you say? Dinner? You and me, tonight.”

You blink at him like he just asked if you wanted to run through the streets naked.

“Dinner? With you?” You tilt your head, looking him up and down, clearly trying to figure out if he’s joking or if his brain’s just melted from exhaustion.

"Yup!" Mingyu says, definitely a little too loud and way too enthusiastic. “Yeah, just dinner. No work talk, no presentations, just a chance to unwind, you know?” He grins like he's already won, but there’s something in your gaze that makes him freeze up.

You raise an eyebrow, studying him carefully. The air between you two is thick with that awkward tension, like you’re both trying to figure out if this is a professional gesture or something else entirely. Mingyu can feel the temperature in the room rise, and his stomach does a somersault as he waits for you to respond.

“Are you… serious right now?” You finally ask, your tone a mix of confusion and cautious curiosity.

Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest. “Of course, I’m serious,” he says quickly, voice cracking slightly as his nerves get the best of him. “I mean, it’s not like—uh, it’s not like I want anything weird to happen. It’s just dinner. With two people who both happen to work in the same office. Completely normal, right?” He laughs a little too loudly, and it sounds forced, like someone desperately trying to convince themselves of something they don’t believe.

You’re silent for a moment, and Mingyu’s brain spins with overthinking. Should he apologise? Should he leave before this gets even more awkward? Why did he even think this was a good idea? His palms are sweating, his throat dry, and he feels like he might pass out from sheer mortification.

You lean back in your chair, still watching him, and for a second, Mingyu is sure you’re about to shut him down completely. But then, something shifts in your expression—just the faintest flicker of amusement, like you’re trying not to let it show.

“Dinner,” you repeat, almost like you’re testing the word, as though it’s foreign or absurd coming from him. “No work talk?”

“No work talk,” Mingyu confirms, nodding so hard he might give himself whiplash. “I promise. Just good food and maybe a chance to, you know, talk about literally anything else.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smirks, and Mingyu swears the room feels a little less tense. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

He grins, a spark of hope lighting up his chest. “I like to think of it as... enthusiastic.”

You shake your head, clearly amused now, though you’re doing your best to hide it. “Fine,” you say, leaning forward to jot something on a sticky note. “Dinner."

Mingyu’s heart leaps, and he barely resists the urge to fist pump right there in your office. “Deal!” he says, grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t hurt. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” you agree, handing him the sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Don’t be late, Mingyu.”

He takes the note like it’s a golden ticket, clutching it in his hand as if it might disappear. “I won’t. I’ll see you there.”

As he walks out of your office, he can’t help the goofy smile plastered across his face.

By the time the evening rolls around, Mingyu is pacing outside the restaurant like a man on the edge. He’s checked his watch twice, his phone four times, and stared at the sidewalk so long he’s convinced it’s going to start judging him soon. Late. You're late. Or maybe he’s just early. Impossible to say when your nerves feel like they’re hosting a small rave in your chest.

After all, there’s something about you that makes him want to try harder. Maybe too hard, but he’s finally learned that no one gets anywhere by waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. So, here he is, standing outside the restaurant, pacing like a nervous wreck while waiting for you to arrive.

He’s tried to stay calm, really. Spent the entire afternoon mentally drafting this… whatever this dinner is supposed to be. Not a date (probably). Not a work meeting (definitely). Just dinner. Dinner with the one person who’s managed to turn him into a bundle of energy and chaos masquerading as a fully functional adult.

And then, right as he’s about to dial his mom and ask for advice (because that’s clearly what any reasonable person would do), he sees you.

You walk up with that confident stride, the one that always makes his heart skip a beat, and Mingyu feels himself freeze for a moment, completely forgetting everything he’s planned to say. You've changed and you look good. Too good for a casual dinner, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey,” you greet him with a smile, your eyes soft, but not quite soft enough for him to completely relax. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up on time.”

Mingyu laughs, awkwardly tugging at his shirt. “I like to be punctual. It’s kind of a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment on the obvious lie, allowing the small banter to settle between you like a cushion. Instead, you let him open the restaurant door for you, falling into that casual rhythm that somehow feels more natural than the air he’s been breathing all day.

The dinner itself is nice. Too nice. No weird silences, no work talk, just good food and easy conversation. And yet, there’s a weight in the room that Mingyu can’t shake. It’s been lingering ever since the kiss—the kiss—and he knows he can’t keep tiptoeing around it forever. So as the plates are cleared and the server drops off the check, he reaches into his bag, pulling out the rolled-up plans he’s been carrying like a talisman.

He sets them on the table, his hands a little too careful, his heart racing like it’s bracing for impact.

“Okay, now you’re being mysterious,” you say, the smallest hint of amusement curling your lips.

Mingyu’s throat goes dry, but he pushes forward, unrolling the designs and smoothing them out between the two of you. “I know I said no work talk,” he starts, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, “but… I’ve been working on this. And I thought you should see it.”

Your eyes drop to the papers, and he watches as your expression shifts. At first, there’s curiosity, then recognition, and finally… something deeper. Something he can’t quite name but feels in the way your fingers tremble slightly as they trace the edges of the designs with a reverence he didn’t know he could envy. Your fingers are delicate but deliberate, the way you touch the plans like they might vanish under too much pressure. Mingyu’s heart is pounding so loudly he's surprised you can’t hear it across the table.

“Where did you get these?” Your voice comes out hoarse, more vulnerable than you mean it to be.

“I’ve been working on them for a while,” Mingyu admits, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table. “After you talked about the Westbrook Project that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much it mattered to you. I wanted to do something with it. Something for you.”

You blink, unsure how to process this. “But how did you know?”

“I just—” Mingyu hesitates, then shrugs. “I listened. I saw it. The way you talked about it that night, the passion you put into your projects. I wanted to give it the respect it deserves. I couldn’t let it just end with a ‘no’.”

You stare at the designs again, looking like you've been hit by a wave of nostalgia and shock. "You really... did this for me?”

“I did,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I think it could be something we could do together. If you’re interested.”

You pause, the space between you thick with emotion, something unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, you swallow and look at him, searching his face as if trying to make sure this is real.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Mingyu.” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite hide the emotion that’s flooding through you. “You’ve—this is everything I’ve been trying to do. But I didn’t think anyone else could see it.”

He sits up straighter, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I just didn't want you to let go of something so important," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "It deserves another chance. You deserve another chance."

He doesn't know where he finds the courage to say those words. They sound so earnest. Almost embarrassingly so. But, it's the truth, and if there's one thing he's learned from you, it's that honesty - no matter how uncomfortable - is the foundation of anything worth building.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away—the low hum of conversation, the soft clink of silverware, all of it. It's just you and Mingyu, sitting across from each other, separated by a stack of papers and an ocean of unspoken feelings.

"Mingyu..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat.

You look down, the faintest hint of a tremble in your hands. And Mingyu, who had been prepared for you to shut him down, to dismiss this moment as anything but professional, has to fight the urge to reach across the table and take your hand. He doesn't, of course. He can't. Not yet.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He's not used to this - seeing you so vulnerable - and he just wants to take some of that pressure off your back. "Look, I know I’m not perfect. I mess up, I talk too much, and I probably drive you crazy most of the time. But I see you, (Y/n). I see how much you care, how much you put into everything you do. And I don’t just admire that—I... I want to be part of it. To be there for you."

Your lips part in surprise. "I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve spent so long trying to keep everything together. To keep people at a distance. And now—"

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Mingyu says softly, sensing the spiral of doubt you appear to be descending into.  "We can take it slow. One step at a time. I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

For a long moment, you don’t move. But then, slowly, you let your hand inch toward his, your fingertips brushing against his palm.

It’s small. Tentative. But it’s enough.

Mingyu barely breathes as your fingers brush his. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt straight through him, grounding him in this moment that feels impossibly fragile. He wraps his hand gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. It’s all he can do to keep himself steady when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance completely.

You don’t pull away, and that feels like a victory in itself. But when you look up at him again, your eyes are brimming with something he can’t quite name—fear, maybe, or hesitation—but also something softer, warmer, that gives him just enough hope to hold on.

“Mingyu,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance down at your joined hands, your brows furrowing slightly as though you’re gathering the courage to say something that’s been weighing on you. “After the kiss... I didn't know what to do.”

His heart skips a beat at the mention of it, the memory still fresh in his mind—the way your lips had felt against his, the way the world had seemed to tilt on its axis for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything, though, afraid that if he interrupts, you’ll stop.

“I started acting cold because...” You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Mingyu blinks, his chest tightening at your words. “Me?” His voice is soft, cautious. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he needs to understand.

You nod, your gaze flickering back to his, vulnerable but resolute. “You scare me, Mingyu. Not in a bad way, but... in a way I’ve never felt before. You’re so open, so sincere. You make everything seem so easy, like it’s natural to just—feel. And for me, that’s... terrifying.”

He watches you, his heart breaking a little with every word. He wants to say something, to tell you that you don’t have to be scared, but he knows this isn’t the time. He needs to let you finish.

“I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s just easier that way. I don’t get hurt, and I don’t hurt anyone else. But then you came along, with your ridiculous optimism and your... your kindness, and suddenly I didn’t know how to keep you out. And that kiss—it made me realise I can’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say to match the weight of what you’re giving him. So he squeezes your hand, letting his touch say what his words can’t.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you continue, your voice soft but unsteady. “But I thought if I could convince myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it all fell apart.”

Mingyu shakes his head slowly, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere."

You look at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because your shoulders relax just a fraction, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeat, your voice barely audible. “But I think... I think I want to try.”

And that’s it. That’s all Mingyu needs. His chest swells with something that feels suspiciously like hope, and he leans in just enough. "I don't need perfect. I just need you, the way you are, right here, right now."

For a moment, there’s silence. Not the awkward kind—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath just for you. Mingyu’s words hang in the air, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he stops. His heart is doing that thing again, where it feels way too big for his chest, and honestly, he’s not sure if that’s romantic or just a pending medical emergency.

You glance down, exhaling softly, and then look back up at him with that small, tentative smile that could single-handedly knock him off his chair. “Do you...” You pause, biting your lip like you’re still deciding if this is a terrible idea or just a regular bad one. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Mingyu’s brain short-circuits.

Like, fully shuts down. There’s no reboot happening here. Just static, a faint buzzing sound, and a very unfortunate replay of every romantic comedy scene he’s ever watched where the male lead trips over his own words and ruins everything.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Great. Perfect. Ideal response.

“Mingyu?” you ask, your tone softer now, like you’re worried you might’ve just set his brain on fire.

“I—uh—yes? I mean, yes!” He blurts it out, too loud, and the couple at the next table glance over like they’re wondering if he’s okay. He’s not, but that’s beside the point.

You laugh, and the sound feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure?” you ask, your tone teasing but warm.

“Absolutely,” he says, sitting up straighter, like he’s about to sign an unbreakable contract. “I am very sure. Extremely sure. Couldn’t be more sure.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his spiral. “Okay, then.”

You stand, and Mingyu scrambles to follow, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Smooth. So smooth. He rushes to grab his coat, fumbling with the sleeve as he tries to put it on without dislocating a shoulder. When he finally gets it together and turns back to you, you’re just standing there, watching him with an amused smile.

“You good?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good?” Mingyu repeats, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m great. Amazing. Let’s, uh, go.”

He follows you out of the restaurant, trying to act like a normal, functional human being. Except his palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure he almost tripped on absolutely nothing as you walked to the curb. When you glance back at him, your expression softens, and suddenly, it feels like the world’s gone quiet again.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the chaos in his head. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mingyu lies, his grin wide and unconvincing. “This is just how I always look when I’m—uh—happy.”

You laugh again, shaking your head, and link your arm with his, pulling him gently along. “Come on, let’s go before you combust.”

The walk to your apartment is a blur for Mingyu. His brain is bouncing between, Wow, I can't believe this is happening and What am I supposed to do when we get there? Sit? Stand? Compliment her interior design choices? He's overthinking so hard he barely notices when you nudge him gently and gesture toward the building in front of you.

“This is me,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips like you know exactly how fried his brain is right now.

“Cool,” Mingyu replies, because apparently that’s the only word left in his vocabulary. Cool. Not “nice place” or “wow, it suits you,” just cool. He could punch himself, but then you’re already unlocking the door, and the reality of the moment hits him like a freight train.

The inside of your apartment is warm. Not literally warm—though the temperature is pleasant—but warm in the way it feels lived-in and completely, unmistakably you. It’s smaller than he imagined, but cozy, like every piece of furniture and every object has been chosen for a reason. There’s a soft throw blanket draped over the arm of your couch, a mug on the coffee table with a faint ring from earlier that day, and a half-finished book on the shelf that he knows he’s seen you reading during breaks.

Mingyu steps inside, toeing off his shoes at the door because it feels like the kind of place where shoes on indoors would be a crime. “Your apartment is really nice,” he says, his voice a little too high-pitched because he’s still desperately trying not to think about why he’s here.

“It suits you,” Mingyu says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out too soft, too sincere. When you glance at him, your cheeks warm, he knows he’s said the right thing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and Mingyu is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to spiral. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two people hanging out in a perfectly platonic and definitely not emotionally loaded way. Except it’s not fine, and his brain is racing faster than he can catch up.

He sits down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he looks around again. It’s impossible not to take everything in, to let the space tell him little things about you he didn’t know before. Like how there’s a stack of notebooks on the side table, their covers worn like they’ve been flipped through a thousand times. Or how there’s a candle sitting on the shelf labelled something ridiculous like “Cinnamon Forest Dreams,” and now all he can think about is you lighting it during one of your late-night brainstorming sessions.

When you come back, two glasses of water in hand (because you’re practical like that, of course), Mingyu straightens up, his heart pounding in his chest. You sit down beside him, closer than he expected but not close enough to touch, and he’s suddenly very aware of how small the couch feels.

“So,” you say, handing him a glass, your voice light but your eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness. “What do you think?”

“Of the apartment?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water because it’s something to do with his hands. “I think it’s great. Like... really great. It’s very... you.”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the compliment,” he replies, his grin a little sheepish. “It’s perfect. Just like—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks flushing as he looks down at his glass. Don’t say it. Don’t overdo it.

But you’re looking at him now, your expression softening. “Just like what?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his brain screaming at him to play it cool. “Just like I imagined,” he finally says, his voice quiet but steady. “Like... a space that feels like you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s completely ruined everything. But then you smile—really smile—and his chest feels like it might explode.

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy. “That means a lot.”

He smiles back, trying to ignore the way his heart is doing somersaults. This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing to freak out about. But then your knee bumps against his, and suddenly, he’s not so sure.

Mingyu swallows. A cough almost escapes his throat, but he manages to catch it, instead clearing his throat like he's trying to shake off the sudden, very real butterflies in his stomach.

You, on the other hand, seem perfectly at ease, sipping your water, your eyes not quite meeting his, but still playful, still warm. Your knee stays lightly resting against his.

He looks at you, his mind racing, and wonders if maybe this is one of those moments where he should just say it. Say what’s been sitting heavy on his mind, almost screaming to come out ever since that night—the kiss, the awkwardness, the moments of quiet when he almost wished he could reach out and grab the truth like it was some kind of lifeline.

“Y'know," he begins, his voice coming out a little more nervously than he meant, "I’ve spent most of my life messing up in the most spectacular ways possible. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to making things right."

You tilt your head at him, a playful smile on your lips, but your gaze is intense in a way that makes his breath catch. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mingyu,” you say, your tone teasing, but there’s something beneath it—a quiet, steady assurance that has him clinging to every word.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, his hand tightening slightly around his glass. “Like, when it comes to this—" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, "I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He bites his lip, willing himself not to spill everything at once. “But, I think… I think I really want to try. With you.”

The silence that follows is thick. Mingyu mentally runs through every scenario, and none of them seem to be as perfectly awkward and fragile as this one. He starts to second-guess himself, but before he can say something stupid to cover it all up, you do something that catches him completely off-guard.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his again, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the way you move. Your hand reaches out, fingers gently resting on his forearm, warm and soft. He can feel your pulse, steady and strong, as if somehow in this small gesture, you’re grounding him.

“Mingyu,” you say quietly, and he’s not sure if it’s his name or the way you say it that knocks all the air out of him. “I’m not asking for perfection. I don’t even know what that looks like.”

Mingyu’s breath hitches as he watches you, his heart skipping a beat at the honesty in your eyes. It feels like you're both on the edge of something, teetering between what is and what could be, and yet all Mingyu can think about in this moment is how simple it is to be here with you—how uncomplicated it feels to just let go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” you continue, your voice soft but clear. “But I want to find out. With you."

It’s then that Mingyu realizes how quiet it’s gotten, how still the air is around the two of you. The world outside your apartment could be spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and in this small space, with your hand on his arm, time feels like it’s standing still.

You’re sitting so close now. The space between you is smaller than the gap in his thoughts. His hand, which had been fidgeting with the glass of water, starts to move on its own. He places it gently on the cushion beside you, just a few inches from your own. His palm is open, but he waits.

And then—he takes a breath.

"Can I?" he asks, voice low, almost a whisper, as though he's afraid you'll pull away, as though he's asking permission for something he should have done a hundred times before.

Your eyes lock with his. They're soft, vulnerable, like you're weighing his words against everything that's happened before. For a moment, the world feels like it’s paused, like there’s no room for doubts or what-ifs. There’s just you and him, and something that’s undeniable between you.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you let your gaze drift to his lips, and then, almost imperceptibly, you lean in.

Mingyu doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hand slides from the couch to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek as he moves closer. He feels the heat radiating off you, and his breath catches when your lips are just a breath away.

And then, before he can even think, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the sensation of everything falling into place. The kiss is slow, tender, almost like he’s savouring it, wanting to memorise the moment because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly how it should be.

Your lips move against his in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, and he feels the tension that had been building between the two of you melt away. He’s no longer nervous, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. He just wants to be here with you—now, in this perfect moment.

When you pull away, it’s not with distance, but with the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips, your eyes full of something that makes Mingyu's chest tighten. Your breath is still coming fast, like you’re just as shaken as he is.

He doesn’t say anything at first. There’s no need. His heart is still racing, but now, he’s not afraid of what comes next. He feels like he’s finally stepped into something real, something that might not be easy but is worth every bit of effort.

"I think..." he starts, his voice a little hushed, "I really wanted to do that again."

You laugh softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you tilt your head just enough for your forehead to rest against his. "Yeah?" you murmur, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Mingyu can't help but smile, his hand, still resting gently on your waist, pulls you just a little closer, as if to remind himself that this is real. That you're really here, and this is really happening. You don’t pull away. Instead, your hand moves from his jaw to his collar, gently tugging at the fabric like it’s an invitation he can’t refuse.

And Mingyu? He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips finding yours with more urgency this time. His free hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, all his self-control falling away the moment you’re close enough to feel.

You gasp softly against his lips as his hand slides down to your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip, and he feels you shiver. His pulse is racing in his ears, but it's the warmth of your body against his that completely consumes him. He can't stop. Can't pull away. You taste like the promise of something more, and the way your fingers grip his collar tightens the knot in his stomach until it’s a full-on spiral of heat.

Your mouth moves with his now, more desperate, more demanding, and Mingyu’s heart does that weird, annoying thing again—where it leaps in his chest, and all his thoughts vanish like mist under the sun. He kisses you harder, taking a moment to pull away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting as if you’ve run miles, even though you’ve hardly moved.

“Mingyu...” you whisper, voice breathless, a little unsteady. He feels the sound vibrating through him as much as he hears it.

"Yeah?" he responds, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth despite how utterly wrecked he feels in the best possible way. "You’re not gonna suddenly tell me this is all a huge mistake, right?"

You laugh—a low, playful sound that makes his chest tighten, and then you kiss him again. This time, it's slow, deliberate, like you’re savouring each second, each touch. And Mingyu’s mind short-circuits all over again, as if he's trying to figure out how it's possible for something so simple to make him feel so—so—alive.

Your hands are everywhere now—on his chest, around his neck, tugging him closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. And that’s when he feels it, that surge of want, a physical ache deep in his chest that spreads out to his limbs, making him burn.

He presses you back gently against the armrest of the couch, his lips trailing down to your neck, his breath hitching when you arch into him. The way you melt under his touch is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he even realised he craved. The warmth of your skin, the way your fingers dig into his back, all of it pulls him in, deeper, until he’s lost in the sensation of just being with you.

“Mingyu, we—” you start, but the words cut off when his lips meet the curve of your neck, and the way you shudder against him makes his pulse stutter in his veins. You can’t even finish the sentence, and he’s so close to being past the point of caring.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We what?” he asks, his voice rough. "I won't let you talk if you're going to tell me you changed your mind."

Your gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes, a playful challenge in your expression. "I’m just saying," you murmur, your hands shifting down to his shirt as you slowly begin to unbutton it. "You're going to have to transfer to a different team after Langham is done."

Mingyu grins, a breathless huff of laughter leaving his lips. "As long as I still get to see you every day."

"I'd say you're probably going to get to see a lot more of me." Your words are said innocently enough, but the implication mixed with the feeling of your heaving chest against his is making his head spin again.

And just like that, you have him, every inch of him. Mingyu can’t keep his hands from wandering, can’t keep his lips from pressing harder against yours, can’t keep from falling deeper into this beautiful mess of passion and want. The last shred of his self-control slips away, leaving only you—right here, right now.

Your clothes go quickly, his quicker, until you're both laid bare before the other, entirely vulnerable and at peace at the same time. He's drowning in you, his head nested between your legs, feeling as eager to please as he did the first day he met you. You're gasping his name, hands curling into his hair, head falling back onto your couch in utter bliss. 

And then your fingers are wrapping around his shoulders, digging into the muscles and pulling him back up towards you. He almost falls off the couch he moves so fast, but you don't seem to notice. You're too busy looking positively angelic in front of him, with those large, sparkling eyes staring at him and dirty words pouring out of your mouth.

Mingyu has to hold himself together as you tell him, point blank, to "hurry up, and make love to me."

This isn't Mingyu's first rollercoaster. He's a good-looking guy, and he knows it. He's been with others before, but when you speak to him like that, he feels like he's eighteen again and a girl's just sat on his lap for the first time. 

And it feels so good, you feel so good around him. You might not have to worry about transferring teams, because he's not sure he's going to make it. The noises you're making, the warmth of your body, the scraping of your nails against his chest - it's enough to finish him off (or at least allow him to ignore the ungodly sounds pouring out of his own mouth).

He makes sure you've finished as well before pulling out (because he wants to, not because he feels embarrassed that he came first). A blissful look falls over your face and Mingyu has to mentally take a photo of the image to make sure he never forgets it. He's staring at you; he knows it and you know it, and you're giggling a little and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Wait here," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment by speaking too loudly. He leans down to peck your lips, before running into your bathroom to dispose of the condom and get some towels and blankets. 

The night fades softly into a comfortable quiet as you and Mingyu lay there, nestled on your couch, your bodies half-melted into the cushions, the air between you warm and thick with the lingering feeling of everything now spoken. 

Mingyu is still processing it all. This. This feeling of being here, with you. He’s supposed to be good at this—the whole dating thing, at least. But everything about tonight has been different. And, if he’s being honest with himself, much better than he expected. He expected the awkwardness, the second-guessing, the inevitable when do I leave? moment, but none of that happened. Instead, all that’s left is you. And him. And the soft rhythm of your breathing in the stillness of your apartment.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to act casual, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. This is fine, he thinks, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming that nothing this nice is ever fine. But the voice is quieter now. A lot quieter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt absently, as though you’re trying to figure out the material, the way it fits him, the way it feels beneath your touch.

Mingyu chuckles softly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound. “I guess I’m just... trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Well,” you reply, shifting just enough to lift your head, your eyes soft but amused, “if this is a dream, I’m okay with it. I think I’ll stick around.”

Mingyu's heart skips a beat at the words, but he keeps his voice steady, even if the teasing smile he wears is bordering on ridiculous. “Good, because if this is a dream, I’m not waking up."

As the night deepens and the city lights paint soft patterns on the walls of your apartment, Mingyu finds himself drawn to your window. The skyline stretches before him, a tapestry of glowing spires and shimmering reflections, alive with the energy of the place he loves most. He smiles, realising for the first time how much this view has changed for him. It isn't just buildings and lights anymore - it's connection, collaboration, and the quiet promise of something new. A reminder of what you are going to build together, layer by layer, one light at a time.

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

[elizabethrobertajones]

summer scions!! I absolutely love the new portraits for all their smug happy expressions. Except Y'shtola, who is not going to deign to give a camera a proper saucy look because that's silly. Urianger is smirking twice as hard on her behalf.

Glam review under the cut!

I unlocked Alphinaud first of the twins and didn't know Alisaie had a little necktie yet, so I'm deducting a point from my first impression because the sheer delight that he had a silly little necktie of some sort no matter the situation delighted me so thoroughly. Since they're still engaging in matchy twin dressing to some degree, I have to assume they either like it and won't admit it after digging in so hard, or Ameliance sent them off with cute outfits and matching backpacks, and they still don't really shop for themselves.

He's got the practical watch/compass gloves which are good for a technically proficient Sage and probably the most practical gear he's ever worn except for when he was poncho Alphy, but wearing ankle-length jeans seem like the least weather-appropriate choice of the Scions if we assume their average skin coverage is a good weathervane for the temperature in Tural. I chalk it up to teenage awkwardness.

8/10 unless he and Alisaie chose their outfits themselves, in which case it's a 9/10

I think Alisaie is the only Scion to keep a single piece of their default gear, and those are her usual gloves. She's colour-matched around it.

Because of the gloves and boots, she looks the most ready for hardcore hiking, somehow, and her matching Alphinaud with a cute button down shirt with rolled up sleeves along with that particular choice of baggier shorts (when she normally wears more form fitting shorts) do give me the closest to butch vibes it's probably likely to get for main characters. So I'm giving her an extra point I stole from Alphinaud for the lesbian vibes.

9/10 or 10/10 if she made these choices all by herself.

Everything about this cracks me up, from his portrait above to the image of him tanking open shirted once he pulls mobs.

Believe it or not, he's getting an additional point for those shoes simply because the competition in practicality in tanking is G'raha.

I had a moment of excitement when I thought the necklace was pink because that's always a cute Ryne/Minfillia thing fanartists give him with ribbons and such, but once I got zoomed in on him it was red, so I guess he's just been shopping. Although, the turquoise shorts are her eye colour and the actual large diamond shapes are secretly Mothercrystal coded in those colours, which just cracks me up that you can pick out one of the worse days of his life (Urianger's grand Warrior of Darkness plan) in his Chill Summer Beach Vibes look.

Douchebag beach bro shell bracelet as well, which really makes me double down on him and Urianger spending way too much on tourist bait along the stalls in the Famous Turali Market. The hat and sunglasses are giving him one of the Most tourist-y looks thematically reflecting how a lot of the Scion guys were just here to hang out, narratively or literally. Maybe he's trying not to get such an intense tan again, which is the only reason he's not entirely topless.

11/10 I could not stop laughing when I got him and Urianger to 100 and Beheld The Brilliance in the same moment.

Please note the raised sunglasses in Urianger's portrait, which are not the model his character uses.

I am delighted that I had been incorporating that island watch into my healer glams on both the logic you need to know your clock positionals but also they're largely the smarty pants jobs (WHM being vibes only aside - it gets its own glams :P). And here's Urianger and Alphinaud both using watches.

Now, I had a moment of being vaguely disappointed he had trousers not a skirt or something else swishy and androgynous, but then I did realise that I, a nonbinary weirdo who relates to Urianger since he made me nonbinary, have actually gone to a couple of garden parties dressed in some variation of this exact outfit of light trousers and a nice button up. Plus, the earrings are in both ears, so no "Google, which ear is the gay one?", these are just straight up cute femme dangly earrings with his favourite little dudes on.

More importantly, the colours he's repping are those of Lopporit Radio. He probably tunes in every night for his broadcasts :')

Mirrored sunglasses for the guy notorious for keeping thoughts and plans close to his chest and choosing deliberately to be enigmatic even when it serves zero purpose except for I guess gender affirming care. (The gender is Weird Bitch.)

I can't tell how I feel about those dad sandals. I suppose it depends if he's wearing them like a fashion model (brand new and clean with perfect pedicured feet) or if those are REALLY dad at the beach-like and, since I'm not a foot person, this for me is only a choice between "not off-putting" and "AURGH".

9/10 the proximity to Thancred hauls him up several points of misgivings I had, and the lopporit shout outs are killing me :')

I unlocked Y'shtola last and holy fuck I am a lesbian. I don't even recognise where those boots come from, so either a really expensive glam or something I just have not stumbled on. She has toe rings I think? And painted nails? I have no idea if the garter (?) is part of the boots glam or a custom thing as result of not recognising the boots and how much of them is normal. I feel like they customised a lot on her anyway - the back of her top has purple beads that match her staff (not dyable on the real piece)

and I think the necklace has to be part of the top instead of a separate necklace piece with the way it hangs, AND the bracelets are a glove piece with the original summer glam, but I assume they're layered with the false nails, also in the glove slot. All in all it's giving the sort of effort which is starting to creep up to what I'd expect from the modding community not the game. I mean, not THAT good but getting close. Baby steps towards what fandom can make :P

She really is god's favourite meow meow.

Anyway I can't really judge this fairly because it's really hot and I love her so I'm just going to give it 100/10 and move on. :)

how did I get a picture where Estinien looks like he's stooping to get in the frame...

The fact he has Azure Dragoon Blue Top and then Violently Nidhogg Fuchsia shorts is the colour theory that absolutely killed me. When he lights up during his burst and starts glowing pink all over his shorts are like. Taking him over like the eye once did I think.

love a guy who can embrace his past trauma and dress to match all that has passed before and all that he intends to do now (kill something large and tasty, grill it on the beach, fall asleep with a beer in hand until the waves come in and wake him up).

I gave him that wooden bracelet in the glam he has on my desktop screen so once again I'm feeling weirdly vindicated.

Other details: no ponytail despite the warm weather because he's got enough ventilation. The fact there's cactaurs on his shirt when he's on record for eating them is amazing. We should imagine he's wearing his jobstone like that pendant (since he's one of the only guys with a confirmed jobstone despite being the Guy Without A Job notoriously that one time.)

Unlike Thancred's hat and sunglasses combo, which seems fun and boisterous somehow, he seems the most walled off of all the sunglasses wearers even though he's not the most mysterious. The visor really helps make it a sort of wall. Maybe just because his terse upfront personality and somehow despite his clothes horse habits THIS amount of whimsy seems the most out of character at first glance, but he DOES look uncomfortable to me.

Somehow I find everything about this outfit excellent for his character but also like maybe he was forced into it, everyone cornering him and telling him the Scion Beach Party was a mandatory work event and he was not allowed to beg off of it and he did put some work in expressing himself but also is going to go find a much quieter corner to lurk in for the day, when not competing with Thancred (can't grill, loves it) for the barbeque (Estinien can grill, would only do it because the threat of Thancred doing it wrong is too high).

confused 7/10 mostly because I think Krile is blackmailing him and not because I don't love everything about this.

Here's how G'reenha Tia can still win -

Anyway here's the deducted point for tanking in flip flops (PERFECTLY acceptable BLM gear btw but he's Mr Versatile.)

(I joke but the main character of my novels is a flip-flop wearing menace who could and would tank in them)

Between the padlock and key necklace and the woven bracelet right after we all went feral over the Thavnarian bracelets for couples thing so recently (and Corvos is just across the water!) he's absolutely dripping cutie pie love interest coding yet again.

(Also yes I know the lock and key thing is very funny because we were introduced to him learning he was a fancy key to a big door.)

Gains a point back because the other green g'raha thing is I'm pretty sure people use this shirt glam because it kinda looks like it has weed on it.

Don't quote me on that, vibes only.

Anyway he came colour coordinated (with his original eye colour and hair colour not the bright Allagan dalamud red dye that goes with his normal outfit) so so precise and neat, like he's going to some sort of formal event, and even with flip flops he really does seem incredibly put together like the twins or Y'shtola, just for full outfit cohesiveness.

As someone who would hold G'raha's hand on the romantic gondola vibe, 10/10.

3 out of 10 and a huge cringe if you would not. He's got to stop Striving.

Hey it's the star of the show!! Adorable hairstyle out, cute plot-important earring on, and wearing her exact character colours but adorable beach wear :)

I love that she looks kind of like she went to the girls for advice and got the top from Y'shtola and the shorts from Alisaie, and she probably was very serious and stressed about getting this right even though there's no rules and no one's judging her -

oops.

Anyway the ballet shoes are adorable and go with all the cute picto spins and twirls :)

I think the strict colour scheme does speak to the slight lack of fleshing out she got so far in the story (we don't really have any real character reason that picto in particular spoke to her and this glam isn't one of the many fun takes people had on how to dress to meet that brief ). I don't think DT did more than just repeat that she's serious and sweet and trying really hard to get out of her shell and be more fun and creative and also she's been practicing dodging really hard she shouts mid-Trust combat (bless her). But ALSO getting out of the shell is really hard and she only found out everything and got some closure in the final level 100 quests so there wasn't really much to do with her after that.

This is like her First Non-Plot-Critical Whimsy Moment and losing the hood or any cat ears entirely (and there are perfectly functional cat ears to wear in game) is a good step considering we know she wears it precisely because she needed a sort of advance PR campaign to make her look cute and approachable before she opened her mouth and started bringing down the vibe (serious scary children are SO funny though and i love that for her). Having the same top as Y'shtola is a good thing for trying to make her less childish and have her trying to show that now as she takes this huge step out from the background. I mean, it still has a slight sense of her costuming herself and pushing herself out of comfort zones as she always does, but it's 100% in character so I adore it.

1000/10 because Krile is great and there's so much going on here and it's so fun when a character's whole personality is a costume and then they're like aurgh wait do I even want that??

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 2

summary: nearly a month has passed since you agreed to go to california with joel, and you think you might love him. you trust him, and he makes you feel cared for and safe, but he hasn't been telling you the whole truth. eventually, you make a shocking discovery that makes him feel like a stranger to you all over again.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, DDDNE (graphic descriptions of blood, murder, and of captive/dead girls, non-con p-in-v sex (i'll say rape just in case but reader does not explicitly express non-consent), being held captive, degrading language toward victims/victim blaming, joel is implied to fantasize that you're dead while fucking you, kind of stockholm syndrome), non-con breathplay/choking, mommy & daddy issues, lying, gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, babydoll, etc), no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 8.1k

a/n: this is the second part. if the tags deter you from reading that's okay, just pretend joel and reader made it to california and they lived happily ever after. i understand i've written something dark and heavy and it isn't for everyone, you are welcome on my blog whether it's for you or not as long as everyone is respectful of each other <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 3 (coming soon)

As the breeze begins to carry a chill that bites without the protection of a jacket or one of Joel’s flannels, the two of you have been spending the last month or so trying to outrun Autumn altogether as you make your way to California. You’ve crossed more state lines now than you ever could’ve imagined you would, and you and Joel have even made a game out of trying to spot the license plate of the farthest state away from wherever you are. He was impressed when you had recently managed to spot an Alaska plate in fucking Kansas, of all places. 

You spend your days visiting cheesy tourist traps and collecting cheap souvenirs from their gift shops, and your nights in motels or in his truck or in goddamn gas station bathrooms tangled up in each other’s bodies, unable to keep your hands off each other. The seal had finally broken just a few days after you had agreed to go to California with him, when he had laid his hand on your knee while he was driving, and you didn’t stop him from sliding it higher and higher, his fingers eventually making their way between your thighs and gently rubbing your clit through your shorts. Joel would’ve been content to play with your pussy just like that, pinching at your little nub and dipping his fingers into your drooling hole as he drove, but the noises you were making were driving him fucking insane. He had pulled off into a wooded area and instructed you to climb into the backseat, where he had shoved himself inside of you for the first time and fucked you until you saw stars. You never made it to wherever it was you were headed to that afternoon, deciding instead to just call it a day and spend the rest of it covered in each other’s sweat and come and breathing heavily into each other’s necks. 

You’ve seen new parts of Joel in other ways, too, in the time that you’ve been traveling with him. He’s been opening up to you, slowly but surely, as the weeks go on. You did eventually remember to ask him about that song you couldn’t quite make out at Moody’s, humming the bit of the chorus you could remember for him in hopes that he’d recognize it.

“I think I know the one, darlin’. Should have it on cassette somewhere here, ‘s called Alone and Forsaken, think it’s by Hank Williams. Hadn’t heard that one in a while, ‘s a winner, though,” he’d said.

You’d rifled through the contents of the glove box and pulled it out, excitedly swapping the tape with the one in the player and pressing the button on the dash to start the song. Joel’s fingers had begun to tap against the wheel immediately, and he seemed to relax at the sound of the guitar’s steady strumming. You had just watched him as the song played, admiring the subtle movements of the muscles in his face as he’d hummed along.

But he’d noticed your staring, after a while, and teased, “Y’know, really shouldn’t look at a man like that, babydoll. Might give ‘im some ideas.”

Babydoll. That was new, too. It had become his new favorite pet name for you, bestowed upon you when he had offered you another dress to wear from the stash of clothing belonging to Tommy’s daughter that he keeps under his backseat. Joel had told you eventually that he’d fibbed about his relationship with Tommy, just a little bit, and that he hasn’t actually seen him or his kid in quite some time. “Just kinda grew apart after a while, stopped keepin’ up with each other,” Joel had explained. “Jus’ never quite got around to gettin’ rid of all that stuff, I guess.”

You certainly didn’t mind having something new to wear, especially something as pretty as the little pink dress that got you your new name. Joel had looked at you hungrily when you’d first tried it on, raking his eyes up and down your form as you twirled for him.

“So pretty, sweetheart. Look just like a lil’ babydoll in that, don’t you?” Joel had complimented.

You’d giggled at the nickname, becoming shy as he’d stalked towards you and used a hooked finger to lift up your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his own. “Like that one, do ya? Like bein’ my babydoll, all mine?”

You’d sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, your brows peaked with need as your eyes had begun to glaze over from his gentle dominance. It had never taken much from him to make you start feeling a little floaty, even early on, ready to fall into his arms so he could make you gush onto his fingers or his cock or his tongue.

You’d nodded your head all syrupy and slow, making a little whimpering sound in affirmation.

“Say it,” he’d whispered, the hand propping up your chin slowly finding its way down to your neck, where it always seemed to land in your moments of intimacy. Joel had never really asked you if you liked it there or not, if you liked it when he squeezed your throat just right until your vision became spotty and your breath came out pinched and raspy, but you had learned to like it, to crave that guidance and control from him. He’d never taken it too far, just brought you teetering over the edge of unconsciousness, then allowed you to fill your lungs with air again. 

“I like it, Joel, like being yours…”

“Yeah… ‘n you’re gonna be mine forever, huh? Never gonna leave my side, always gonna belong to me, ain’t that right?” His grip on your windpipe had begun to tighten as he questioned you.

“Forever… ‘m yours, Joel…” you’d promised through a hoarse whisper.

A growl had rumbled from deep in Joel’s chest at your choked words, and he’d quickly let go of your throat to spin you around and shove you face-first into the creaking motel mattress, flipping up the skirt of your little babydoll dress and showing you just how pretty he thought you looked in it. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’d chanted as he caged you in with his heavy form, slamming inside of your aching cunt until you cried out, shuddering around him as he spilled inside of you. 

He calls you babydoll almost exclusively now, like it’s your actual name. Your everyday clothing consists almost entirely of frilly dresses and tiny tops and tight shorts from the supply in Joel’s truck, with maybe a few items he picks out for you at the occasional Goodwill mixed in. He’s made it so that you never have to think for yourself ever again, taking care of everything for you from picking out your outfits to ordering for you at the diners. All you have to worry about is being good, being his, his perfect little doll, and he says that you deserve a life as easy as this, that it’s the least he can do for you in exchange for your company, for being so good for him.

Joel does allow you to use your brain for some things, still, like bombarding him with the questions you’d begun stashing away in your mind all those weeks ago. Some of them he still answers vaguely, like where the scar on his nose came from, or if he’d been married before, or what his life was like before he met you. But sometimes you can get a story out of him, and it always feels like you’ve won the lottery when you’re able to get him talking. After the Hank Williams cassette had finished playing that day, you’d decided to ask him what he’d wanted to be when he grew up. 

He’d thought about it for a second, and then laughed at himself. “‘F I tell you, I don’t wanna hear any gigglin’ outta you over there, ‘s that clear?”

“I can’t promise you that if I don’t know what you’re gonna tell me. If you say, like, a rodeo clown or something, I’m gonna laugh.”

Joel had just glared at you, and you’d rolled your eyes.

“Fine, I won’t laugh, I promise. Just tell me.”

“Alright…” Joel had sighed. “I wanted to be a singer, actually. Believe it or not.”

You had almost started crying right then, the visual of a little Joel all those years ago wanting to grow up and become a singer being almost too much to bear. 

“Awe, Joel… You can sing? Can you—”

“No, I ain’t gonna sing for you. Don’t even ask, babydoll.”

Joel had seemed adamant about that at the time, but just a few days later when a violent thunderstorm was blowing through the town you’d stopped in for the night, you’d woken him up when you couldn’t fall asleep, and asked him in a trembling voice if he would sing for you. He’d just grunted and rolled back over at first, but you’d kept quietly begging him, and he eventually gave in to your little frightened sounding pleas. You’d rested your head against his chest as he stroked your hair and sang Alone and Forsaken for you a few times over, until the soothing sound of his voice and the quiet thumping of his heartbeat had lulled you back to sleep. The thunder had eventually retreated when it realized you weren’t scared of it anymore, now feeling safe and protected in Joel’s arms. 

He could only take so much more questioning from you after a while, though, until he decided it was about time for you to reveal more of yourself to him, and you’d thought that was fair. You’d spent a whole afternoon in the truck one day telling him about how your dad had passed away when you were still in high school, and how you’d always wished he could’ve seen you walk across the stage at graduation and go off to college. How he was the one who’d even encouraged you to go in the first place, when you hadn’t felt smart enough or good enough at anything to ever find the pursuit worthwhile. But he’d always been supportive of your artistic endeavors, the ones your mom had always called ‘useless’ and ‘a waste of time’ and ‘nothing that could ever amount to a real job’. Your dad had tried his best to make you believe otherwise, always proudly displaying your work around the house when your mother would allow it, and even framing some of it for his office. It was devastating when he had passed, but at least you felt you could make him proud in some way, by deciding to pursue a degree in art at the nearby state school. But then your mother had ruined your chances of ever finishing the program, and, well… here you are now. 

After you’d finished your story, Joel had comforted you just like he always did, promising to find you a sketchbook and some pencils at the next town you came across so you could keep nurturing your talents. He’d made good on his word, and now your time on the road is often spent sketching Joel, his cassettes, the mountains, anything you see that sparks inspiration and demands to be committed to paper.

Today, the two of you are on your way to see the world’s largest something or other in New Mexico, and you’ve become determined to etch a drawing onto every page of your book by the time you reach California. You’ve sketched just about everything in the truck at this point, and different tries at capturing Joel’s handsome side profile already take up more than half of the pages that you’ve filled out so far. You begin scouring the cabin of the truck, searching for something new you can draw. You eventually try bending forward to look under the bench seat, just in case you can find a crumpled up candy wrapper or something, but an even more interesting object catches your eye, tucked just behind Joel’s legs. It looks like an old shoebox, maybe containing some more tapes or things belonging to Tommy’s kid. You try to reach over to Joel’s side of the bench seat to grab it, and he almost swerves the truck off the road when he notices what you’re doing.

“What’re you…? Don’t touch that, babydoll, jus’ leave it alone,” he scolds.

You sit up straight again, taken aback by his tone. “Why? I was just looking for something new to draw, thought there might be something in there.”

“It’s just junk in there, baby, nothin’ you’d much be interested in,” Joel says, his grip on the steering wheel becoming more white-knuckled.

“So? I can’t draw some old junk?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Joel sighs in frustration. “‘Cause I said so, babydoll, Christ. Just leave it be, I’ll throw it out next time we stop. Find somethin’ else to draw.”

“Okay… ‘M sorry,” you respond timidly.

“‘S alright, sweet girl. ‘M sorry too, shouldn’ta yelled at you like that. Just… tryin’ to drive here, don’t want you reachin’ behind my legs and shit, ain’t safe.”

You just nod, popping open the glove compartment for the hundredth time in hopes that there could be something in there that you’d missed before. There isn’t, so you decide to pluck out that Hank Williams tape and sketch it again, humming the song to yourself in an attempt at self-soothing as you begin to outline the shape of it. It seems like a bad time to ask Joel to sing it for you again, but if you’re good for the rest of the day and make up for your earlier mistake, maybe you could hear it again tonight.

—

You’re just finishing up your sketch a half hour or so later, when Joel decides it’s time to stop for gas. You glance over at the fuel gauge on the dash, and it looks like the truck still has half a tank left, but you decide not to say anything about it. Just like he’d said when you had first reached for the shoebox, Joel swipes it from underneath the seat as he exits the truck, tossing it haphazardly into the trash can by the gas pump. 

“Dammit,” you hear him curse to himself, and you look out the window to see him staring angrily at the empty pocket inside of his wallet where cash should be. Joel opens up the passenger side door to explain, “Forgot I used up the last o’ my cash on dinner last night. Just… stay here, babydoll, gotta head inside ‘n use the ATM quick, alright?”

You nod obediently, and watch him take long strides toward the convenience store before disappearing inside. 

He’ll only be gone for a few minutes at the most, so you know that you have to make your move now. You’ve never had Joel bark at you before like he’d done when you had reached for that beat up cardboard box, and you still feel a little rattled by it. What could possibly have been in there that he didn’t want you to see? For the first time, you feel like you might not be able to trust him, and it makes you feel a little sick. You’ve started to feel like you might love Joel, and you think he probably feels the same way, even if you haven’t said those exact three words to each other yet. Someone who loves you wouldn’t hide things from you, would they? Especially not after you’ve already bared so much of your souls to each other, after you’ve decided that you belong to each other.

There’s only one way to find out, you decide.

You exit the truck quietly, swiftly closing the short distance between you and the trash can and peering into the black plastic bag that lines it. You fish out the shoebox from where it lays on top of other garbage, and crouch down in front of the gas pump to hide yourself from view. Taking a steadying breath, you carefully remove the weathered lid from the box and begin to examine its contents. At first glance, it seems to just be full of washed-out polaroids and a few random objects—a tarnished charm bracelet, a fraying ribbon, and a cracked pair of glasses among them. What is all this stuff? You think to yourself, Keepsakes from his former life, more of Tommy’s daughter’s things that he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of yet?

You pick up a photo laying face down on top of the pile and turn it over, almost immediately dropping it back into the box in favor of clapping your hand over your open mouth. You shut your eyes tightly as they begin to water, hoping that when you open them again, you’ll find that you were wrong about what you had just seen. That it was just a trick of the light, that it wasn’t what it seemed, that you had just imagined it.

But you aren’t so fortunate.

Your heart plummets into your stomach as you peer inside the box again, a sickly feeling of dread beginning to claw its way up the back of your neck. You examine the photo more closely, and it appears to be of a girl who looks about your age, bound at the hands, gagged, and naked. She’s kneeling on the damp forest floor, staring up at the photographer with a defeated, glazed-over expression. She’s bruised, bleeding from her nose, and filthy, with her hair tangled in knots and mascara-stained tears running down her cheeks. The photo looks to have captured her last moments alive. 

One by one, you quickly examine a dozen or so more photos as your pulse hammers hard in your throat. Each of them are nearly identical, all depicting a pretty early twenty-something, either restrained and begging for her life or already dead. They all have dates scribbled on the front that are spaced out a mere couple of weeks from each other, with the names of the girls written on the backs of them. To your horror, you notice that some of the polaroids even have bloody fingerprints staining their white frames. It seems impossible that Joel could be the one who took these photos, that he could be the one to reduce these young girls to nothing more than weak puddles of tears and blood. You begin desperately trying to convince yourself that this is all part of a fucked-up nightmare you’re moments away from waking up from, until a photo containing a bright flash of white catches your eye. You can’t help how your face contorts into a grimace when you examine the photo closer, your stomach lurching at the sight of the amount of blood spilling from the back of the girl’s head as she lays lifeless on a wooden floor. All that she’s wearing are her underwear and a white tank top, the ditsy floral pattern of which you could swear you’ve seen before.

You don’t understand why it looks so familiar to you until you spread around more of the polaroids in the box, and spot one capturing a girl tied up and gagged on a motel bed, wearing a baby pink dress that grotesquely juxtaposes the depravity of her situation. She has wide, pleading doe eyes and ribbons finishing the ends of each of her braids that kind of make her look like… a doll.

The realization hits you all at once, that nearly all of the clothes Joel has given you since the day you met him had never belonged to Tommy’s daughter at all, if he even has one, if Tommy even really exists. You’d been wearing Anna’s white tank top with the delicate floral print. Elizabeth’s pink babydoll dress. Even the clothes you have on now probably belonged to some of Joel’s victims, but you don’t think you can stand to find out which ones. 

Your thoughts begin to spiral out of control, an irrational part of your brain working overtime to come up with a million reasons why this can’t be true, that there has to be some other explanation for what you’re seeing, until you pick up a final photo, where the sleeve of Joel’s drab olive flannel is clearly visible in the corner. The shirt is tattered at the cuffs in the exact way that Joel’s is, and it has the same terracotta striping woven through the plaid pattern. Emerging from the bottom of the sleeve is a tanned, thick hand, wrapped tightly around a pale, fragile neck, with some of the girl’s blonde ringlet curls poking through the gaps between his fingers. When you flip over the photo, your blood runs cold when you read the name inscribed on the back—Ruby.

Your tears begin to fall then. How strange, how cruel, that fate has led you here, lured you straight to him. Someone that you thought you knew, trusted, loved, who’s suddenly a stranger to you all over again. You’ve just been doomed from the start, haven’t you? All along, it was Joel who had been responsible for building the trap you’ve found yourself ensnared in now. Ruby hadn’t run away at all that summer, hadn’t found a place she belonged, a place to start a real life for herself, a place to see her unlimited potential finally fulfilled. She’d met Joel, and he’d restricted her existence to nothing more than a polaroid that he keeps in a fucking shoebox under the seat of his truck. All along, this is where she’d been. 

You feel like throwing up. You’re reeling, completely horrified and sick to your stomach, your life as you had just come to know it having come crashing down around you in an instant. You quickly replace the lid on the box and throw it back into the trash can, hopefully never to be seen again. You scramble back inside the truck just in time for the convenience store door to swing open again, the little bell accompanying the movement sounding sharp and sinister as it announces Joel’s imminent arrival. Your pulse pounds erratically against your ribcage as you try to act as naturally as possible, forcing your shaking hands to look like they’re busy adding the finishing touches to your latest sketch. 

You don’t look at Joel as he approaches the truck, and he doesn’t seem to pay you much attention, either. He leans against the hood casually once he feeds the bills into the pump, letting the tank fill the rest of the way up with gas. You have to come up with an escape plan now, before your poorly disguised agitation gives you away and he figures out what you’ve seen. 

When his task is finished, Joel climbs back into the driver’s seat exhales a deep breath, like he feels relieved to have finally discarded the evidence so you’d never find out the truth about him. You’re determined to keep him clueless for as long as you can.

“Ready to keep goin’, babydoll? Should only be another hour or so ‘fore we get to the next stop,” he asks, reaching over to you to gently tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. You flinch away from his touch instinctually, then silently curse yourself for already doing such a shitty job at keeping up your facade.

“A-actually, um…” You swallow hard. “I’m kinda g-getting a headache, it really hurts. And I feel really s-sick. Is it okay if we just… go straight to a motel? I just wanna… lay down,” you lie, screwing up your face into a pained wince and wrapping your arms around your stomach in an effort to make it all more convincing.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Joel coos, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. “Y’ do feel kinda hot… Sure, darlin’. Think there’s a place not too much further down the road here, jus’ hang tight.”

“T-thank you,” you reply weakly. Your voice is coming out a little uneven, but you hope it just adds to the believability of your act instead of raising suspicion. You try to cover it up with a cough and a little pained groan, just for good measure.

Joel doesn’t waste any more time getting back on the road, and you stay quiet for the short ride to the nearest motel, doing your best to hold back your tears and even out your breathing. You’ll need to be calm and clear-headed in order to have any chance at escape, lest you want to meet the same fate as the dozens of other girls who were probably also blinded by Joel’s southern charm and good looks, who were manipulated by his lies and tricked into believing that he could give them a happy ending. Was he ever going to let you see California? Or had he been leading you to your death all along?

You’re going to be the one who lives. For Ruby, you have to be. For all of them.

—

Just like the first night you’d spent with him, Joel has you wait in the truck while he checks in at the counter and retrieves the keys to your room before coming back to get you. You fake a stumble when you step down from the truck, and Joel mumbles a ‘Jesus, babydoll’ before hoisting you into his arms and carrying you across the room’s threshold, setting you down softly onto the bed.

“Whaddya need, sweet girl? Water? Some crackers, or somethin’? Bet I could ask the front desk if they got some medicine or anythin’ like that,” Joel asks, sitting on the edge of the bed while you curl up and turn away from him. You do your best not to flinch this time when he decides to comfortingly massage the back of your neck.

“Can you ask, please? It hurts so bad,” you whine, unable to tamp down your shuddering sobs any longer.

“Sure I will, my poor lil’ girl… I’ll be right back, alright?”

Joel pets your hair for a moment, and the gesture would normally flood your belly with lovesick butterflies, but it only feels predatorial now, like a lion trying to convince its prey that it only wants to play, that it won’t be torn to pieces and eaten alive. 

Your body finally relaxes when Joel leaves the room, and you count out thirty seconds to hopefully allow him to reach the front office before you make your break. When you whisper the final ‘thirty’ to yourself, you spring out of bed and sprint out the door, almost tripping over your own feet in your race to reach the payphone you’d spotted earlier in the parking lot. You figured that trying to call for help would be a smarter move than running, and you’d never make it far on foot, anyway, not in the flimsy little dress and cheap canvas sneakers you’re wearing. You’d stolen a few quarters out of the truck’s center console while Joel was letting the gas pump, and you shakily deposit them into the slot, nearly dropping them. You punch the numbers 9-1-1 into the keypad, nearly ripping the phone clean off the hook as you bring it up to your ear.

“Come on, come on, come on…” You mutter to yourself, drumming your bitten fingernails against the hard plastic handset as the mocking dial tone trills in your ear.

“911, what is your emergency?” comes a voice on the other line, female. 

“Please, I need hel–” but before you can even finish the word, he’s on you, one large hand clapped over your mouth while the other rips the phone out of your hand and slams it back into the receiver. You kick and bite and thrash, but your pitiful attempts at escape do nothing to deter him. After all, his pickup is the only car in the lot, and your room is the only one with a light on. The clerk who checked him in could have never existed at all, for all you know. There’s not a soul around to hear you cry or beg or scream, except for him. You should have known that he would see straight through you, that he would’ve anticipated you getting curious and made sure he was always one step ahead of you. Joel drags you back to the room with a two-handed grasp on your upper arm, gripped onto you hard enough you’re sure his fingertips will leave bruises.

“No, no, no, please! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Joel!” You plead, using his first name in a pathetic effort to try to appeal to whatever morality he might have left.

“You stupid fuckin’ bitch…” he spits.

Joel kicks open the door to your room and flings it shut behind him so hard you’re surprised the wood doesn’t shatter, splintering into a million sharp little pieces. He throws you down onto the stained double bed you’ll be sharing tonight, if he doesn’t decide to use the yellowed comforter to wrap your lifeless corpse in later instead. You push yourself up into a sitting position and brace yourself for whatever he’ll do to you for disobeying him, for trying to escape. You’ve never seen this side of him before, never even come close to upsetting him like this in the time that you’ve known him. 

“Don’t know who the fuck you were tryin’ to call, but you better get it through that dumb fuckin’ brain of yours that nobody gives a fuck about you anymore except for me, you got that? Cops ain’t gonna do nothin’ about some fuckin’ runaway slut, ‘specially not one who’s got nobody to miss her in the first place. ‘S why you ran away, ‘s why I picked you up… ‘Cause we both know ain’t nobody gonna come lookin’ for you. Wouldn’t be able to find your body even if they did,” he barks at you, a huge paw wrapped in the hair at the base of your skull to keep your gaze trained on him.

“Please, please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I won’t ever do it again, I promise–”

“Y’ know… I saved you from that hell hole, I gave you everything, and this is the fuckin’ thanks I get?!” The low gravel of his voice seems to be coming from somewhere deep and cavernous inside of him. It fills the entire room with a black smoke that penetrates your eardrums and fills your mouth with something bitter.

“I know, I know, I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you–”

“Yeah, I know you weren’t fuckin thinkin’. Dumb fuckin’ cunt.” Joel releases your hair and you collapse in on yourself, beginning to sob all over again. You know it probably makes you look weak in front of him, but you can’t help it as the dread washes over you. You’re on the verge of hyperventilating, wondering if this will be the one mistake that seals your fate, if he’ll let you live long enough to see those aching little imprints on your arm from where he grabbed you bloom into purple-red blotches in the morning. With your eyes shut tight and hot tears streaming down your cheeks, you’re heaving, trying to catch your breath as you release broken little noises that sound like sorry, sorry, sorry. The repeated apology almost resembles some kind of prayer, as if that could save you now.

He lets you run the gamut of your terror for a minute before pinching the bridge of his nose, the calloused pads of his fingers squeezing that angry red scar that adorns it. He expels a heavy sigh and sits beside you on the bed, the springs of the old mattress screeching as they dip with his weight.

“C’mere, babydoll,” he says, quietly now, and you feel too weak to fight him as he pulls you into his lap and helps you to straddle your legs across his thick waist. You can feel his hardening bulge against your core through the thin material of your panties, exposed now by the skirt of your dress riding up and pooling at the creases of your thighs. 

“‘S okay, darlin’ I forgive you.” He lets you cry into his shoulder as he shushes you, rocking you side to side and petting the top of your head as if he were soothing a spooked little dog. When you’re able to take deep breaths again, your senses are flooded with his familiar comforting scent. The combination of his natural cologne and the softness of his voice reaches inside some deep corner of your brain that isn’t completely terrorized and disgusted by him, and it’s enough for you to lift your head up to face him again.

“Y-you do?” You squeak out as you sniffle, and Joel wipes away the last of your salty tears with one of his rough thumbs, sucking it into his mouth afterwards. He lets out a soft groan before gripping your jaw so that the fat of your cheeks makes your lips pucker.

“Yeah, babydoll… But why would you try to go off runnin’ like that, hm? Thought you were mine, my girl, thought we understood each other.”

His tone, the furrow in his brows and the slight pout of his lips make you feel guilty, somehow, upset with yourself for making him feel this way, for trying to run from his care and affection. “I-I thought so, too. But then… then I…” you stutter, finding it impossible to speak coherently anymore.

“Then what, babydoll?” Joel prompts calmly, stroking his thumb along your cheek as he squeezes it.

“T-the box… I saw—”

“Yeah… You saw my girls, didn’t you, baby? That’s why you tried to run, ain’t it? Look at me, babydoll.”

Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you obey his command, nodding slowly. When you look into his eyes, you finally notice how dark they’ve become, their usual warm amber color now appearing more red.

“You… you killed her. I-it was you.”

“Which one’re you talkin’ about, baby? Collected a lotta girls over the years, lose track of ‘em after a while.”

Your stomach churns at his callousness. “R-Ruby… I saw h-her. Y-you… you were…” You can’t bring yourself to finish your sentence, your words interrupted by your hiccuping breaths.

“Oh, Ruby…” Joel shifts his hips into yours, a growl rumbling from deep in his chest as he closes his eyes for a moment, turning over her name on his tongue. “Yeah… She was a pretty thing, wasn’t she? Feisty one, though. ‘Bout broke my goddamn nose. Wasn’t gonna be so rough with her, but… she practically asked for it.” He brushes his finger across the scar on his face, and your eyes well up again when you make the connection. “What else did you see, hm? Talk t’ me about it, babydoll.” Even through his jeans, you can feel that he’s fully hard now, turned on at the prospect of reliving those gruesome scenes.

Nauseating visions of the polaroids flash across your memory—the girl bleeding from the back of her head, the one with the cut throat, the one with her neck bent at an unnatural angle. “No, please don’t make me…” you shake your head at him, your bottom lip trembling as you fight back more stinging tears. 

Joel releases his hold on your face in favor of giving your cheek a harsh smack. “Wasn’t a fuckin’ question, girl.”

You use his loosened grip as an opportunity to try to scramble out of his lap, hitting your hands against his chest as you try to push off the bed and get back onto your feet.

“Nuh-uh, I don’t think so. Quit fuckin’ strugglin’.” 

He’s got you flipped onto your back in a second, with your legs dangling off the edge of the bed. He stands between your parted thighs, and you look up at him through blurred vision, one of his strong hands now attempting to cut off the blood supply to your brain as he uses the other to free his thick cock from his jeans. His teeth are bared, and the look in his eyes is faraway, as if the Joel you thought you knew is somewhere else entirely, miles away from this dingy motel room off the side of the freeway. He’s long gone now, replaced by this monstrous version of him that you don’t recognize.

“Keep fightin’, see what fuckin’ happens… I’d take the prettiest photos of you, y’ know that? Add you to my lil’ collection, have no choice but to be mine forever… You’d fit right in, babydoll, this perfect fuckin’ body.”

He slides a hand up and down his leaking shaft as he rambles, and it’s impossible to deny how much it excites him, talking about his killing, his ritual. 

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, promised myself I’d be done after the last one but—fuck—just can’t fuckin’ stop myself. ‘S just so goddamn easy,” Joel hisses through his teeth. His hand never leaves your neck as he flips up the skirt of your dress and yanks your ashamedly damp panties down your trembling legs. He flings them haphazardly onto a discolored patch of carpet in the corner of the room, and it makes you wince, imagining how he must’ve disposed of so many other girls before you in the same careless manner.  

As hopeless as it seems now, you won’t be one of them. You don’t have any other choice, you have to make it out of this alive, you have to do something.

“W-what… what is?” You manage to choke out.

Joel looks down at you, almost startled, as if you’re an inanimate object speaking to him, like he didn’t expect you to have a voice.

“Huh?”

“Y-you said… it’s so easy. What’s easy?”

He licks his lips as he thinks on his response, a sickly smile tugging at the corners. “Pickin’ up a pretty slut nobody’s gonna miss, takin’ her home with me and turnin’ her fuckin’ lights out. They practically do it to themselves with all their strugglin’ and bitin’ and scratchin’, just want ‘em to fuckin’—unh—behave.”

You whine as he pushes his tip inside your little hole, but try to maintain your composure. You think you understand now, why he’s acting this way. He wants you to want to be with him, and it triggers some kind of deepset anger inside of him when you fight, when you run, when you throw his affection back in his face. Killing the girls might not even be his end goal, at least not when he first takes them, more like an inevitable side effect of what happens when they try to escape his captivity and he feels rejected, hurt, tossed aside. And then he lashes out. And then they die. And then the cycle repeats. You’d lasted this long because you’d been the first to not reject his advances, because he’d seen himself in you.

If you don’t fight, if you can keep him talking, if you can convince him that this is what you want, you might have a chance at survival. It’s not much of a strategy, but it’s something, and it’s better than giving up.

“How… how do you d-do it?” you ask, a little less rasp in your voice as his grip on your throat begins to loosen, but his hand never leaves it entirely. He slides the rest of his cock inside you as you stutter out your question, and he laughs.

“You sure you wanna hear it, babydoll? Might be a bit much for you.” He’s fully seated inside you now, and the stretch of him burns. Even though the two of you have been fucking like bunnies practically every day since you’ve met, you can only fight against your body so much, and the fear you’re trying desperately not to clue him into is making every one of your muscles tighten around him.

“No! No, I-I wanna know. Tell me, please…” You bat your eyelashes up at him for good measure, and his canine grin widens some more.

“God, y’ really are just as fucked up as I am, huh? ‘S why I kept you around, ‘cause you’re like me…” He begins to piston his thick length in and out of you, affectionately tucking a lock of hair behind your ear with his free hand as he does. The other one constricts your airflow once again, and you stifle a whimper, suppressing the urge to argue and spit back that you’re not like him. “Usually strangle ‘em, little throats always fit so perfectly in my hands, jus’ like this…”

His voice trails off as he shoves into you harder, picking up his pace. Your breathing becomes broken and frantic as you claw through the black cloud closing in on your vision in your effort to keep him talking. “And then what?” you squeak out.

“Squeeze ‘em, real hard and slow,” Joel growls. “Try not to come in my jeans just from the pathetic lil’ sounds they make when they’re prayin’ to God to save ‘em. Ain’t so gentle with ‘em if they put up too much of a fight, though. Jus’ gotta cut the shit sometimes, slice ‘em open or split their fuckin’ skulls just to make ‘em stop. God, you’d never believe the amount of blood a lil’ girl like you’s got in ‘em.” He’s slamming his hips into your sore cunt now, both hands wrapped tightly around your neck as he uses it for leverage. You feel your muscles begin to slacken, either from the lack of oxygen or from his just-right strokes against that little spot deep inside, you can’t be sure. It was just a survival instinct, you’ll tell yourself in the morning.

“Yeah? It’s… it’s a lot?” you prompt, skin feeling tingly and voice coming out hoarse, sounding like it had come from somewhere else other than your own body. It could’ve just been the wind, a tractor-trailer whistling by outside.

“Yeah, ‘s a lot. Bleed so fuckin’ much, y’ think it might never stop. Just keeps—fuck—comin’...”

Joel’s voice breaks on the telltale word, his thrusts becoming frenzied and disjointed as he nears his release. A few high-pitched moans manage to squeeze past your compressed vocal chords, and they’re half-genuine, half-forced as a means to spur him on and speed up the process. The stretches of skin between his thumbs and forefingers are pressing down, down, down against your windpipe, and you plead with him as coherently as possible in your race against that darkness threatening to swallow you whole. 

“C-come, Joel, p-please, want you to—”

“Shut up, babydoll. Fuck… Eyes on me, c’mon,” he orders, shaking you by the neck to wake you up a bit, prevent your eyes from closing all the way. “Look at me. Just… lay fuckin’ still, don’t make a sound. Hold your goddamn breath, okay? Don’t even fuckin’ blink.”

He’s never demanded something like this before, but you aren’t exactly in a position to disobey. You do as he asks, and some of it comes involuntarily, anyway. With your hands laid at your sides, eyes looking into Joel’s own but somehow past them, unblinking, your mouth slack and lungs paralyzed, you almost feel like…

Like one of them. 

“Tha’s it, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants to himself, rutting into your limp body with abandon as he chases his high. You can’t help but let another tear slip past your lashes, and he doesn’t wipe it away this time. 

A few more bruising pulses of his cock later, and all the blood rushes back into your head at once as Joel lets go of his vice grip around your neck, collapsing on top of your still form and breathing heavily into the damp skin of your neck where your wet tears have collected. He stays like that for a while, still slotted inside you, and you let him come back into himself for as long as he needs, not daring to move a muscle until he permits you to do so. 

Joel slides himself out of your leaking hole when he’s finally caught his breath, grunting as he pushes himself up off the bed and runs a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He studies your abused form, then tuts when he notices the marks he left around your throat.

“Better make sure you wear your hair down tomorrow, I reckon. Got a decent record of keepin’ the law off my ass, I’d rather keep it that way.” 

Tomorrow. He plans on letting you live. Until then, anyway. 

“Okay,” you agree quietly.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight again for the rest of the evening. He’d helped you up off the bed and into the shower, where he’d cleaned both of your bodies and scrubbed the dried tears and sweat from your skin. He’d sunk his claws into your scalp as he washed your hair under the scalding water, and you wondered if the suds could carry even the intangible filth down the drain with it—the guilt, the fear, the defeat, the violation. You almost wish you hadn’t looked in the box at all. What difference would it have made, if you’d stayed with him in ignorance? Those girls are still dead. It’s not like you can save them now. You couldn’t even save yourself.

Joel changes you into one of his large t-shirts for you to sleep in tonight, instead of a frilly nightgown or something else short and revealing that he’d usually pick out for you. You suppose that the choice of clothing acts as a more visible representation of his ownership over you. He’s marking his territory, scenting you like a dog. Like you’re his bitch.

Joel holds you suffocatingly close to him in bed that night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that it’s difficult for your ribs to expand. He keeps one hand possessively wrapped around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just to remind you what he’s capable of. As if you could ever forget. 

“Y’know what, babydoll? I think we could be partners, you and I,” Joel says in a slow, gravelly voice, right next to your ear.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper back into the darkness.

“I just… I tried to quit, y’ know, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to. Too damn old and slow to keep chasin’ after ‘em anymore, but… ‘f I keep you around, you’d just make the perfect bait, wouldn’t you? That pretty face, sweet lil’ smile, you could lure ‘em straight to me, they’d never see it comin’.”

“See… what coming?”

“My hands. The knife. A fuckin’ rock. Whatever, ‘s up to them.”

His words linger in the air, and you know you should say something, but how could you possibly respond to what he’s asking of you?

“You want me to… to kill—”

“No, no, ‘course not, babydoll. Wouldn’t even have to be in the room while it’s happenin’, would never ask my sweet girl to get her hands dirty like that. Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run. I mean… you’d rather it be them than you, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Joel’s hand closes in around your throat, and you understand now what he’s offering you—a deal. Your life in exchange for helping him grow his collection of victims, helping him satisfy his urges. He’s made you feel indebted to him, like you owe him something in exchange for letting you live tonight. He thinks he’s found something special in you, a victim who finally can’t run away from him, who won’t, now. There’s enough of a connection still here, although held together by fear, that he knows you won’t try escaping again. Because he saved you, the first time from starving on the side of the road, the second time from himself. And you owe him your life, now, in some form or another. 

You only nod against the pillow, but it seems to be enough for him.

Joel kisses the back of your head, breathing in the smell of your hair. “I love you, babydoll.”

His fingers press harder against your arteries, making it clear that you have no choice but to respond with what he wants to hear.

“I love you too, Joel.”

The words are still true, you think, somehow. But it just feels like you’re saying them to a stranger now.

You wish you would’ve listened to the one useful thing your mother had ever told you—not to talk to strangers, or you might fall in love.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger @hjzghi-blog @natalieispunk (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[norris55s]

the summer i turned pretty - charles leclerc & arthur leclerc

a reader x charles leclerc/arthur leclerc love triangle

warnings: intoxicated (but consensual) kissing

a/n: trying out a written piece/smau/texts weird hybrid but it was all i could come up with to get this idea across! i hope you all like it <3 (there will be a part 2)

also this was requested!! i'm so sorry anon i lost the ask but i hope u see it and like it anyways

Day 1

France is a place that isn’t easy to forget, but having lived there your whole life made it seem ordinary. The country that saw me grow up, and that I was glad to call home, failed to impress me every day because I was used to it. The beautiful architecture, history, and tourist attractions weren’t as beautiful to me anymore; it was my day-to-day life.

That wasn’t true for the beach house in Nice. It wasn’t mine, or my family’s, but that place never failed to impress me, even if it was my day-to-day life every summer. The Leclerc summer home was my favorite place on Earth. From its blue and white facade, the soft beige interiors, the pool and beach view, the big dining room, and the incredible company, there’s no place I’d rather be in right now.

“Y/N L/N, you have arrived!” Charles Leclerc, the ultimate reason for this place’s beauty, yelled out to me.

“Charles Leclerc, I have arrived!” I replied blushing, and opening my arms into an embrace. As every time I hugged him, my body relaxed and tensed somehow at the same time, safe and nervous, loved and not loved back. But aren’t all childhood crushes like that?

“I’ve also arrived, pote. If you even care,” my wonderfully annoying older brother, Alexandre, interjected. Charles let me go to greet my brother, and I turned to find the youngest Leclerc, Arthur, on his way to hug me hello.

“Hi, chérie,” he said with a smile on his face, ruffling my hair affectionately.

“Hi, Arthur. Up to no good once again?”

“I’m always up to all good!”

Pascale Leclerc, the boys’ mother, greeted me with cheeks kisses and pinches. Everyone then swarmed my mom, Alice. Sometimes I think my friends love her more than they love me, but that was deserved.

As every year before, everyone finally felt at home. And as every year before, the inaugural pool party started.

“Y/N L/N, will you do me the honor of joining me at the pool?” Charles exaggeratedly held out his hand, as if we were Royals in a ball. Antics that I was happy to oblige with. Too happy for my dignity to recover. 

As we made our way inside, and swam a couple laps playing around on who is faster, we wound up floating peacefully on a corner with the sun beginning to set. 

“I missed you,” Charles said out of nowhere, making my heart do a somersault. 

“I miss you too,” I managed to reply, feeling the blush on my cheeks. 

“I want to hear from you more often. I know I’m busy with racing, but I always can make time for you Y/N.”

The thing about unrequited love is any show of affection feels like a marriage proposal. But of course I could not deny his request. He was, above all else, one of my best friends and one that I needed to be there for. 

Hervé Leclerc passed away the year before, a couple months after the summer vacation. We didn’t know it would be the last time we spent with him, and I was worried about what this year’s vacation would be like with the boys’ father missing. 

“I’m always here for you,” I vowed and he gave me a quick, chaste kiss on my forehead. To make sure I wouldn’t forget my promise. 

As I looked at Charles’ glistening face against the darkening sun, I realized we would be okay. 

y/ninstagram added to her stories

charles_leclerc added to his stories

Day 2

“Chérie,” was the first voice I heard as I woke up, with Arthur knocking on my door for show and letting himself in.

“Too early,” I whined back and hid under the covers, to have them ripped from me by the guy in my room.

“It’s time for the sunrise beach walk,” he replied and I knew he was right, so I let myself be dragged outside the house. I couldn’t say no, since the sunrise walk at least once during the vacation is also a tradition between Arthur and I.

It was also worth it; we silently agreed for that to be time to catch up, be honest, and be vulnerable ever since we began taking the walks. This one would be particularly hard too.

“I really, really miss my dad,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders to walk side by side.

I didn’t know how to handle Hervé’s death with the boys. 

Enzo was older than me, even beyond his years, and there was nothing I could say that would be wiser, or better than what he had to say.

Arthur was quiet and reasonable, way more accepting of inevitables than me, more useful to himself than me.

Charles was passionate but closed, a master at compartmentalization, never letting me in even if I’d like to.

But Arthur, ever my closest friend, still needed my support.

“I know you do,” I replied softly and squeezed his hand. “It’s only normal, and I’m sorry you’ve been dealt these cards.”

Grief is a strange thing, but on the beach I hoped I let Arthur know that I would always be by his side, and that the sun will always rise again for him. With his steady breathing while leaning on me as we sat on the sand, I knew he understood.

arthur_leclerc added to his stories

y/ninstagram added to her stories

Day 3

y/ninstagram added to her stories

ameliedeveraux20 added to her stories

This was the third year Arthur and I were invited to parties that Alexandre and Charles went to. The promotion from little siblings to cool siblings opened up a new world in Nice. Especially one where I could ignore my schoolgirl crush on Charles through alcohol.

So I happily got ready, into a pink summer dress and into the car that would drive us all to an even bigger house filled with a bunch of privileged European kids ready to drink the night away.

The first drink came from Antoine, who sadly had a beautiful girl around his arms that indicated he wouldn’t be a good distraction. The second one came from Amelie, my Nice girlfriend, who was happy as ever to see me and catch up with me before she also found an arm candy and promptly left. The third one was on me, as I was forced to stare at Charles making out with a girl I learned was named Charlotte.

After that, I stopped counting and kept drinking, joining the dance floor to enjoy the numb feeling in my face, the new found careless attitude, and the music blasting in my ears.

Before I could process it, Arthur was in front of me, the blush on his face indicating he was also intoxicated. What started as a normal jumping around like one does at a party, progressed to a point where his hands were on my waist and my hands were on his neck.

I couldn’t even recognize the song anymore, too entranced on the way his eyes were on mine. There were no words, as was usual between him and I. We just knew.

I wouldn’t take the first step, but he would. Arthur’s lips met mine in a strong, messy kiss. I didn’t pull away. I did want it. And it wasn’t scary.

When we stopped to take a breath, I realized I wanted to kiss him again. As I was leaning in, taking the initiative myself now, another force pulled me away.

I walked by inertia, trying not to fall down in following who was leading me away from the crowd. When I looked up, I recognized it to be Charles.

I couldn’t breathe from the adrenaline of the kiss I just shared, but also from the touch of Charles’ hand on mine, even if it was to take me out of the party.

My reaction was all too slow, finally starting to protest.

“What are you doing? Let me go,” I defensively said, snatching my hand away from his. The butterflies didn’t leave anyways.

“You’re drunk, let’s go home,” Charles coldly replied and held my hand again on his way to the car.

“Why would I want to go home? I’m having fun,” I continued to protest and he continued to pay me no mind.

As he put me inside the vehicle, despite my clumsy attempts to fight it, and slammed the door, I continued to think about what this could possibly be about. Where was Charlotte? Where was Arthur? What was happening?

My head spun and he got in the driver’s seat, turning the ignition on.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re drunk. You don’t kiss people when you’re drunk.”

“That makes no sense.”

“You don’t kiss people you haven’t kissed sober.”

“Its Arthur!”

“Exactly!”

The back and forth continued all the way to the house, my thoughts sobering up with every passing moment.

“If you don’t want me to be with your brother because you don’t think I’m good enough, that’s really not your choice,” I told him decisively, crossing my arms and pouting like a child throwing a tantrum.

That was the only explanation for what Charles just did. He didn’t think a Leclerc should be with someone like me, and was doing everything he could to prevent it.

When he started laughing, I wasn’t so convinced anymore.

“What’s so funny?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. I just made the biggest scene out of jealousy, and you’re saying I don’t think you’re good enough.”

Time froze and my mouth went dry. The confession made its way through my entire bloodstream, replacing the alcohol effects with pure shock. My head was spinning for entirely different reasons, and my brain couldn’t bring the words out. What would I even say?

I opened my mouth but nothing came out, and Charles put his face on his hands in frustration, before leaving the car. I still could only think what is happening?

[muldermuse]

An Unlikely Hero (ex boyfriend!Billy Butcher x reader)

this is going to be a multi part series!!! i love exboyfriend!butcher and he is on my mind constantly. if u would like to read more about him here’s some more posts! if you wanna talk about him pls send me your thoughts ❤️ dividers by @saradika ❤️

part one: the first date

OR

the first time you meet Billy Butcher

You swore to yourself that this was the last Tinder date you’d subject yourself to. Last week, you matched and met with Jack who had a Homelander sleeve tattoo and cried to you about how hard it was to be a ‘true American’ nowadays.  The week before that, it was Shay who seemed sweet but kept trying to ply you with drinks and invite you back to his place (he bragged that his ‘folks were out of town’, which would be impressive if you were a hell of a lot younger than you actually are). This week’s date is named Harry and he’s just not right for you. You thought it over texts but as soon as you sat down with him tonight; it was confirmed. It’s not even like you have a great previous relationship as a point for comparison, all romantic love has been fleeting and, with how things are going currently, you imagine it always will be.

It's a few hours later and Harry’s suddenly a lot drunker than you. You’ve moved from the overpriced restaurant to your favourite bar. The drinks are questionable in that they’re both incredibly cheap and very strong. You grab two stools at the bar which is overwise empty, apart from one man nursing a whiskey. You’re sure Harry’s drunker than you because he’s currently sobbing into his craft beer about how he hasn’t felt a connection with anyone since his ex-girlfriend, who left him 3 months ago for a co-worker.

“Like, you’re nice y’know. You seem like a nice girl” you try not to recoil at the phrase “but my ex? She was great. There’s no one else who’s ev-hic-ever been like her and there never will be”. The guy sat next to you at the bar mutters a “fuckin’ ell” under his breath as he gestures towards the bartender for another neat whiskey. His accent is completely out of place in this local dive bar; he sounds European. No trace of an american accent so you consider that he could be a tourist who’s wandered into a bar looking for a cold drink and some respite.

You try not to smirk at the utterance and tune back into what Harry’s saying, “I think we’ve both just gone through the motions tonight, don’t you agree? I can tell you’re not really into me and to be honest, I’m not into you”. You kind of admire his candor because he’s right, you’re not into him in the slightest but the next thing out of his mouth quickly dispels any misplaced respect you held for him. “I’ve been real lonely since she left though…maybe you could come back to my place-hic-she’s uh…some of her stuff is still there but there’s not a lot of it in the bedroom”. He’s that plastered that what he assumed would be a casual hand slide up your thigh becomes a full push, hurtling you into the whiskey sipping man next to you. You fall into his chest, it’s strong and kind of feels like slamming into a wall. 

“Right, tha’s fuckin’ it” the potential tourist speaks and it’s only when he stands up that you realise how broad he is. He’s tall with thick black hair and the beard to match. His outfit is seemingly prepared for a spectrum of weathers with a Hawaiian shirt clashing with a thick overcoat. He’s older than you, definitely older but absolutely attractive. More attractive than anyone you’d seen on Tinder or, probably, ever in your life. “You alright there darlin’?” his dark eyes bore into yours as you nod and cough out a meek ‘yes’. You silently curse yourself, the first thing you say to this strong man makes you sound like a small frightened mouse.

“’M jus’ gonna get rid of your little pal there and then I’ll buy ya a drink- alright?” his hand rubs your bare arm and sends a flurry of goosebumps across your skin. The whole interaction feels more charged than anything you’ve had before with another human, you wonder if he’s feeling it too and pray that he is.

“Oh nice one man, I’ll have uh…another craft” Harry gestures towards the tap, completely oblivious to the situation in front of him

“All you’re fuckin’ gettin’ cunt is a helpin’ hand out that fuckin’ door. Now, I’ll ask ya politely one last fuckin’ time…fuck off” he elongates the 3 letter word. A comically confused look spreads across Harry’s face. “’M on a fucking date here man and she’s coming back to mine, aren’t you?”

“No” you quickly deadpan, shaking your head at the still unnamed man.

“There’s your answer then cunt, off ya fuck” 

“Butcher- no fuckin’ blood on my bar this time man” the bartender shouts whilst idly checking his phone. Butcher? Is that the guy’s name? 

Harry stands up, pushing out his chest which, if anything, only exaggerates how small he is in comparison. “I’ve bought her meal, paid for her drink and I’m go-hic-gonna take her back to my place and fuck her”. He finishes his sentence in Butcher’s face. Whilst you see a flicker of fear cross Harry’s expression; Butcher’s look borders on hysterical. 

“Alright then big fella, I’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen” he slams his hand down on Harry’s shoulder, his eyes now boring into his. “You’re gonna fuck off back to your shitty little home, grab some lube, cry and wank to ya heart’s content about your ex who is probably ridin’ some big fat fuckin’ dick right now-yeah?” Butcher nods as if Harry’s going to agree with him.

Your date goes to interrupt but Butcher presses a finger to his quaking lips before he can start, “what’s not gonna happen, my sad little mate, is that you’re going to fuck her. She’s hadta listen to your fuckin’ whinin’ about your ex all night whilst you’ve fuckin’ insulted this gorgeous woman. So, get out before I throw ya through the fuckin’ window”. Harry’s lost for words, he doesn’t make eye contact with you as you stand silently behind Butcher. You see tears brimming in his eyes as he smacks $20 on the bar top. 

“Fuckin’ old asshole” Harry spits as he shoves past the pair of you.

Butcher smirks at the remark, watching the door swing shut behind Harry before turning to you. “Right darlin’, whatcha havin’?” 

It’s the best date you’ve ever been on and it’s not even a real date. You finally got his full name. Billy Butcher. Your heart races just to say it. He’s from London but has been in the States for a while. He asks all about you and you surprisingly find you’ve got a lot in common. He’s funny, charming and really fucking exciting- you have to admit. By the third drink, the chat goes from conversational to more flirty. 

“The bartender said ‘this time’, do you do this a lot? Love saving a damsel in distress? Are you a hero, Billy Butcher?” you smirk at him and he returns it back to you. There’s lust in his eyes and you see him take your appearance in for what feels like the upteenth time since you sat down.

As he goes to speak, the bell rings for last orders and he takes your hand to help you off the bar stool. You down the remnants of your drink together and he puts his arm around you and escorts you out of the bar.

You don’t want it to end, he lights a cigarette and you thank any higher deity for the extra thinking seconds it gives you. He speaks before you get chance, “Will ya let me walk you home darlin’? Swear on my mum’s life I won’t try any funny business”. He holds his hand out like he’s making a scouts honour. Honestly, you do anything to spend a bit more time with him so you smile, link your arm with his and pull him down the quiet streets.

The air makes you feel drunker than you are. If you were sober, there is no way you’d be giggling like a school girl at everything this man is saying, yet here you are. Your arms are linked and you’re resting your head on his shoulders as you tell him about your horrific dating history. Everytime he laughs and accuses you of exaggerating you say, “Billy Butcher, I would never ever lie to you”. You say it because his name feels so fun sliding off your tongue. You barely see anyone on your walk home and the sound of your shared laughter fills the empty streets.

As you turn down your street, you wish you lived miles away so you could keep walking together for hours. Your stomach drops at the thought that you’ll never see him again. Which, you completely realise, is fucking stupid. This stranger threatened your date to leave but he also made you feel safe and laugh harder than you have in months. You pull his stride to a stop outside your house. It feels like some awful hallmark romcom or trashy romance novel.

You thank him for escorting you home and he turns down a nightcap in your house as “it’s not gentlemanly on the first date”. He shoots you a wicked grin again as he says, “my mum would be spinnin’ in her grave darlin’”.

You try not to let the heartbreak from that sentence show on your expression. “You’re a gentleman, Billy Butcher?”

“The best one around darlin’. I’ll prove it tomorrow when I take ya out for lunch”

A brief flare of anger hits you, “yeah, I hear that all the fucking time. The lunch never happens, I don’t see you again but then we bump into each other at the store and you apologise and say you’ll be in touch which, of course, you never will be”. You regret it as soon as you stop speaking.

Before you can apologise, he grabs a sharpie out of his coat pocket, takes your hand and scribbles down his number. “There, alright? You call me at any time gorgeous and I swear, I’ll fuckin’ answer and come runnin’”

His kiss to your cheek is soft yet restrained. “You’ll forget about me Billy Butcher, I know it”.

“S’not fuckin’ possible, darlin’”. He says goodnight and walks down your street. A plume of cigarette smoke trailing after him.

He keeps his word.

40 minutes later, and after one final glass of wine, you call him.

He answers on the first ring and says your name. He tells you where to meet tomorrow and what time to get there.

You hope he can always keep his promises.

[maiiuelle]

˚❀˚

when you and jj first get together, he really makes an effort to impress you. the boy doesn’t have much to give, having grown up with the shirt on his back and not much else, but he’s eager to make you feel special. he’s no stranger to women, being a pretty hot commodity for pogue girls and tourists but he never sticks around long enough for anything to be considered serious. he’s a free spirit at heart, and before he took interest in you, that boy couldn’t be tied down. your first date was one to remember, the only warning beforehand being a cryptic text saying: “meet me at the dock at 6?”

you’re ecstatic, even though he didn’t explicitly say it’s a date, you’re hoping it will be. you’re something of a hopeless romantic, and your growing crush on maybank was driving you crazy. you put on a pretty sundress, curl your hair into messy coils and pack one of your crocheted shoulder bag with your wallet and emergency lip gloss.

you get there right on time, the sun just starting to set over the marsh. you shuffle nervously to the end of the dock, where you find jj leaning over the wooden railing.

“jayj?” your voice is soft, trying not to startle him. he turns his head and his body follows, but before he can greet you he’s taken in by your dress, his blue eyes transfixed on it’s short frilly skirt. he’s in his usual garb, a white tee and cargo shorts, which you still find very charming. you blink up at him shyly, not knowing why you’re so nervous, after all it’s just jj.

“uh—hey!” he lifts his baseball cap, running his hand through his hair as he tries to keep his eyes on yours. “whatcha all dressed up for?”

“oh, i dunno. was just excited to get out of the house, i guess.” your cheeks heat up, suddenly concerned that you misread the situation entirely.

he nods. “i’m glad you did. y’look very nice.” he lets his eyes linger on your dress a second longer before he clears his throat and reaches for your hand. “would you.. be interested in an exclusive boat tour of this here marsh on the hms pogue?”

you slip your hand into his, tilting your head curiously. “ooo — i’d be honored.” he starts to lead you down the wooden ramp to where the boat is floating against the dock, and once it comes into view your sweet smile turns into surprise.

he spread out a picnic blanket over the front of the boat, and a big bowl of fruit, two subs from haywards, and an empty beer can stuffed with wildflowers sits in the center. you just feel warm, relieved that clearly your feelings are mutual, and this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you. “oh — jj!” you jump into his arms, hugging him tight. “this is beautiful, you planned all of this?”

as you pull away to admire the boat again, his touch lingers on your waist, still holding you close. “‘course i did, cupcake. you like it?”

you huddle close to his side again, looking up at him with anticipation. “do i like it? i love it! this is amazing.”

“well, i’m glad.” jj smiles down at you before clearing his throat, getting flustered already. “c’mere, we should get out there while the sun’s still setting.” he takes hold of your hand, adjusting his hat again in an attempt to hide his rosy face. he helps you onto the boat, where you sit atop the blanket to admire the flowers he picked while he drives you out into the marsh.

the two of you fill the hot summer air with giggles over the roaring motor, but eventually the boat sputters to a stop at a nice clearing. the yellow and orange clouds paint over the still water beautifully, and singsonging birds chirp in the distance. the scene before you looks like something out of your favorite romance movies. jj makes his way to the bow, making sure the anchor is set.

“dig in, you don’t gotta wait on me.” he laughs and finally settles down next to you, popping a strawberry into his mouth casually. he gestures to the sandwiches, eyebrows creased in slight concern. “said you like italian, right?”

“oh yeah — who doesn’t?” you smile, helping yourself to some of the fruit too. “this is all so sweet, jayj. really.”

he waves a hand in the air, brushing it off. “well shucks, you’re sweet, cupcake.” he can’t keep his eyes off of you, between how your skin is glowing in the low sunlight, your dress, hair, lips — he can barely handle it. “y’deserve it, a girl like you’s once in a lifetime.”

you blink at him, his compliments going right to your burning cheeks. “you really think that?”

“you kidding? of course i do.” he rubs his jaw, shrugging like it’s obvious as he leans forward. “m’just lucky enough to be here with you.”

“jayj.” you lean on your arm, tilting your head as you stare back at him. you lick your glossy lips, and he feels like you can read his mind. your mind is spinning, heart racing as he moves closer, reaching gently to tuck your hair behind your ear. you lean into his palm, letting him guide you into a soft first kiss.

˚❀˚

[ncroissant]

chilchuck tims x younger! bimbo! reader

summary: chilchuck's first impressions and favourite things about younger reader + what he's like when he's angry and how he comforts reader after a punishment

content warning: no use of yn/name, slight mention of open-wound, dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, implied younger reader (age not mentioned, but 18+), slight angst/comfort, fluff, slightly suggestive, mention of cock once

wc: 1.6k

author's notes: i personally love chilchuck and when i found out he was 29 with 3 kids...oh my goodness. i love dilfs bro. this was just a whole jumble of head cannons that i have for him so, sorry for the lack of flow. you can see how i got lazy at the end... not proofread obviously !! minors please DNI !!

he always thought of you as a thoughtless, little girl. your head in the clouds, not a single thought in that pretty skull of yours.

letting him drag you around by your hand as you looked around dungeon floors like a tourist. wrapping an arm around your waist from behind every time you tripped on your two left feet. carrying you on his back when you were too tired to walk in your cute little loafers. covering your bare legs with his sweater to cover the pink panties that peaked out of your mini skirt. 

too mini, he thought.

as much as he wouldn’t like to admit, he liked having you around. you were falin’s best friend, therefore laois’ best friend, therefore a plus one to their dungeon party. 

you were like a little kid that he couldn’t predict or understand. he thought girls like you were the worst. couldn’t do anything for themselves and expected the rest of the party to pick up their slack. 

but then he saw how sweet you were, always smiling with pretty glossy lips. you’d also braid marcille’s hair in the morning, listen to laois’ rants about monsters and try your best to prep ingredients with senshi (and chilchuck’s) guidance. 

but he especially liked how needy you’d get with him too. you’d tug his sleeve and bat your lashes at him with such a cute, little pout when you wanted something. 

“chilchuck pleaseeeeeee,” you’d whine, such a pitiful look on your face when you latched onto his arm, placing your chin on his shoulder with your lip puffed out. 

“what’s going on here?” marcille giggled, raising her brows at your affection with the grumpy lock-picker.

you let of his arm to his dismay, stomping over to marcille. “he won’t give me any of that candy we bought from the dungeon market earlier!” you exclaim, throwing your usual fit. “says i’ll get sick if i eat too much,” you huff, crossing your arms.

“hey now, simmer down,” he’d wrap his arm around your shoulder, giving you a warning squeeze. “you’re getting too worked up over nothing again. you know i’m right, hm?” he’d rub your arm soothingly, as you slowly calmed down, the frown not leaving your face.

“b-but i just wanna try a lil’ bit of it…won’t eat too much, promise.” your puppy eyes almost got to him. your eyes were glossy, tears threatening to fall at his rejection. he knew if he said no, he’d feel like the scum of the earth. 

“don’t start with that now,” he said sternly as you quickly wiped your tears at his words. 

“chilchuck, don’t be so mean to her. she’s just excited,” senshi chuckled, passing you a handkerchief to dry your tears.

he looked down at you (not very much because you two were practically the same height), inspecting the look on your face. he knew it was wrong, but he loved to see you get teary-eyed because of him. you were just so pretty. he always gave into what you wanted eventually, but loved teasing you to get a few tears out. 

“you can have some after dinner,” he mumbled, turning his head away from you. 

you looked up at him, before jumping into his arms, your own wrapped around his neck. “eee! thank you, chilchuck!” you squealed as he wrapped his arms around your waist to stabilize you. 

“settle down, alright? you better behave before then, you hear me?” he grumbled, as you pulled away from his face, still entangled on him. 

“mhm, i will! be on my best behaviour,” you giggled, stuffing your face in his neck again, hugging him tightly. 

“good,” he blushed ever so lightly, caressing your hair with his free hand.

he loved how obedient you were too. always so eager to please him. he didn’t know if it was because he was so much older than you, but you always listened so well for him in comparison to the others in the party. 

whenever you were acting up, the party would bring you over to chilchuck and he would give you a hard talking to. he was especially mean when he was mad. 

as much as you loved to brat out, you never wanted to make chilchuck mad. your most hated punishment was his silent treatment. it wouldn’t just be not talking to you, it would be acting like you didn’t even exist. 

you were playing around with marcille’s staff and accidentally destroyed one of the columns in the floor you were in, alerting monsters of your location. unfortunately, this caused a 20 minute running montage, but also one of the biggest arguments between you and chilchuck. 

“what the hell were you thinking?” he wasn’t yelling, but the calmness of his voice was scarier. 

“‘m sorry…” you mumbled, knowing you messed up. you were earnestly playing around, you didn’t know you would hit anything. 

he never scolded you in front of the party, but sometimes his voice could get loud enough for the party to hear. 

“you know better than to use other people’s things without permission, let alone touch it. i taught you better than that, no?” his lips were pursed into a straight line, arms crossed as he leaned against the brick behind him. 

“yes, you did,” you frowned, looking down at your fidgeting fingers. 

as remorseful as you looked, he wouldn’t budge as easily as he usually would. “one week.” he started, fear bubbling in your tummy. 

“nothing from me for a week.” he propped himself off the wall, ready to walk off. 

you shot your head up, shaking your head rapidly, “no please. ‘m so sorry, please don’t,” you reached from his arm but he already pulled away. 

he shook his head in disappointment at your feeble attempt, “you know the drill, angel. or would you sleep with marcille for the week as well?” he threatened, making your heart drop.

you brought your hands back to yourself, sniffling at how mean he was being. "mkay, i won't make a fuss."

as hard as it was for you to be ignored, it was harder for chilchuck to ignore you. you weren't even plotting anything.

you'd just sit there eating your sorbet, and he'd look at you like you were the most precious girl in the world. before you could sneak a glance at him, he's back to being stone cold.

you'd wear a skirt too short and he'd have the urge to walk behind you or scold you for wearing it when there were other guys in your party.

you'd trip over an uneven stone, flat on your face, knees scrapped. you'd fight the urge to just start crying, but you remembered chilchuck's words about crybabies.

"whiny little girls are only good for sucking cock. nothing else. so don't go around crying unless you want me to make you stop."

chilchuck saw the nosedive you took into the cement and flinched at the impact. he expected you to cry, but watch you stand up, brush the dust off your skirt and limp behind laois, senshi and marcille who didn't notice your fall.

later that night, you were snuggled under the blankets beside chilchuck, facing away from him. you were used to biting your tongue when you wanted to thoughtlessly talk about your day or fight the urge to just curl up in his arms.

you still had to carry out your punishment, the week wasn't over yet.

"hey angel, you okay?" the week wasn't over, but he'd disregard a punishment to check up on you.

you turned over, your knees stinging from the tiniest movement. you still thought your punishment was in effect, so you didn't respond verbally. you winced, nodding quickly.

"you can talk, it's okay." he cooed softly, placing a hand on your head. your knees throbbed, tears stinging your eyes.

"okay," you hummed quietly, hands still to yourself. he knew you were unsure about him ending the punishment so early, but he wasn't pulling any tricks this time around.

"saw you fall earlier, did you tell marcille to heal your scrapes?" he caressed your hair, coiling the strands around his finger.

"no, didn't wanna bother her," you shook your head, nuzzling yourself into his palm. "it's not that serious, 'm okay."

he frowned at your words. anything in relation to you was always serious. your health and well-being were the top seriousness for him. "lemme see then," he ushered you out of your sleeping bag, pulling you into his lap.

your back was pressed against his chest as he inspected your knees. they were pink, open wounded and prone to infection. "honey, this looks like it hurts." he rubbed your thigh in attempts to comfort you.

"it's okay, i wasn't watching where i was going. it was my fault," you sighed, leaning into the warmth you were deprived of previously.

"will you let me clean you up?" he tilted his head to get a better look of his pretty girl curled up into his lap. his heart swelled at how perfect you looked.

you nodded hesitantly, knowing it would hurt, but you trusted chilchuck and knew he would handle you gently.

he held your hand when the alcohol swab touched your wound, making you whimper and squeal in pain. you tried to stay quiet to avoid the rest of them from waking up, so chilchuck pulled you into his neck to cry.

he'd give you a cute little bandaid with a hearts on it (ones you insisted him on buying) and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

"such a good girl, you did so well for me. i'm so proud, angel," he showered you face in kisses as your heart swelled at the affection. "you're gonna do better from now on, right angel?" he gave you a look, as you nod enthusiastically.

"mhm, promise. don't wanna disappoint you," you leaned into his chest, still holding his hand. "thank you for looking out for me," you kissed his knuckles, holding his hand close to your chest.

"always will," he smiled, hugging you.

[blorbocedes]

For the trope mash-up: didnt mean to turn you on + innocent physical touch for franco 'milf-hunter' colapinto and checo/lewis

okay hear me out. what if checo was a woman instead 🤭🫣

Checo's had a fucking year.

The car is shit. She's been saying for so long but now they finally believe it as even Redbull’s wunderkind Max struggles in it. Every other interview, news cycle is about her retiring, her being unceremoniously kicked out as drivers salivate for her seat, her middling performance due to early pre-menopausal hormones? Just 2 years ago, she was the Mexican Queen of Defense, and now it's 'is she Redbull’s DEI hire?' The stories have become outlandish, announcing her second pregnancy and retirement at Mexican Grand Prix. That's why after Daniel, who had very clearly been brought in to replace her, was switched mid season she posted the Wolf of Wall Street clip on her instagram to make it clear: I’m not fucking leaving.

So forgive her if she's been seeking a little respite elsewhere.

There's a hot, young Argentine at Williams that's been eyeing her. Checo’s a woman on the F1 grid, she's been eyed like that thousands of times, most of it unwanted. Although, it fell off after she birthed the twins and her tits never returned to their glory days. So it's a little flattering reminder she's still got it. Being able to speak in the same language also helps, not having to translate everything for doublespeak. They have rapport.

“How old are you?” Checo asks at the club. She's not there to celebrate, she just needs a drink. Franco’s at the stage where finishing a race is cause for celebration.

“Twenty five.” Franco replies in her ear entirely too quickly, with a grin.

Checo raised an eyebrow. She didn't keep track of the rookies but she sure as hell knew they weren't doing twenty five year old rookies anymore.

A group of tourists seem to recognize her, probably fans and she's in no autographing mood so she pulls Franco in closer in front of her, to block her five foot four self from the world. He misreads the signal, but is all too happy to step in closer; personal space be damned.

“Okay. I lied. I didn't want to freak you out.” Franco confesses sheepishly.

Checo drinks her whiskey, assessing it. “I was winning karting races while you were in diapers, yes?”

It makes her feel old just saying it. She doesn't know how Fernando does it.

Franco nods, pupils going dark.

“And…” she raises her left hand, eyes pointing to her wedding ring.

Franco smirks. “I don't mind if you don't.” He leans in for the kiss, and Checo leans back denying him. Too public. She's learned from that mistake. She does put her left hand on his nape, stroking it and praising the boldness. It's dangerous, sleeping with another driver. When you're a woman, it gives them too much power. That's why Checo never acted on Max's obvious interest. But Franco doesn't have a seat next year yet... as temporary and harmless to her prospects as it gets.

“Come on,” Franco’s voice betrays the frustration underneath the trying hard to be suave, “I know you're thinking it too. You'd rather be on a boat with me than this totally lame club. And what I might lack in experience, I can make up for in stamina.” He practically purrs in her ear.

“A boat? Williams is not paying you that much.” Checo laughs, even as she entertains the line about stamina. James is a penny pincher to a fault. And Franco might get F1 groupies impressed with that line, but as the primary breadwinner she knows a little better.

Franco’s undeterred. “Your boat then. I can be your yacht boy.”

Now wouldn't Checo love to be sunning on a boat, no kids running around, being waited on hand and foot by an eager, younger man who can go for round two in ten minutes. God, she hasn't been filled up in a satisfying way in so long, her cunt throbs at the fantasy, aided by the tall, warm body in front of her.

Checo bites her lower lip, and looks around. Nobody around them in paying attention to the dark corner they're in anymore. She takes Franco’s hand and places it over her breast, holding his gaze. For all his smooth-talking, Franco seems momentarily stunned, mouth parting in surprise. He has naturally red lips, Checo wants to bite on it. He tentatively squeezes her breast, and after seeing her nod, starts kneading it, thumb trying to find her nipple through the layers of her polo shirt and sports bra.

“Can I please eat you?” Franco’s voice is husky as he begs.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

best date ever (Stan pines x fem!reader)

A date with Stan, what could go wrong?

You never really knew what to expect from Stanley Pines. After all, this was the same guy who could sell you a so-called "ancient artifact" that turned out to be an old cereal box toy and still convince you it was worth every penny. So when he asked you out, you weren’t exactly sure how it would go. He wasn’t the flowers-and-chocolates type; instead, Stan was. . . well, Stan.

That’s probably what got you here, standing in front of the window, watching the unmistakable silhouette of the Stanmobile pull into your driveway. The thing was pretty loud. You heard the muffler rattle as Stan turned off the engine, and then the door creaked open with a metallic sound that made your eye twitch. A date with Stanley Pines. . . What could possibly go wrong?

Too nervous, you opened the door first before he even could knock and there he was, standing on your porch like some kind of hero from a forgotten old movie. Wearing a white shirt with the first buttons unbuttoned, dark brown trousers and. . . was he wearing an eyepatch?

As soon as he opened his mouth to greet you, you started a dialogue first. Oh damn, yes, that was awkward, but you kept going.

"Lookin' sharp," you teased, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, well, it’s not every day a guy like me gets to take a gal like you out,” he flashed you that wide, confident grin that didn’t quite match his eyes though. He shifted a little, like he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. “You ready for the best date of your life or what?”

You tried, really tried, not to laugh at how absurd the eyepatch looked on him. You leaned on the doorframe. “Okay, I gotta ask. . . what’s with the eyepatch? Did you lose a fight with a tourist or something?”

His grin faltered for a second and you swear you saw him hesitate. He scratched the back of his head, looking away, as if he was caught off guard for some ridiculous act. Yeah, right now he really wanted to wash away the shame. “Oh, uh, this?” he gestured to the eyepatch, trying to look casual. “Just, uh. . . battle wound. You know, dangerous life and all that.”

You tilted your head, amused, waiting for the real answer. “Stan. . .”

He gave himself a mental slap in the face, yanking the patch off with a quick flick of his wrist. "You saw nothing." he muttered with deadly seriousness before stuffing it into his pocket.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. For all his boldness, the fact that he tried to impress you, however clumsily, was so cute. “You don’t need to try that hard, you know. I. . . kind of like you just the way you are.”

His cheeks reddened, but just slightly, and he cleared his throat, shuffling awkwardly. “Yeah, well. . . don’t let it get to your head, alright?”

The passenger door of the Stanmobile creaked as you opened it and slid into the worn, cracked seat. The car smelled faintly of old leather and stale coffee, and the dashboard was littered with random trinkets, coins, and a few crumpled wrappers. Stan slammed his door shut, giving the steering wheel a hard pat before starting the engine.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked, glancing over at him.

The plan was simple — or at least, it was supposed to be. A nice dinner in town, maybe a little romantic walk after, and if things went well, who knew? But with Stan, nothing ever went according to plan.

As the Stanmobile sputtered its way down the road, you couldn’t help but glance over at Stan again. He was focused on the road, hands gripping the wheel just a little too tightly. There was a kind of quiet tension about him tonight that wasn’t there on the usual days when you stopped by the Shack. Maybe it was just the date thing, maybe he really was nervous? The thought surprised you, but you liked it. It made him more. . . real, in a way. You liked that side of him. 

Yeah, diner turned out to be everything Stan had promised and more. It was like stepping into a time machine that had malfunctioned halfway through. Neon signs flickered above the entrance, and the interior was a strange mix of retro and. . . You couldn’t find the right word to describe. The red vinyl stands were cracked and peeling, tarnished with age. It smelled of old oil and nostalgia, like a place that had long outlived its heyday, but still maintained it with stubborn pride. 

It looked like it hadn’t changed since the '50s, but it was full to the brim. Of course, he hadn’t thought to make a reservation.

“Should’ve figured,” Stan grumbled, glaring at the crow. “You’d think folks around here would have better taste than to crowd this dump.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Says the man who scams them daily.”

He gave you a wide smile. “Hey, I provide a valuable service. It’s called entertainment, toots.”

The jukebox in the corner of the room crackled to life, spitting out an old Elvis song that skipped every few beats. Stan’s brow furrowed in irritation, but there was something undeniably charming about the whole mess. It felt like a place he’d drag you to — not because it was fancy or impressive, but because it was something that always made happy and he wanted to share these feelings with you. Show them to you.

You were halfway through your milkshake (which, to be fair, wasn’t that bad, though Stan grumbled about the price) when the music changed. A slow, syrupy doo-wop tune hummed through the air, and Stan’s expression softened. His fingers tapped against the edge of the table, and he glanced up at you, his eyes shifting with something like uncertainty.

“So. . . you wanna dance?”

Your heart skipped a beat at that question, and for a second you wondered if you had heard him right. You blinked, then smiled. “With you? Absolutely.”

Stan stood, offering you his hand with a cocky grin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, baby. I’m pretty much the king of the dance floor.”

You laughed, took his hand, and let him lead you into the tiny space between the booths. The floor was sticky and the lighting was terrible, but none of that mattered. You moved together, swaying awkwardly at first, but gradually finding a rhythm, Stan's warm hand slid down your back to your waist. In the world around you, it's just the two of you in your own little bubble of retro music and flickering neon light.

The date continued in typical Stan fashion - messy, loud, but weirdly charming. He ordered way too much food, insisting that “you only live once” and somehow managing to spill half a plate of fries onto the floor when his hand gestures got a little too wild. He told stories, some of them most obvious lies, but you could tell that a few were real, even though he never said so. Tales of his past, of scams gone wrong and of the time he got banned from New Jersey. You couldn't help but laugh together with him, because the sheer absurdity of it all made the evening much more enjoyable than you expected.

But just when you thought the night was going smoothly, the universe, and Stan’s luck, had other plans.

You were just halfway through your burger when the sound of sirens cut through the air, flashing red and blue lights flashed in the windows. Stan froze, his eyes widening just a little too much for someone who claimed to have nothing to hide.

“Uh, Stan, what’s with the cops?” you asked, already having a bad feeling.

Stan shrugged, a little too casually. “Probably just grabbing a bite to eat. Y’know, doughnuts and all that.”

Before you could answer, two policemen entered the diner and went straight to the table where you were sitting.

Stan's face changed instantly as he looked at you. “Uh. . . hey, why don’t we, uh, take our food to go?"

“Stanford Pines?” the cop asked, pulling out a notepad.

“Uh, it’s Sta-“ Stan came to his senses in time, suddenly sweating. He leaned forward, trying to give the guy his best innocent smile. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy, officer. I’m just here enjoying a nice, peaceful evening with my girl.”

The cop didn’t look convinced. “We’re going to need you to come with us.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing between Stan and the cop, your heart sinking. “Stan, what’s going on?”

Stan bit his lip, rubbing his neck. “Eh, nothing to worry about, babe. Just. . . might have some, uh, unpaid parking tickets. No big deal.”

“Sta”- you wanted to repeat, but Stan interrupted you, clearly not letting you speak.

He avoided your gaze, focusing on the cop instead. “Look, officer, I’ll take care of the fines. Can’t we, uh, settle this quietly? I’ve got money.” he reached into his pocket, probably for his wallet, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. Was he gonna pay with Stan bucks?

The cop didn’t budge, looking more annoyed by the second. But before you could process what was happening, the waiter reappeared next to your table, holding up the check. “Sir, your total is-“

But before he could finish the sentence, Stan grabbed your hand with a sudden burst of adrenaline. “C'mon! Time to make a quick exit,” he muttered, pulling you towards the door.

You barely had a chance to grab your things as he rushed to the exit, taking you with him, the cop’s voice rising behind you. “Sir! Sir, you can’t just-“

Too late. Stan was already moving at a speed you wouldn’t have thought possible for a man his age, practically dragging you across the diner floor. The bell above the door gave a loud ring as you burst outside, the cool night air hitting your face like a slap.

“What- Stan! What are you doing?” you shouted, trying to keep up as he raced toward the parking lot.

“Trust me, doll, I know what I’m doing!” he shouted back, fumbling with his car keys as you both headed straight for his battered old Stanmobile.

Stan yanked the door open, practically shoving you into the passenger seat. “Sorry, sweetheart, but we’re not getting arrested on our first date!” he said, giving you a grin that was way too proud for a man who’s running from the cops.

You barely had time to buckle your seatbelt before he slammed the driver’s door shut and jammed the key into the ignition. The engine sputtered, wheezed, and then roared to life with a sound like an angry chainsaw. “Atta girl, that’s it,” Stan muttered under his breath, patting the dashboard like it was a horse in an old western.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw a policeman running out of the diner, shouting something into a walkie-talkie. “S-Stan!”

“I see ’em!” Stan yelled, throwing the car into reverse and peeling out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. “Hold on tight!”

The car spun around, almost crashing into a lamp post. You were pretty sure you heard the cop yell something about backup, but all you could focus on was the blurred outlines of trees and neon lights flashing by as Stan raced down the street

“Okay, okay- this is fine,” you muttered to yourself, gripping the door handle hard. “We’re totally fine. Just a casual date. Running from the cops. No big deal.”

Stan burst into a loud laugher, clearly enjoying himself way more than he should have been. “Y’know, I’ve been in worse situations! Once outran a bunch of angry tax collectors in a boat! You’d be surprised what you can get away with if you’ve got the right distractions!”

“Stan!” you screamed in fear, and your heart jumped into your throat as the car swerved, almost hitting a raccoon running across the road.

“Relax, kid! I got this!” Stan assured you, his voice somehow both panicked and excited at the same time. He slammed on the gas, sending the car hurtling down a back road, away from the diner. The flashing lights of the police car in the rearview mirror were getting smaller, but you weren't sure how long it would last.

Just as you were about to ask if he had a plan (or if the plan was just "drive like hell"), Stan suddenly pulled off the road, skidding into a small dirt clearing hidden behind a bunch of trees. He cut the engine, motioning for you to stay quiet.

You sat there, breathless, scared, the sound of your racing heart filling the silence when a police car sped past, its siren fading in the distance.

There was a long, tense pause where you two just looked at each other. Then Stan leaned back in his seat, exhaling deeply. “Whew. Close call. That was cool, huh?” he turned to you, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with sneaking into a movie.

You couldn't help but stare at him, feeling something between disbelief and. . . oddly enough, admiration. Only Stanley Pines could turn a first date into getaway.

“Stan,” you finally said, breaking the silence, “we just fled a crime scene.”

“Eh, ‘crime’ is such a strong word,” he replied, waving his hand dismissively. “More like a. . . misunderstanding.”

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips despite everything. Only with Stan.

But as the adrenaline slowly faded, you could see something else creeping into his expression, something much less cocky and way more. . . defeated, sad even. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, and his shoulders slumped.

“I really messed up tonight, huh?” his voice was quieter now, a lot more vulnerable than you’d ever heard him. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, just staring out the windshield. “I wanted to show you a good time. Prove I wasn’t just. . . y’know, some washed-up old guy who can’t get anything right. And look where we are. Hiding out in the woods, running from cops.” he laughed bitterly. “You probably think I’m an idiot.”

The silence that followed was heavy, you looked at him again. There was something heartbreaking about seeing Stan like this, behind all this bragging and show-off there was a man who truly cared what you thought of him. And right now, he looked like he had failed.

But then, through the trees, you noticed a glimpse of the sky. The full moon hung low, flooding the clearing with a soft silver light. It was strangely peaceful here now, away from the chaos what just happened, and you found yourself smiling no matter what.

You reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “hey, Stan, look up.”

He frowned, confused, but did as you asked, his eyes following yours to the sky.

“It’s beautiful, right?” you said softly. “The full moon, the stars. . . this moment.”

Stan blinked, like he hadn’t expected that. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“And you didn’t mess up,” you added, turning to him with a soft smile. “Tonight was. . . well, sure, it was an adventure, but that's what makes you the man I love. You're not a loser, Stan. Not for me.

He stared at you, like he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying. “You- you really mean that?”

“Yeah,” you answered him, your voice filled with sincerity. “I’d take a wild night with you over a boring, perfect one any day.”

There was a long pause while your words seemed to reach him. And then, slowly, Stan’s face broke into a real, genuine smile. Not his usual cocky smirk or sarcastic grin, just a simple, warm smile.

“Y’know, you’re somethin’ special,” he said softly, his hand tightening around yours. “I don’t deserve ya, but... I’m real glad you’re here.”

You leaned in a little closer, your heart fluttering as the distance between you got shorter. “I’m glad too, Stan.”

The moonlight bathed the two of you in its soft glow, and in that moment, despite the chaos of the night, everything felt. . . right.

[hollyoongs]

Let's go to the beach-each (nicki minaje - starships) Let's go get a wave

ᨓ 。kim donghyun x fem reader ꒰🌊꒱ ﹕fluff ﹕+8.5k contains: surfer!leehan and lifeguard!fem reader, slight enemies to lovers and slight slowburn, mention of the rest of BND members THIS IS FOR THE #SWY EVENT COMING 2 U BY @onedoornet ┈─★

The sun blazed overhead as you stood at your lifeguard post, scanning the ocean for any signs of trouble. Busan’s beach was packed, as always, with tourists and locals soaking up the summer heat. You squinted against the sunlight, and there he was—again.

Leehan, the surfer who consistently defined the rules.

Leehan was the type of surfer who thrived on teasing and stirring up playful trouble, especially with anyone who dared to challenge him. He had a natural, effortless charm, the kind that made people—especially girls—think they had his attention when, in reality, he was always a step ahead, never letting anyone get too close.

His laid-back attitude, paired with his sharp wit, made him irresistible to most, and they often mistook his flirtatious smirks and lighthearted jabs for something more. But Leehan wasn’t one to be tied down or caught up in romantic expectations. To him, the fun lay in the game, not in the commitment, and he enjoyed keeping people guessing, always in control, never truly letting anyone see past the surface.

He rode a wave effortlessly, his form sharp and perfect as he carved through the water. It would’ve been impressive if it weren’t for the fact that he always surfed in the restricted areas, despite your repeated warnings. You huffed, standing up and blowing your whistle loud enough for him to hear, waving your arm to signal him back to the safe zone.

But instead of acknowledging you, he threw you a cocky smirk while waving his hand, returning the gesture, and kept riding the wave. Your blood boiled. This was the third time this week.

After what felt like an eternity of him ignoring you, he finally paddled back to shore, dripping wet and grinning as if nothing was wrong. He sauntered up to where you stood, his surfboard tucked under his arm.

"Something wrong, lifeguard?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, feigning innocence.

"Yeah, there is," you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. "That area is off-limits. You know that."

Leehan shrugged, flicking his wet hair back, and your eyes couldn't lose the opportunity to see his neckbone stretch out, his Adam's apple on full display. "I wasn’t causing any trouble. Just catching a wave."

"You’re going to cause an accident," you retorted, standing your ground. "If you don’t follow the rules, I’ll have to ban you from the beach."

He grinned wider, clearly not taking you seriously. "You think you can handle that?"

Your irritation flared. "Don’t test me, Leehan. I’m here to keep people safe, not babysit rebellious surfers."

"Whatever you say, lifeguard," he said, mocking with his tone, turning away as if the conversation was over. "Just try not to get too worked up over little things."

His winked at you as he left; you watched him walk off, fuming. You sighed and sank back into your chair, the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore doing little to calm your nerves.

Busan Beach was supposed to be a peaceful escape, a break from the chaos of Seoul, where you could spend the summer doing something productive, just like your grandfather had encouraged. Instead, it felt like you had signed up for a full-time job babysitting an unruly, reckless surfer.

Mingyu, the head lifeguard, had warned you about Leehan the first day you showed up in your red lifeguard suit, excited and ready to take on the challenge of keeping the beach safe. He’d pulled you aside and told you in no uncertain terms, “Watch out for Leehan. He’s… persistent.”

You’d laughed it off back then, thinking it couldn’t be that bad. But after a few encounters with him pushing every boundary, you finally understood the exhausted look Mingyu had given you. Leehan wasn’t just persistent—he was relentless.

This rivalry had been building for weeks, and no matter how much you enforced the rules, Leehan never seemed to care. He was infuriating—arrogant, reckless, and completely unaware of how much he got under your skin.

The next day, it was the same routine. You on the tower, keeping an eye on everyone, and him in the water, pushing every boundary he could. By noon, you’d had enough and stormed over to where he was setting up his board.

"Do you enjoy making my job harder?" you asked, voice sharp.

He looked up at you, clearly amused by your frustration. "Maybe I just enjoy getting a rise out of you."

You opened your mouth to fire back, but before you could, a sudden scream cut through the air. You both turned toward the water, where a young boy was struggling in the strong current.

Without hesitation, you dropped everything and sprinted toward the water, adrenaline surging through your veins. You dove in, swimming as fast as you could to reach him, your training kicking in automatically.

Just as you reached the boy and grabbed him, you saw Leehan beside you, his strong arms helping to keep the boy afloat. You exchanged a brief, surprised glance before focusing on getting the boy back to shore.

Once on land, you both worked together to make sure the boy was okay, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. As soon as the boy’s parents arrived, you finally allowed yourself to breathe.

"Oh my God, I told you to not go there without dad! Thank you so much, darling." The mother of the boy hugged you so tight that you thought you were about to have a lack of oxygen anytime soon. You heard claps from the people that saw everything, and you blushed, bowing at them and returning to your tower, not noticing that Leehan was behind you.

You climbed back up to your lifeguard tower, your heart still racing from the rescue. The adrenaline had yet to leave your system, and you were trying to calm yourself when you felt someone’s presence behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Leehan; his familiar energy was unmistakable.

"What now?" you asked, not bothering to look at him as you plopped down into your chair, hoping the waves could drown out your lingering frustration.

Leehan’s voice came from closer than you expected. "That was impressive."

You blinked, surprised by the compliment. Turning slightly, you saw him standing there, no cocky smirk, no playful teasing. Just genuine respect in his eyes. It threw you off.

"You helped," you said, slightly begrudgingly but acknowledging the fact that he had been right there in the water with you, making sure the boy was safe. It was the first time you’d seen him take something seriously.

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Guess I’m not always causing trouble, huh?"

You huffed, leaning back in your chair. "Don’t get used to it. You’re still on thin ice with me, surfer."

Leehan chuckled, the sound softer than usual. "I can live with that." He tilted his head, looking at you with curiosity. "You ever think maybe you’re a little too uptight? Not everything has to be a battle."

Your jaw clenched. "Not everything is a joke, Leehan. Some of us have responsibilities."

"And some of us know how to enjoy life while still being responsible," he countered, that familiar teasing edge slipping back into his tone. "Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Go to hell," you said, and he laughed at you. Well, at your answer. "Thankfully, I will only deal with you for the next two months."

"Two months?" you nodded, answering him while looking at the horizon, seeing how the majority of people were already leaving as a cool breeze started to feel.

"I'm going back to Seoul. Only coming here for my summer vacations and my grandpa." You look to your left, his body leaning against the balcony through which you could see everything, his gaze fixed on you.

You started to take your things, cleaning in the process some of the food you had eaten and writing a report for Mingyu—all of that in the presence of Leehan, who was giving you space.

Both of you left the tower; you left Leehan there, not thinking that he would only take his surfboard and run to you, catching you up.

"Where are you going?" Your eyes narrowed, feeling weird out for his drastic change of behavior.

"My grandpa's house." You pointed at the colorful house; you knew your dad was in the neighbor's house playing cards, so he won't embarrass you with a comment in the presence of Leehan.

The boy next to you let out a sigh. "I only have two months to bother you."

"You already bothered me for a month; I think I can handle two months, sadly."

"Oh, please, you love nagging me. You love me." He sang the "love" word, and you pushed him; he laughed as you once again left him behind. You reached the door of the house, your key opening it easily. Leehan left his surfboard on the sand and putted a hand on your door as you were about to close it. "I'm sorry."

"You wanna know something, Leehan? I love making memories at the beach, but right now you're causing me stress. Please, let me have a peaceful two months," he put a thinking face, looking at you short after.

"I will help you with that," your eyes shinned.

"You're not coming to the beach?" He scoffed at your answer.

"No, but I will help you make memories. Ones that you won't forget." You both stood there, his hand coming to your vision as he put a string of your hair to the back of your right ear. "Only if you let me."

"Good night, Leehan."

As the door clicked shut, you leaned your back against it, your heart still racing. Leehan's words echoed in your mind, that teasing tone now laced with something deeper, something unfamiliar. He'd always been a thorn in your side, a source of frustration, but tonight, something had shifted. His offer—no, his promise—lingered in the air.

"Only if you let me."

You shook your head, trying to shake off the warmth blooming in your chest.

The next few days went by in a blur of routine—keeping an eye on beachgoers, making sure everything was running smoothly. Leehan acted like nothing happened, and so did you. He wasn’t causing trouble like before. In fact, he stayed in the safe zones, and whenever you crossed paths, he’d flash you a soft grin. Keyword, soft.

If he wasn't in the safe zones, he was relaxing under the umbrella; even sometimes he would come to talk to you; no bickering and no fighting. You even got to know more about him; he was applying to an university in Seoul with his best friends; he had a dog; he got his first surfboard at the solid age of six; knowing small things makes you see him less insoferable.

This was one of those days, a small lunch break as he talked to you.

"Hey, can you not go at the same time as always?" You cleaned your mouth with a napkin, your eyebrows frowning.

"Why would I not do that? My shift is over by that." He put a finger between your brows, and you relaxed them.

"You said you want to make memories. Right?"

"Hey, Leehan!" You both heard a male scream. Looking from the balcony, there were five boys, all of them waving at the boy, and for the first time, you could see a big smile on his face.

"Sungho!" He looked at you as he stood up. "Meet me outside the tower. My friends came to surf." You didn't even have time to answer; he left, and you could see through the balcony how he jumped to his friends, making you smile at the brotherly view.

Time flew really slowly, watching the people and Leehan with his friends. You wouldn't admit it, but his friends were as handsome as him, but there was something about Leehan that simply made you look at him more. Just like he said, as you were going down the mini stairs the tower had, you could look at him in the distance with not one surfboard but with two. A few minutes past when he stood in front of you, the surfboards in both of his sizes.

"What are you doing?"

"More like, what are we doing?" He gently gave you a surfboard with a smile. "We are surfing."

"Yeah, there's no way I would do that." You pointed the surfboard, and he opened his eyes.

"Come on! It would be fun; what's stopping? Because, as far as I know, you are on vacation." You gulped, looking down at the sand.

"I don't know how to surf."

Leehan's lips curled into a teasing grin, his eyes lighting up. "You don't know how to surf? You’ve been a lifeguard this whole time and never tried."

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you held your ground. "It's not like I haven’t thought about it. I just never had the chance, and I didn’t want to."

"Embarrass yourself?" He finished, stepping closer; the surfboard balanced easily under his arm. You looked away, feeling the warmth of his presence. "Don't worry. I’ll teach you."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "I don't need a cocky surfer trying to teach me something I’ll probably fail at."

Leehan tilted his head, his expression softening. "I'm not that bad of a teacher, you know. And I won't let you fail. Besides," he added with a wink, "you can’t leave here without making at least one memory that you’ll actually want to keep, right?"

You hesitated, watching as his teasing demeanor slowly faded into something more sincere. The offer was genuine. And there was something in his eyes—something that made you believe, for just a moment, that this wasn’t a game to him anymore. He was serious about making a memory with you.

"Fine," you sighed, taking the surfboard from his hand, the weight of it heavier than you expected. "But if I wipe out, it's on you."

Leehan laughed; the sound was warm and carefree. "Deal."

He guided you toward the water, explaining the basics as you walked side by side along the shore. His usual teasing was gone, replaced by patient instructions as he showed you how to balance, how to paddle, and how to read the waves. For the first time, you saw him differently—not as the rebellious, rule-breaking surfer who drove you crazy, but as someone who was genuinely passionate about the ocean and everything that came with it.

The sun was starting to set, casting a golden glow over the beach as you finally paddled out together. The waves were gentle, and Leehan stayed close, his eyes on you the entire time. "You ready?" he called out over the sound of the surf.

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest as you focused on staying steady.

"Okay, when the next wave comes, I want you to pop up and keep your knees bent. Don’t overthink it, just feel it," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.

You waited, your breath catching in your throat as the wave approached. Leehan gave you a nod, and with all the courage you could muster, you popped up, your legs shaky but holding. For a brief, glorious moment, you were riding the wave, your heart soaring.

Then, just as quickly, you lost your balance and tumbled into the water with a splash.

When you resurfaced, sputtering and laughing despite yourself, Leehan was right there, grinning at you like he’d just witnessed the most impressive feat in the world. "Not bad for your first try!"

You playfully splashed water at him. "I wiped out."

He shrugged, still grinning. "You got up. That’s what counts."

You couldn’t help but smile, your earlier frustration melting away. There was something about the way he looked at you in that moment—like he was genuinely proud of you—that made your heart skip a beat.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you paddled back to shore, the soft sand welcoming your tired feet. Leehan walked beside you, the atmosphere between you lighter, more relaxed. For once, there was no teasing, no arguments—just an unspoken understanding.

"You did good today," he said, his voice softer than usual as he set his surfboard down.

"Thanks," you replied, brushing some sand off your arms. "I guess you’re not such a terrible teacher after all."

Leehan chuckled, but then his smile faded slightly as he looked at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. "You know, I wasn’t kidding about what I said before."

You tilted your head, curious. "About what?"

"About making memories." He stepped closer, his expression more serious now, the playful, carefree surfer gone. "I want you to remember this summer… with me."

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. This wasn’t the cocky surfer who loved pushing your buttons. This was Leehan, standing in front of you, vulnerable for the first time. You could feel the weight of his words, the way they hung in the air between you.

"I…" you started, unsure of how to respond. Your heart was racing again, but this time, it wasn’t because of the adrenaline from the waves.

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin. "I think I’ve been spending so much time trying to get a rise out of you because…" He trailed off, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "I like being around you, lifeguard."

You blinked, the confession catching you completely off guard. "Leehan…"

He gave you a small, nervous smile—something you’d never seen from him before. "I know I can be a pain, but… I think we’re past that now, don’t you?"

For once, you didn’t have a sharp comeback. Instead, you found yourself nodding, your heart pounding in your chest as you took in the sight of him standing there, more open and vulnerable than you’d ever seen him.

"Yeah," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "We are."

Leehan’s eyes softened as he stepped closer, the teasing smile replaced by something warmer, more genuine. "Good," he said quietly, his hand lingering on your arm for just a moment longer than necessary before he pulled away, his eyes still locked on yours. "Then let’s make this a summer to remember."

— : ☆

Another month and a half has passed, and you can’t count how many times you’ve gone out with Leehan. Each time surprises you—once, you were at an aquarium where he wouldn’t stop talking about fish (which was a pretty big surprise, considering how much he loved marine life), and another time you were decorating cookies at his house with his lovely grandma, who adored you.

Leehan had invited you to a quiet café hidden on the outskirts of the beach town, one with a view of the ocean but far away from the usual crowd of surfers and tourists. It was intimate and cozy, with soft music playing in the background and large windows that let in the golden light of the setting sun.

“So, this is one of my favorite spots,” Leehan said as you both settled into your seats. He smiled, but there was a nervousness behind it, like he was waiting for your reaction.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, gazing out at the waves. “I didn’t even know this place existed.”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Told you I had good taste.”

You spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing—about university, future plans, the places you’d want to visit. Leehan opened up more than usual, telling you about his worries about moving and not being accepted for university, about missing the place that made him grow, and about how he wasn’t sure if he was ready to leave behind this part of his life.

“I mean, I love surfing, but it’s not just that, you know?” he said, his voice softer than usual. “It’s… everything. The people. The memories. This summer.”

You glanced up at him, your chest tightening at the way his eyes softened when he looked at you. "You’ll miss it, won’t you?"

“Yeah.” He smiled faintly, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment before looking out at the ocean. “But I’ll miss you more. I like your personality, lifeguard.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than they should have been, making your pulse quicken. He wasn’t teasing. There was no playful glint in his eyes, no mischievous grin on his lips. It was just… him. Honest. Vulnerable.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, you smiled softly, reaching across the table to lightly tap his arm. “I’ll miss you too, Leehan. I like your personality too, surfer.”

He looked down at your hand on his arm, his expression unreadable for a moment before he turned back to you. His hand slid over yours, gentle and warm, sending a shiver down your spine. “This summer,” he began, his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words. “It’s been different. Because of you.”

Your heart raced, the air between you thick with unspoken feelings. You wanted to say something—anything—to fill the silence, to break the tension, but you couldn’t. Instead, you stayed there, your hand still under his, the weight of his touch grounding you in the moment.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the waiter came by with your drinks, breaking the spell. Leehan pulled his hand away slowly, almost reluctantly, and you both shifted back into the comfortable rhythm of your conversation.

But the atmosphere had changed. There was a tension now, a soft, electric current running between you that neither of you could ignore.

As the evening went on, you wandered down to the beach together, the cool sand beneath your feet and the sound of the waves lapping against the shore. The sky was a blend of purples and oranges, the last remnants of the sunset painting everything in a dreamy haze.

Leehan walked beside you in silence for a while, his hands tucked into his pockets. You glanced over at him, noticing the way his brow was furrowed slightly, like he was deep in thought.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, nudging him with your elbow.

He blinked, looking over at you with a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated for a moment before turning to face you fully, his gaze intense. “About creating your next memory”

You looked up at Leehan, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his eyes. The evening had been perfect, filled with quiet moments and laughter, and now, as you stood together on the beach with the ocean breeze swirling around you, his words felt like a promise.

“Creating my next memory?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leehan nodded, his smile softening. “Yeah. I want us to have more moments like this, you know? I want us to remember this summer not just as a time when we were friends but as something more.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady the rush of emotions that were flooding over you. The way he spoke made it clear that this wasn’t just about summer or surfing; it was about something deeper, something real.

“What do you have in mind?��� you asked, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.

Leehan’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of mischief and affection. “It's a secret. And it will take time.”

"Really?" Leehan nodded as he took the stairs to your house along with you.

"Yeah, so you'll be free from me," you said, making a small pout.

"I started to get used to your annoying ass." You opened your door quietly; it was pretty late, and you knew your grandpa was sleeping.

Leehan put his palms on the door frame once I was inside, his face stretched to match mine. "Once again, you prove to me that you…"

"Don't do-"

"Love me." Like the first time, he sang the first word, but on the contrary, one month ago, this time you rolled your eyes with a smirk on your face, pushing him out as he gave you a smile.

"Goodnight, Leehan." You gave him your back to go to the kitchen, but his hand caught your waist and made you spin. Now you were face to face, your hands on his chest for support due to the sudden movement.

The moonlight bathed Leehan in a soft glow, casting a halo around him that made your heart skip a beat. His fingers lingered on your waist, his touch warm and gentle, as if he were testing the boundaries of the moment, unsure if he should take it further or let it fade.

You held your breath, feeling the weight of the unspoken tension between you. The electric current that had been building all evening was finally reaching its peak. His eyes searched yours, dark and intense, as though he was trying to find the courage to say what had been left unsaid for weeks.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I'm going to make this last week with you memorable. I'll give you my word.” Your heart hammered in your chest, and you felt yourself leaning in, pulled toward him like the tide to the shore. His face was so close now, close enough that you could see the way his breath hitched. His lips went to your cheek in the softest way possible.

He took his hands off your body, now a soft smile in his face as he watched you. So ethereal, so beautiful, so unique.

"Good night, lifeguard."

— : ☆

It wasn’t like him to go radio silent, especially after what had happened that night at your house. You found yourself constantly checking your phone, hoping for a text, a call—anything that would explain why he was gone so suddenly. But there was nothing. The beach felt different without him—quieter, lonelier. Even the familiar sounds of the waves crashing against the shore weren’t enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind.

Had something changed between you? Had you crossed a line that couldn’t be undone?

Your grandpa had noticed your distraction, but as always, he kept his words to himself, only offering the occasional knowing smile whenever you seemed particularly lost in thought. It was a week later, though, when he came to you, holding a package wrapped in delicate, sea-blue paper.

“This arrived for you,” he said, his eyes twinkling with a quiet amusement.

You blinked, looking between him and the package. “For me?”

He nodded, handing it over. “From Leehan. He said you’d know when to wear it.”

Your heart fluttered at the sound of his name, and with trembling fingers, you carefully unwrapped the package, noticing something written in the wrap paper.

"Tonight. Be ready at 7. I’ll be waiting on the beach."

Inside was a dress—a beautiful, flowing white dress, simple yet elegant, with delicate lace details around the neckline. It was the kind of dress that felt timeless, like something out of a fairytale.

"How does he know my size?" you whispered.

"I called your mother, and she gave it to me." Your grandpa surprised you, and he simply winked, leaving your room as you admired the dress.

By the time the sun began to set, you were standing at the edge of the beach, your toes sinking into the cool sand. The dress flowed softly with the breeze, and for a moment, you felt like you were in a dream, like you had stepped into one of those romantic movies where the ending was bittersweet but beautiful.

Ahead, you saw it—the soft glow of string lights hanging between two palm trees, illuminating a small table set for two. The sound of distant laughter carried through the wind, and as you got closer, you spotted Leehan’s friends: Woonhak, Taesan, Jaehyun, Sungho, and Riwoo. They were busy setting up the final touches, but the moment they noticed you, they gave you a wave before retreating, leaving the scene just for the two of you.

Leehan stood by the water’s edge, his back turned toward you, his hair ruffled by the wind. He was wearing a white shirt that matched the dress he had chosen for you, and as he turned to face you, his eyes softened. The moon had begun to rise behind him, casting a silver light over the beach, making the whole scene feel like something out of a storybook.

“You look…” His voice trailed off, his gaze lingering on you as if words weren’t enough to capture what he wanted to say. “…perfect.”

You smiled softly, stepping closer. “This is beautiful, Leehan. I can’t believe you did all this.”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “I had some help,” he admitted, nodding toward the group of friends who were now disappearing down the beach. “But I wanted tonight to be special.”

You glanced around at the lights, the candles flickering on the table, and the waves gently lapping at the shore. It was special—more than you could have ever imagined. But beneath the beauty of it all, there was a bittersweet undercurrent, a silent understanding that this summer, this moment, was coming to an end.

As you both sat down at the table, the conversation flowed easily at first—lighthearted, filled with laughter, stories of the past few weeks, and jokes about the lengths he went to keep the evening a surprise. But as the night deepened and the stars began to dot the sky, the mood shifted.

There was a heaviness now, a shared sadness that neither of you could ignore.

Leehan's eyes lingered on yours longer than usual, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on the both of you. The breeze carried the scent of saltwater, the distant hum of the ocean a constant reminder of the fleeting nature of this moment. You took a deep breath, feeling a lump form in your throat as the reality of the situation settled in. Two days. You had two days left together.

“I still haven’t heard back from the university,” Leehan said softly, breaking the silence. His voice was quieter now, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. “I keep checking my email, waiting for something, but nothing yet.”

Your heart clenched. You knew how much he wanted this, how hard he had worked to get to this point, and yet here he was—stuck in limbo, waiting for a future that still seemed so uncertain.

“I’m sure it’ll come,” you said, your voice gentle. “Maybe they’re just taking longer than usual.”

He gave a small, tight smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You both fell into silence again, the weight of the situation settling heavily between you. The string lights above flickered softly, casting warm, golden hues over the table, but they couldn’t chase away the growing ache in your chest.

Leehan leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the ocean. “You’re leaving in two days.”

It wasn’t a question, just a statement—a fact that hung in the air like a cloud over the evening. You swallowed hard, nodding.

“I know,” you whispered, your chest tightening. “It feels like this summer went by too fast.”

He nodded, still not meeting your eyes. “I didn’t want it to end like this. I didn’t want… us to end like this.”

The words hit you like a wave, crashing over you with a force you hadn’t expected. Us. He had said it—acknowledging what had been growing between you all summer, the connection that neither of you had dared to put a name to.

“You know,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want this to end either.”

Leehan’s eyes finally met yours, and in that moment, the vulnerability in his gaze mirrored your own. The emotions you had both been holding back all summer—fear, excitement, longing—were laid bare, unspoken but undeniable.

“Then why does it feel like we’re both saying goodbye?” His voice was barely above a whisper, the sadness in his tone echoing the ache in your own heart.

You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t know how to explain that sometimes things were too perfect to last. Sometimes, no matter how much you wanted to hold on, life had other plans. You reached across the table, your hand finding his, the warmth of his touch grounding you, even as everything else felt like it was slipping away.

“I’m going to miss you, surfer.” You whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

Leehan squeezed your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’m going to miss you too, lifeguard.”

The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of all the things you couldn’t say—how much you had come to care for him, how much this summer had changed you. But there was no need for words anymore. You both knew. The feelings were there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

But you wouldn’t say it. Not tonight. Not when the thought of saying goodbye was already too much to bear.

Instead, Leehan stood up, offering you his hand. “Come on,” he said softly. “I have one last surprise.”

You let him lead you down to the water’s edge, the cool waves lapping at your feet. The moon was high in the sky now, casting a silvery glow over the ocean, and for a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

He pulled you into a slow dance, the sound of the ocean and the distant music from a small speaker he installed, blending together into a soft, romantic melody. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as if he were trying to memorize the feel of you in his arms.

“Thank you for this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. And in that moment, you knew. You both knew.

You were in love.

But it was a love you couldn’t hold on to, not right now. Not when the summer was ending and life was pulling you in different directions.

So, for tonight, you danced. You held on to each other as the waves whispered their goodbyes, as the stars blinked down from the sky, and as the world around you faded away. Because in this moment, you didn’t need to say anything.

— : ☆

You stood in the doorway, phone in hand, staring at the screen longer than you should have. The familiar weight in your chest grew heavier, pressing against your ribs as you swallowed down the lump in your throat. The house felt quieter now, the warmth of last night’s memory still lingering in the air. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, everything felt timeless, like your summer would never end. But now… it was real. You were leaving.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed the voice message icon and tried to keep your voice steady.

"Hey, Leehan. Sorry for bothering you. I know you're probably still sleeping, but my mom came earlier than expected, and…" Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to continue. "I'm leaving right now for Seoul."

A wave of sadness washed over you as you spoke, each word feeling heavier than the last. You paused, trying to collect your thoughts, to say something meaningful, something that could capture the bittersweet emotions flooding your heart. You wanted to thank him for everything—for all the memories, for the way he made this summer feel like something out of a dream.

"Thank you for everything, Leehan. For the beach, for the laughter, for… for making this summer unforgettable." You hesitated, unsure of how to end it. "I’ll miss you."

The words hung in the air, final and inevitable. You released the button, watching the message send with a soft whoosh. It felt like letting go of something precious, something you weren’t quite ready to part with.

You pocketed your phone and turned to face your grandpa, who stood in the doorway watching you with a sad but understanding smile. His arms opened, and without a word, you wrapped yours around him, squeezing tightly. The scent of the sea, the warmth of his flannel shirt—everything about him reminded you of this place, of home.

“I’ll miss you so much, grandpa,” you whispered, your voice breaking just a little. Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away, not wanting this moment to end in sadness.

He patted your back softly, his voice steady. "I’ll miss you too, kiddo. But you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Don’t forget that."

Pulling back, you offered him a watery smile, nodding as you wiped at your eyes. He glanced over at your mom, who was waiting in the car, then back at you.

"You can always come back, you know. This town… it’ll always be here. And so will I."

You nodded, but the heaviness in your heart remained. It was never just about the town. It was about everything that had happened here, the memories you were leaving behind—memories you weren’t ready to let go of, not yet.

With one last look at the house, the beach in the distance, and the path you had walked so many times with Leehan, you climbed into the car. Your mom smiled softly as you buckled in, but you couldn’t return it. Not yet.

The engine started, and as the car pulled away, you found yourself turning back, looking through the rearview mirror at the small beach town fading in the distance.

Leehan stood by your grandpa, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, the bouquet of flowers cradled protectively in his arms. His eyes darted to the road where the car had just disappeared, his face pale with the weight of realization—he was too late. He gripped the flowers tighter, his knuckles white against the delicate petals.

Your grandpa placed a hand on Leehan’s shoulder, his expression soft, filled with the kind of understanding that only comes with age. “You didn’t miss her by much, son. She just left.”

Leehan nodded, but the words didn’t bring him comfort. The ache in his chest only grew as he looked down at the flowers, the card tucked neatly between them, filled with all the words he hadn’t been able to say to you. Five pages, front and back, confessing everything he had felt all summer—everything he had been too afraid to voice.

“I wanted to tell her,” Leehan murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I had time.”

Your grandpa sighed, his hand still resting gently on Leehan’s shoulder. “Sometimes, we think we have all the time in the world. But life… it doesn’t always wait for us.”

Leehan’s gaze lingered on the empty road, his heart heavy with regret. He had planned everything so carefully—every detail of the beach date, every moment leading up to his confession. But now, it felt like it had slipped through his fingers like sand.

"Leehan!" he heard the familiar scream of Jaehyun; actually, all of his friends were running to him with smiles on their faces. Jaehyun was faster than the rest, a paper in his hand shoving in his face.

"God, MyungJae, what is that?"

"Read it!" He took the paper and read it, his energy below zero slowly going up. He could feel the relief when he read, "We are glad to have you, Kim Dong Hyun, at our university."

"I got in," he said, a small smile on his face.

"We all did! We're going to Seoul, baby!" Woonhak screamed, and that's when a bulb turned on Leehan's head. A soft touch on his shoulder made him look at the old man.

"I think you actually have a chance to give her the flowers."

Leehan’s heart raced as the realization hit him. Seoul. He was going to Seoul. The very place you were headed. He had a chance—maybe not to stop you from leaving, but to find you again, to tell you everything he had kept bottled up all summer.

He looked at his friends, who were all celebrating, but his mind was already somewhere else. Turning to your grandpa, who still had that knowing smile on his face, Leehan felt a surge of determination.

“I need to go after her,” he said, voice shaky but full of resolve.

Your grandpa chuckled softly, nodding. “I figured as much. Go on, son. She’ll be glad to see you.”

— : ☆

A month. That’s how long it had been since you last saw Leehan. No messages, no updates from your grandfather—just an aching silence that grew heavier with each passing day. And now, here you were, standing on the familiar beach in Seoul, the same place you came to clear your head. The sky was a fading blend of soft orange and pink, slowly surrendering to the approaching night.

The dress you wore felt like a relic from a time that felt both distant and painfully close—the same dress from that unforgettable beach date with Leehan. Nostalgia coursed through your veins, memories of that night replaying in your mind as the sound of the waves whispered around you.

You sighed, kicking at the sand as you walked closer to the water, unsure why you had returned here tonight. It was as if some invisible thread had pulled you back to this place, as if the universe wasn’t quite done with the story between you and him.

The soft crash of waves filled the silence, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the rhythm of the ocean, your thoughts drifting like the tide.

"That area is off-limits, young lady."

Your heart skipped, your breath catching in your throat as you whipped around at the familiar voice. And there he was, standing a few feet away, wearing that same teasing, lopsided smile that had made you fall for him in the first place. Leehan.

He looked a little different now—more mature, like the month apart had shifted something in him. But his eyes still held that spark, that mischievous glint you had come to adore.

“Leehan?” You breathed, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst from your chest.

He gave you a small shrug, his hands tucked casually in his pockets as he took a step closer. “What? You didn’t think I’d just disappear, did you? Especially after all the trouble I went through for that beach date.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, your chest filling with warmth. “I thought you might’ve forgotten about me.”

His eyebrows shot up, a look of mock offense crossing his face. “Forgotten? You, lifeguard?” He stepped even closer, until he was standing right in front of you, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “Impossible.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, all the hurt and uncertainty from the past month seemed to melt away. But there was still one question you couldn’t shake.

“What are you doing here, Leehan?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, that teasing grin never leaving his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bouquet of flowers. “Well, your grandpa might’ve told me a little secret. Something about how you always come here when you need to think.”

You blinked, your chest tightening at the thought of your grandpa playing matchmaker. “He told you where to find me?”

Leehan chuckled, shaking his head as he handed you the flowers. “Yeah, he’s pretty sneaky for an old guy.”

You took the bouquet, feeling the softness of the petals between your fingers, your heart racing at the thought that he had come all this way just for you. But before you could say anything, Leehan stepped closer, his expression softening, his voice turning serious.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out, his voice rough with regret. “For not calling, for not texting… for disappearing. I—I wanted to. Every single day, I wanted to reach out, but I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if you’d even want to hear from me after I let you down.”

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice. You had been angry at first, hurt by his silence, but now, seeing him like this, so vulnerable and broken by his own mistakes, you couldn’t hold on to that anger.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the truth of it spilling from your lips before you could stop it. “I missed you so much, Leehan.”

His eyes softened at your words, but the guilt in his expression remained. “I missed you too. Every day. And I hated myself for not telling you, for letting my own fear keep me from you.”

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. His touch was warm, familiar, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

"I messed up," he started, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion. "I should have called you the moment you left. Every day, I wanted to text you, to hear your voice, to know how you were doing… but I didn’t. I thought giving you space was the right thing. I thought I was being respectful, but honestly, I was just scared."

His thumb grazed over your knuckles, his touch soft, almost hesitant. "I was scared that maybe you'd moved on. Maybe I was just some summer fling to you and that the second you left for Seoul, I’d be forgotten. But I never forgot you. Not for a single second."

His voice cracked, and he paused, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Every time I looked at the ocean, I thought of you. I thought about the way you used to look at it, like it was a part of you, and all I could think was how much I missed you. How much I miss us."

You felt your heart tighten at his words, the weight of his confession sinking deep into your chest. He let out a shaky breath, stepping closer, his hands still holding yours as if he were afraid to let go.

"You have no idea how much I regret not picking up the phone and telling you how I felt. Because, God, I am so in love with you. I love the way you laugh when you think no one’s listening, the way you get lost in your thoughts when you're staring at the waves, the way you make everything feel right. I’ve loved you for so long, and I can’t keep pretending that I don’t."

His gaze softened, and his voice grew even quieter. "I’m sorry for making you think I didn’t care, for being such a coward. But I can’t let you walk away again without telling you how much you mean to me."

He took a deep breath, his grip tightening just a little as he leaned in, his voice steady but filled with an overwhelming tenderness.

"I love you, lifeguard."

The world seemed to fall away in that moment, the weight of his words settling over you like a gentle breeze. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of emotions swirling inside you—joy, relief, and love. You had waited so long to hear those words, and now that they were here, everything felt right.

A slow smile spread across your lips as you looked up at him, your hand tightening in his. “I love you too, Leehan.”

His eyes sparkled with happiness, and before you could say anything else, he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, filled with the sweetness of first love, but as the moments passed, it deepened, filled with all the emotions you had both kept hidden for so long.

When you finally pulled away, Leehan rested his forehead against yours, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You know, I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”

You laughed softly, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks. “I’m glad you finally did.”

He chuckled, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close. “Get used to it, lifeguard. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

"What do you mean?" He cleared his throat and looked at you.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. I got in, to the university."

Leehan laughed as you wrapped your arms around him, your excitement evident as you squeezed him tightly. The bouquet of flowers had tumbled onto the sand, their petals scattered around as you held him close.

“You got in?” You asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

He nodded, a bright smile on his face. “Yep. Me, Jaehyun, Woonhak… all six of us got in. Last month was moving everything and paper work. So, it looks like we’re both headed in the same direction.”

You pulled back slightly to look up at him, your eyes wide with surprise and joy. “You’re really here.”

Leehan’s grin widened as he nodded again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A wave of happiness washed over you, the feeling of his presence comforting and reassuring. “I’m so glad you’re here, Leehan.”

"And you know why?" You had a feeling of what was about to come. "Because you love me," he said, doing a small dance in front of you. This time, you laughed, your heart jumping in joy.

"Yeah, I do love you, surfer." He kept on dancing, so you took him by the collar of the shirt and kissed him once more.

Leehan’s laughter mingled with the rhythmic sound of the waves, filling the evening air with a playful melody. He stopped dancing when you pulled him closer, your lips meeting his in a kiss that spoke volumes. His lips were warm, and the kiss was both tender and teasing, full of the longing you both had felt over the past month.

As you broke away, he looked at you with a smirk. “You know, I’ve been practicing my dance moves just for this moment.”

You laughed, your eyes sparkling. “And here I thought you were just trying to impress me.”

Leehan’s grin widened, his fingers tracing light patterns on your arm. “Oh, trust me, impressing you is just the beginning. I’ve got a whole repertoire of moves I’ve been saving for our next date.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of future moments with him. Hand in hand, you both walked along the shore, the waves gently lapping at your feet. The night was filled with laughter, flirtatious glances, and the promise of a future together. The summer might be ending, but with Leehan by your side, every moment felt like the beginning of a beautiful adventure.

↷ 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚢'𝚜 note: After contasntly debating into wi¿hich one to put out to the world, here I am giving not only to the network but to the onedoorblr/bndblr my second work! I promise I will post more of my boys, I truly will (and pls the song in the intro has NOTHING to do with it LMAO, I forgot the song I chose before)💗