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#‘roll a survival check’ he says
schrodingerscougar · 9 days
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Note: Wow, the roommate!Simon story blew up. Anyway, here's part 2.
Following his conversation with Johnny, Simon begins to think. He begins to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he’s developing feelings for you. Why else would he be so protective and mad when the sergeant talks this way about you? The thought scares him at first.
For one, being near him is a death sentence, he saw that with his family. He can’t even imagine surviving losing someone he loved again. Then there is another thing, the fact he isn’t sure you would return his feelings. If you didn’t, as he suspects, living with you would be torture, and he’s honestly too lazy to look for a new place to stay.
The next time he arrives home in the middle of the day, the apartment is empty since you’re at your workplace most probably. Not seeing your face brighten at the sight of him makes his heart ache, but he knows you’ll be home in two or three hours, so he can most certainly survive that by lying down to catch up on sleep. He leaves a post-it for you on the small table next to the front door where you always put your keys, warning you that he’s back home.
He’s woken by the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet. When he checks the clock on his bedside, he notices it’s past seven, which means he slept a good four hours without interruptions. The new record of the past weeks as the most he slept peacefully was two hours tops. He climbs out of bed and goes to the living room, surprised to see you in the kitchen, humming a song to yourself as you admire the neatly cut brownies on the kitchen island.
“You’re awake!” you exclaim happily, quickly pressing a button on the coffee machine to make him some coffee too, then pick up an empty plate and put a slice of brownie on it. “Welcome home. Here, try this. I thought you might use some homemade things after being away for so long.”
That damn smile of yours. It’s wide, happy, and it easily warms his heart and makes him smile too. Your good mood is infectious and he finds himself stuffing the cookie into his mouth as he stands next to you, nudging your side with his hip playfully. “It’s perfect, thank you,” he says while chewing, earning a roll of your eyes. You hate it when someone talks with their mouth full, so he quickly swallows the remains and goes, “Sorry.”
You shake your head with a laugh then turn away to get his coffee. Simon can’t help but wonder if this is how things would always be if you were his wife, if you would be this kind and caring all the time. He certainly could get used to this. He wouldn’t believe he deserves all the love, but he would definitely enjoy your attention.
“What got you thinking so hard?”
Simon lets out a questioning hum before realizing he zoned out for a while. “You,” he replies honestly.
“Me?”
“Mm-hmm.” Before you could ask more questions, he moves in front of you, trapping you between the kitchen island and his body as he leans down to you. “I had an interesting conversation with someone and it got me thinking while I was gone,” he says with his lips moving so close he almost kisses you. “Do you have any idea how much I miss you when I’m deployed? How many times do I wonder what you’re doing while I’m away?”
It’s easy to tell, especially from this close, that your heart is racing and your breath is caught in your throat as you watch him. Your eyes are moving back and forth between his lips and his eyes, unable to decide what to focus on. You’re both under a spell that he doesn’t want to break, in fact he wants this moment to last forever, this anticipation before he finally makes up his mind to kiss you. He wants to do it, but he can’t help but think about whether or not you would be against it.
Maybe he thinks too much, maybe his brain is too focused on the negative thoughts, and before he knows it, you move your head to capture his lips with yours in a slow and sensual kiss. Simon is aware that he has issues. He understands that his brain is only on high alert because deep down he doesn’t believe he deserves your attention. After all, he’s not a good man. Well, not always. He does his job like a good little soldier, but the lines are blurry between good and bad.
He knows that you know this too. Shortly after he moved in and found out what he did for a living, you had a lot of questions, many that he simply wasn’t allowed to answer. But you probably sensed that he was keeping things to himself, certain aspects of this position that civilians would never understand. He didn’t want to scare you away, he didn’t want you to throw him out, so he kept his mouth shut. You knew that and never pried for more information.
When your nails dig into the skin on his back in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, Simon finally returns to the moment, returning your delicious kiss while his hands grab your ass and help you on the counter behind you. His lips trail from your lips to the shell of your ear, whispering praises until he feels your hands moving to his belt.
As much as he wants that, he knows he has to stop you. So he reaches down to grab your hands, pulling them away and lacing his fingers with yours as he kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet, love. Let’s go on a proper date first, yeah?” he asks you with a small smile.
You whine, then you beg for more, asking him why you have to go on a date when you've been living together for over a year now. He tells you that the reason is simple; he spent a bigger part of it away from home so you have to get to know each other.
“I know you, Simon,” you push on, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his forearm as you speak. When you see the determination in his eyes, you finally let out a sigh of defeat and say, “Okay, fine. Let's go on a date first. But don't even think about something fancy. Let's keep it simple.”
With a short laugh, he leans down to give you a quick kiss. “Understood.”
Later in the evening, way past eleven, the two of you finally say goodnight and he returns to his room. There's a message waiting on his phone, one that came from Johnny. “I’ll send her a DM if you won't introduce me,” it says.
“Better not. She's taken,” he replies.
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dcxdpdabbles · 2 months
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DCxDP Fanfic idea: Wrong Number
Bruce prides himself in keeping all of his networks secured. If he didn't make it himself, he had the funds and connections to get him the best working on his systems.
He had backup plans in case the systems were ever hacked, of course, but he had yet to encounter a cyber attack that wasn't beaten away by his firewalls or his team.
Babs and Tim were far more feral when booting out unwanted guests. The level of protection was also transferred to his other systems that weren't Batman-related, just to make sure the connection between Bruce and Batman was never made.
That's why he never really checks his personal phone's caller ID, not the one he gave out as Brucie Wayne, but the one Bruce used for his real life without any masks- civilian or vigilante. The only ones who had the number- and the access- were his children and Alfred.
Not even the Justice League- those who were aware of his identity- knew of this number.
Bruce is in the middle of typing up a report for the next Wayne Board meeting when his personal phone rings. He figures it's Dick giving him a call to update him on his drive home or maybe Jason, as his son was planning on going to college.
"Go for Papa Bruce," He says, knowing his kids hate his phone greeting and doing it deliberately to spite them.
There is a long pause where he can't help but smirk thinking his child is either rolling their eyes or cringing too hard to properly speak. Eventually, a voice cracks over the speaker.
"Hello. I'm selling cookies to raise money for my own star. Would like to buy a box from me?" says a boy, not one he has taken in. The voice is young maybe not even double digits yet. Bruce is alarmed.
"Who are you?! How did you get this number?" He demands, yanking his phone to his face and seeing, with a chill, a phone number out of state.
His system had been compromised. By a child. By accident.
"My name is Danny!" The boy chirps. "I sell cookies. Like the Girl Scouts, but I'm a boy, and I don't scout."
"That's rather fantastic, lad. What kind of cookies are you selling?" Bruce asks to keep the boy on the line while sending an email blast to the others. It's a string of numbers that are code for compromise so they all know to close any communication channel until it's safe to get back on.
"Chocolate chip. Mint Slim. Oatmeal and peanut butter. I made them myself!"
Right. Bruce hooks up his phone, tracing the call. The signal bounces off the call, swinging up to a salute and falling back down to earth. In seconds he has the boy's location. It pings in a small town right outside of Star City.
He sends Barry a private message. His friend is already on the way to the location. He'll get the boy in a few seconds.
"How much for a box of chocolate chips? Those are my favorite." Bruce tells the boy, voice whimsical as his Brucie persona demands.
In an unsure tone, the boy pauses, then whispers, "I don't know. No one ever let me get this far."
"How about twenty for a box of dozen? I'll buy five boxes for each of my kids that live at him," Bruce tells him, and the boy gasps.
"That could buy me one whole night in a hotel!"
Bruce's insides freeze. What did he mean-
"Hey! No! Let go!" Danny suddenly screams. Bruce's heart launches- he hates it when kids get hurt, especially those that sound like Danny- until Barry's voice comes over the speaker.
"I got him, Mr. Wayne. Thank you for alerting the Justice League Hotline." That's code for This is not a threat to you Batman and Bruce allows himself to relax just a little.
"Narc!" The boy shouts, outraged, before the call drops. Barry is likely taking over the situation, which means Bruce can leave it in his capable hands.
After reassuring his kids that he is fine and that they are all safe, he suits up and meets the Flash in the Watch Tower. There, he learns that Danny is only seven years old and has been living on the streets for a while.
The boy had been surviving by baking some cookies to sell on the side of the street- where did he bake them? The boy would not say- until he got the bright idea to try to sell through phone calls like he had seen on TV.
He punched in random numbers at the community center phone and gave his pitch about a star, thinking people would be more willing to buy from him if he had an excellent reason.
Barry had left him with CPS, but he looked devastated about that. It turned out that Danny was a meta and had likely been kicked out of his home once it was found out based on what he said of his parents.
Bruce felt he should assure Barry that Danny was fine and look into his placement to help settle his more sensitive teammate's nerves.
He was unhappy that Danny was not in a good placement; there were far too many reports from a concerned neighbor to make him think it was a safe place. Given the fact that placement had a lot of meta kids that "fell through the cracks," Bruce worried he had just stumbled across a trafficking ring.
He would sick Barry and Jason on them. Just to ensure they wouldn't see the light of day again.
Still, that did not fix his mistake with Danny, the little cookie seller.
Bruce hacked into the system to move Danny. He thought about where he would move the young child but ultimately had him in Wayne Manor.
Just until he could confirm that he would be safe. He certainly didn't think about the adorable little boy who called him with his heart in his hand and got sent to a terrible place for three weeks because of Bruce.
Danny arrived at Wayne Manor with a happy little bounce and a chipper outlook on life than Bruce was expecting. "If it isn't Mr. Narc!"
God, he going to adopt the boy, isn't he?
(Danny has been thrown into a different universe, aged down to a child. He survived by overshadowing people into letting him spend the night baking cookies.
He was thrown into a somewhat typical home, but the nosy neighbor down the street took far too much notice of his overshadowing, and now he was being moved again.
Maybe he can terrorize Mr. Narc now instead? )
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reticent-writer · 11 months
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Okay The Hashira taking care of a half human half demon baby? Like the baby can survive on human food and animals and are repulsed by human blood. Like the babies basically are found trying to explore new things like Nezuko in a way
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Demon slayer masterlist Demons with baby reader
✿✼:*゚:.。..。.:*・゚゚・**・゚゚・*:.。..。.:*゚:*:✼✿ 
Shinjuro held you in the air and examined you. Kyojuro left you with his father while he and senjuro went to the market.
Leaving you with a former Hashira wasn't a good idea in hindsight but who would kill a child.
"Half human half demon huh?" He muttered to himself as he watched you move in his arms.
He lowered you to where you were nestled on his chest and he laid back.
Shinjiro and kyojuro came back to see you and their father asleep on the floor in your room.
-------
Giggles could be heard in the Tengen ousehold as it was dinner time.
Tengen was rolling on the floor with you as the girls made dinner.
"Hope the both of you worked up an appetite." Hina came in giggling at her husband on his back with you on his stretched-out feet.
"Ahh lord Tengen you have to be careful with them. They're just a child." Suma came in fusing over to pick you up
-------
Obanai didn't know how to take care of a child so he went to the closest person he knew, Mitsuri.
"Aww look how cute Obanai they eat human food." She gushed as she feed you.
Obanai watched in adoration as he couldn't help but think about how good she is with kids (people in general)
"Cool." Such a shallow response that held back everything he actually wanted to say.
If only he could tell her. (😭)
-------
"What am I supposed to do with you." Sanemi muttered as you crawled all over your temporary bedroom (a small room he didn't know what to do with).
"what do you eat?" He kneeled down to your height. You crawled up to him, using his knees to try and stand.
He poked your stomach causing you to lose balance and fall. You stared up at him, He stared down at you.
you started to huff.
'oh no' the thought 'they're gonna cry'
and cry you did. You screamed your lungs out as he tried everything to calm you down. He even tried to feed you his blood, which only made you scream louder.
He got you to calm down by giving you Ohagi. Turns out you love it almost as much as he does.
------
"Time to go to bed Y/n." Giyuu said as he watched you play with your toys for like two hours.
You turned to him before giggling. Unfortunately for Giyuu, you knew how to run. You stood up and got ready for an unwanted game of tag and hide n seek.
"Don't even try, It's time for bed." Giyuu also got ready as this isn't the first time this happened.
In fact, this happens most nights and Giyuu is always the winner.
You ran out of the room with Giyuu close behind you. You rounded the corner at full speed. Too much speed. You hit the wall. Giyuu was quick to pick you up.
"This is why we don't run in the house." He comforted you by rubbing your head and bringing you to your room. You were asleep in his arms as he laid you down.
------
All Muichirou wanted to do was train but since you were assigned to him his attention was all on you.
Currently, the 2 of you were having a staring contest as you both ate. You copied his movements, and he would just watch.
You never cried, screamed, or made much noise. You and Muichirou got along great.
He brought you to every Hashira meeting and he let you do your own thing.
-----
"Bu" you called to Shinobu from the pin she put you in. It was the only word you could say.
She looked up from her work over to you. You were standing holding on to the bar of the pin.
"Ah someone finally awake." She set her work aside and went to check on you.
"Bu Bu" You squealed as she picked you up.
"I'm here. I'm here."
You were the only reason she never worked herself to death.
✿✼:*゚:.。..。.:*・゚゚・**・゚゚・*:.。..。.:*゚:*:✼✿  
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steddieasitgoes · 10 months
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Eddie, who, as a child, struggled with making decisions, so Wayne gifted him a Magic 8 ball that he could turn to for guidance. Eddie spends most of his childhood carrying around the Magic 8 Ball, using it to decide between mac and cheese (ask again later) or chicken strips (signs point to yes) at lunch or whether he should go talk to the new kid Gareth (without a doubt). 
Eddie slowly starts to make his own decisions but keeps onto the Magic 8 Ball for important, life-changing questions. He asks if he should drop out of school after failing his first senior year (my reply is no) and then again if he should repeat said senior year (it is decidedly so). He even asks if he should start working for Reefer Rick (reply hazy, try again) -- it’s the one time he chose to ignore the ball’s advice. 
Unfortunately, Eddie doesn’t have his Magic 8 Ball on him when the witch hunt starts. He wishes he could ask it if all this hiding and running is going to be worth it. But for once, Eddie has to rely on his own decisions. So he keeps going. Lets Dustin and his friends take him under their wing and protect him. Has to trust that Nancy’s plan is going to work and that Steve is going to make Vecna pay when he nods his head at his request. 
It’s hard trusting other people without having something to double check the universe’s whims on, but he has no choice. 
When he survives and gets sent to the hospital, the Magic 8 Ball is one of the first thing he asks Uncle Wayne to bring him from home. The first question he asks: was any of it real (without a doubt). Oh, how he wishes it was all a dream.
The second question he asks later when he’s all alone: will I get over my crush on Steve (very doubtful). Not pleased with the answer, Eddie pushes the Magic 8 Ball aside and rolls his eyes. What does it know anyway? 
As his recovery continues, Eddie comes to rely on his Magic 8 Ball less and less because he has a group of friends around him who are there to offer their guidance. The Magic 8 ball stays perched on the small hospital table though, always in reach if he needs it. 
He nearly tells Wayne to take it home one night, but he’s glad he doesn’t because in the morning he wakes to find Steve shaking the ball in his hands. 
“Didn’t strike you as a Magic 8 ball kind of guy, Harrington,” Eddie teases, voice thick with sleep and whatever drugs are still coursing through his body. 
“M’not usually, but I needed a little guidance with this question.” 
“Oh yeah? And what does the magic ball say?” 
“It just says yes.”
"Ah, the most definitive of Magic 8 Ball answers.” 
“So I should trust it then?” 
“That depends,” Eddie says, stretching out on the uncomfortable hospital bed. “What did you ask it?”
"I asked it if I could kiss you.” 
Without thinking, Eddie sits up and snatches the Magic 8 Ball from Steve’s hands. He ducks his head, closes his eyes, and mouths his question before violently shaking the Magic 8 Ball. 
It is certain.
“What did you ask it?” Steve asks, stepping closer to Eddie’s hospital bed.
“If you were being serious.” 
“And? What did it say?” 
Eddie turns the Magic 8 Ball so Steve can see the little triangle floating. When he looks up, he sees Steve barely containing the smile breaking out on his face. 
“Guess you better kiss me, Harrington,” Eddie teases. “Don’t want to upset the Magic 8 Ball gods.”
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everythingne · 4 months
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christmas in monaco - cl16
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You are Charles Leclerc’s best kept secret. Twin of his best friend, a racing prodigy, and his secret girlfriend of two years. The first six months had been secret, just to make sure you’d actually survive a relationship, but then Max said something to Charles that made the idea of ever telling him impossible. So you end up here, half in your brothers apartment half in your soon to be fiancés, trying to celebrate two Christmases in one day.
verstappen!reader x charles leclerc, secret dating/brothers best friend
warnings/notes: cursing, jos is there for a bit in the beginning, poorly translated dutch and french, danny is in red bull bc i said so
next chapter..
-
Warm. That was the best way you could explain the way the bed felt as hot breaths fanned across your chest from the head tucked against your neck. One arm draped across your waist, pulling you closer as you stir and reach up to turn off your phone's alarm. The second arm sleepily comes to wrap around your chest, dragging you back into the warmth of your two year secret.
"No," Charles sighs, eyes still closed as kisses are peppered along your neck and jaw, "Don't go..."
"I have to, Char." You murmur, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you sit up and look at your still very sleepy boyfriend who blinks wearily at you and the sun that halos you, "We don't need Max getting suspicious as to why I'm never home."
"I wish we could tell him." Charles sits up next to you, a hand coming up to fix some loose hairs that were sticking up at odd angles against your head. You didn't answer, just humming. A year and a half ago, during the summer break, you and Charles planned on telling Max. He and Charles got along like a house on fire, there was really no reason you wouldn't have been able to tell your brother about your little blooming relationship.
And then Max had said something to you and Charles, moments before you had planned to tell him, about how you were strictly forbidden from dating any Formula racers. For no specific reason. You had played it off like a joke that night, but once you'd returned to Charles apartment a few nights later you realized just how much your brothers words had affected the both of you.
So, you agreed that night it was (questionably) better to keep it secret.
But Charles and Max knew each other like the backs of their hands. They had been destined from the start to be together, even back in the days of them literally hating each other on the track. You had tagged along with your brother, never driving because of your fathers beliefs, before moving away to live with your mother around the age of fifteen. You and Charles had only reconnected when he debuted in F1, and instantly clicked, even before he and Max did.
Somehow through the busyness of your brothers seasons, he had been distracted long enough for him to not catch on. It was even better when you had moved in with him in Monaco and established a good, core friend group you used as your excuse most times. All of them knew if Max called and asked, to say you guys were together last night since you told them every time you went to go see Charles. It felt foolproof.
“You really have to go?” Charles whines, sitting up finally and stretching his shoulder out, “You can’t stay for breakfast or anything?”
Humming out a maybe as you check the time, you roll to your side and then curse, giving Charles a quick peck on the lips before shoving him off of you and down onto the bed. He crashes amongst the blankets and such tangled together from the way you both toss and turn, nearly whacking his head on the headboard as you scamper to your feet and the cool breeze through the window makes goosebumps run along your skin. Leaning down, you grab your jean shorts off the floor and a hoodie you think is one of Charles' old ones you'd been wearing around.
“Ow?!” his voice echoes behind you and you throw a sorry over your shoulder, scrambling to find your bag and other items in his apartment. Half of your life was here, so you were able to find a spare pair of your socks in his drawer.
Getting to his feet, Charles grabs his shirt from the floor and tugs it over his head as he asks, “What is happening?"
“My dad is visiting today and I forgot I had to leave early!" You curse, jumping to slip on one of your sneakers and bending to fix the parts of the shoe that fold under your heel, "Fuck fuck fuck—!”
"Jos?" He inquires, pausing mid movement to scrunch his face at you. As far as Charles was aware, you and Max had some sort of huge blow up fight with your father and now you both no longer spoke to him.
"No, Charlie, my secret second father." You deadpan, turning around as you toss your bag over one shoulder, "Yes, Jos! Who else?!"
"Sorry!" He apologizes and comes besides you to give you a kiss to your hairline as he wipes a bit of fallen makeup off your cheek, "I thought he wasn't visiting this year?"
You know he means to say, I thought you and Max emancipated from him.
"I thought the same." You huff as you step back from his grasp to find your car keys on the bedside table.
He knows you mean to say, Max can't say no to him. It's a problem.
Charles just hums in response, and when you throw your purse over his shoulder and capture his lips in a quick goodbye kiss before rushing out of his apartment, a small smile peeks across his lips. Soles squeaking in the dew covered grass, you make your way to your parked car. Searching the streets as you walk and dipping between two cars when a guy who slightly looks like he could be Max passes, and then you continue down the road.
Monaco was small. It was a little country, beautiful and bursting at the seams with life, but still so small. So, seeing Max, especially if you were out and about, was likely. Every precaution was taken, and luckily your best friend Jolie lived in the apartment building next to Charles', so you could just park your car there to not raise suspicions.
Getting in your car you slam the door, cursing when you see the missed calls and messages from Max.
And... Daniel?
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"I'm back!" You shout, shutting the front door and taking off your shoes and setting them on the shoe rack as you walk in. There's a tense feeling in the apartment and you set your backpack on the ground as Jos smiles.
"Ah, Y/n, how are you?" He says and you cross the room to give your father a quick hug.
"Fine fine, I slept in on accident, otherwise I would've gone with Max to get you at the airport." You sit on the couch next to Max, who's jaw is locked tighter than you've seen it before. The two of you share a look of 'why is this guy here' before your father waves off your words.
"It's fine, how's the degree going?"
"Good good, I'm working on finishing up my degree in Sports Management right now. Charles has been trying to set me up with an internship for Ferrari since Red Bull filled their internships for the season already." You cross one leg over the other and your father nods. Luckily your able to hold civil conversation with him until he takes a rideshare back to the airport. You and Max groan, flopping down on the couches as soon as he's gone and you bury your head in your hands. A typical Verstappen household afternoon.
-
It's fucking hot in Abu Dhabi. Though not as bad as Qatar, you're still sweating through your thin sundress. Wandering into Red Bull's paddock you're greeted by your brother, and then quite literally--and not anyway discreetly, escorted to the drivers room by none other than Daniel Ricciardo who claims he has a sports management question for you.
You know it's not about sports management when he locks the door to the drivers room and turns to you with eyes wide, mouth open in some sort of half grin half shocked expression.
"Charles fucking Leclerc?!" He hisses when you make a vague motion for him to explain and a groan leaves your throat involuntarily. You had been so safe for two years and of course it's Daniel of all people who figures it out. The only other guy who your brother trusts with his life.
"Danny you can't say anything, also why were you even in Monaco?" You snap back, poking Daniel in his throat right above his Red Bull logo on the collar of the fireproofs, your nail digging into the skin there.
"I was stopping by for media stuff," He puts his hands up, stepping back from you, "and how about you answer my question about Charles?"
"I was just--there?" You try and Daniel crosses his arms and looks at you with the most incredulous look in his eyes, head cocked and everything as he laughs.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Well, I--augh, okay," You groan, sitting on the back of the couch in the drivers room, "this isn't exactly easy to say. I'm kinda not trying to tell my brother about this?"
"Woah woah, Max doesn't know?" If Daniel could look more shocked at this point, he does.
"No and he can't know because he'd kill Charles." Your voice is small, frustratedly bringing heat to your cheeks. Other than your small group of friends from Monaco, and some from back home, you hadn't told anyone about this yet, "Do you promise you won't say anything?"
"I can pretend I saw nothing if that will make you feel better?" Daniel offers and you shake your head curling your hand around the edge of the dress you wear.
"Charles and I..." You huff, crossing your ankles, "have been dating for... two years now? I practically live at his apartment in Monaco when I'm not with Max and Kelly. And Max, apparently, doesn't want me dating any drivers so we... can't exactly... tell Max."
"Two and a half years? You've kept this a secret for two and half years and I'm the one who figured it out?" Daniel scoffs, "Honestly, Y/n, I'm impressed."
"Thanks? But I... I don't know what to do, Danny! We wanna tell Max so bad, but if I do I risk ruining everything!" You bury your head in your hands, groaning, "I can't lose Charles, but I can't lose Max either."
"Do you really think Max was serious about that rule?" Daniel asks, sitting next to you, "Because you're a fully grown adult, so like... how much control does he really have over who you date?"
"Well, I am viewed as an extension of my brother so therefore he gets a bit of a say. And if people find out the baby sister of Max Verstappen is dating Charles Leclerc?"
"Point taken." Daniel hums, "Media nightmare."
"Yep." You stand, pacing the room as you talk with your hands, something you'd picked up from Charles at some point, "there have been a thousand times I've wanted to say something! Thousands! Everytime the two of them are together, I can't ever imagine Max being upset about it. But then I get that little gnawing feeling in my gut. I just... can't do it. Because... if I do, and it ends in disaster, I don't know if I'll be able to handle it."
"And if it doesn't end in disaster?" Daniel inquires after you pause. You turn slowly to face him, watching as he tilts his head to further push his question. You've dreamed of it. Finally being able to tell Max everything about it, Charles had made it clear to you he was itching to tell his practical best friend too, and it would clear the main argument you and Charles had.
You laugh, "I'd be the happiest person alive."
--
y/nverstappen made a new post !
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liked by maxverstappen, danielricciardo, lewishamilton, and 238k others...
y/nverstappen: mon nounours <3 j'adore les fêtes
maxverstappen: who?????
⤷ maxverstappen: also when the fuck did you learn french?
⤷ y/nverstappen: i have a tutor or two
user1: omg baby verstappen has a boy???
danielricciardo: 'i can't say anything' and yet u CAN post that. ITS NOT EVEN SNEAKY??
⤷ y/nverstappen: a moment of weakness i admit. ALSO YES THE FUCK IT IS DANIEL
⤷ user2: danny tell us what u know
charlesleclerc: babys first rolex?
⤷ y/nverstappen: im too afraid to wear it !! i dont want it to break or get lost or stolen 😵‍💫
lewishamilton: rolex + bracelet combo perfection
user3: i need to know who shes dating.
charlesleclerc made a new post!
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liked by y/nverstappen, arthurleclerc, danielricciardo, and 289k more...
charlesleclerc: deux ans de toi, mon étoile. pour toujours.
maxverstapen: two years?? and I don't know her???
⤷ charlesleclerc: look i can keep a secret, surprisingly.
danielricciardo: good man
user1: CHARLES SOFT LAUNCH???
arthurleclerc: oh so you left out the part where you've been dating her FOR TWO YEARS??? CHARLES???
⤷ charlesleclerc: oops !
user4: 'two years of you, my star. forever' im going to SCREAM
liked by charlesleclerc
carlossainz: am i allowed to say who she is yet?
⤷ charlesleclerc: no and i still owe you for not locking the door
⤷ user2: HELP???
⤷ user3: poor carlos has been scarred for life.
⤷ carlossainz: honestly it was kinda funny
2K notes · View notes
vanessaedp · 7 months
Text
141 + König reacting to you taking off your mask.
taking off ur bally 😜😜✌️✌️😗😗🫶🫶
warnings: fluff, british slang 😛
FLASHING GIF WARNING
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___
Price
He had known the reason why you wore a balaclava and if he's honest. He hadn't ever expected you to take it off.
That was until today.
It was a simple mission really, do some fancy dress up party and poison the target.
However, to get into the party you need to have a partner
So, you and Price partnered up and went to the party as a fake couple. You wore a simple red dress and he wore a tuxedo.
The day before the mission he approached you. "Planning to paint your mask to match the dress, Sergeant?" He joked.
"No sir." You shake your head. "Actually, I wasn't going to wear it at all but now that you say that I might have another idea." You scoff at Price's dissapointed expression.
On the day of the mission you and Price are sat in a vehicle, he's running through the mission with you and take your mask off.
His look alone sent shivers down your spine. You expected him to look at you with horror or disgust but to your suprise he looked at you with admiration.
"Bloody hell, your beautiful, sarge." He said, his voice raspy and his throat dry.
"Don't get too excited, captain." You laugh.
Ghost
You and Ghost had some things in common.
You both were traumatised at a young age and you both wore masks.
He cared for you somewhat. Like how he cared for Soap
Except he liked you more.
During this mission it hadn't gone well. You had a bullet graze the side of your head and now you were splayed across the concrete floor with Ghost surrounded by mangled metal.
"Wheres the bleeding?" Ghost checked everywhere.
"My head." You mutter, turning your head to show a dark patch on your mask.
"May I?" Ghost's fingers hooked under your mask as if he was going to rip it off anyway.
You furrow your brows and roll your eyes. "It's not like I have a bloody choice, i'm bleeding to death you tosser."
Ghost grumbles something under his breath before peeling the mask off and placing it beside your head.
You swear you see his eyes widen the teeny tiniest bit. His eyes trail down your face for a split second before setting on your bleeding skull. "Right.." He says with a sigh, his voice hoarse.
"Enjoying the view?" You scoff, wincing when he starts treating your wound.
"You wish." He mumbles, his gaze flickering down to your face and lingering there for a few seconds.
Soap
You and Soap had been dating for 3 years. Not once have you taken your mask off.
He doesn't mind but all he wants is for you to trust him.
Soap allowed to stay off while you were recovering from a near-death experience. His left arm was hanging on by a thread after being abushed in a mission. He survived and is now on drugs so he can handle the pain.
You visited after his deployment to see how he was. He acted like a drunk man when he saw you, probably from the drugs.
"Who the feck are you..?" He slurred, his head lolling to one side. "My girlfriend won't be happy to see this.." He mutters.
You giggle and take a seat beside his bed. "I am your girlfriend, Johnny." You look down at his leg. It's stitched neatly. You grimace for a moment. You can handle all the gore in the world but your boyfriends? Now thats a different story.
You hear his heartbeat monitor pick up. "You wha?" He asks, his voice higher pitched and his brows raised.
"I'm your girlfriend." You slowly place a hand on his face.
"Fucking hell." He mutters, his eyes wide. "Are you sure? I'm abit of a twat." He shuffles, trying to sit up however you place a hand on his chest and push him back down.
"If I wasn't your girlfriend would I do this?" You hesitantly lift your mask up and lean close, kissing his cheek. You do this because he'll probably forget about it but its precious to see his reaction anyway.
"Fuck me sideways." He says under his breath, looking at you with admiration. His eyes stare at your eyes then the little scar on your left eyebrow. Then the burn scar shaped like a cross. Presumably from a branding iron. He then stared at your lips. He licked his then spoke.
"Can you do that again? But on my lips this time."
Gaz
"Listen i'm so sorry.. I don't even know how this happened I swear i'll fix it." Gaz protested. He accidentally ripped your mask while in a sparring match, thankfully you covered your face before anyone else saw.
"Gaz, it's fine." You say a little sarcastically. Sure, you were pissed he had ripped your only mask but he offered to fix it so there wasn't much point in being annoyed with him. "I want it fixed by tomorrow."
"Of course. I promise it'll be fixed." He even pinky swore on it.
After a long 12 hours of being in your room without letting anyone in with fear that they will see you without your mask you hear a knock at the door. "Gaz?"
"I've got your mask. Can I come in." He asks, twisting the door knob.
"Alright.." You mumble and sit up. Watching the door open and Gaz step in, he shuts it behind him and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you.
"Christ." He swallows hard. "You don't really need this mask, do you? It's only a silly balaclava." He waves it around.
"Kyle give it here." You hold your hand out and Gaz sighs, walking up to you and handing it over. He visibly tenses up when your hand brushes against his.
"So does that mean you'll wear it less around me?" He sounds excited, his eyes fixed on your face as you slipped the mask back on.
"Don't get your hopes up, mate. Thanks for fixing it though." You stand up and give him a wink, hitting his shoulder playfully.
König
"Jesus christ how do you wear your hood for so long." You sigh, blowing raspberries through your lips and lifting the bottom of your mask up to let some air through.
It was a heatwave at the base and you were MELTING
"Mine's baggy. More airflow." König stared down at you, his arms folded across his chest. "Why don't you take it off?"
"Fuck off you manky wank-stain." You laugh, shaking your head. "Bloody hell." You whine, the heat irritating you.
"I have a spare hood if you want it, liebe." He offered. "Come." He gestures for you to follow him and you do. He takes you to his room and he rumages through his drawer, tossing you a shirt with two holes in it.
"The bloody hell is this?" You giggle, looking at the massive shirt. "Your a size.. XXL?" You look at the tag.
"Just put the shirt on, selbstgefällig." He rolls his eyes which widen when he sees you take your mask off. It was truly a beautiful sight. Your cheeks pink and flushed from the heat, some strands of hair stick to your forehead. It was all interrupted when you slipped the shirt over your head.
"Schatz.." He mumbles. "Your very pretty, you know. You don't need it." He holds his head low.
"Thank you, König thats very kind of you." You smile under the shirt and adjust it. "Thanks for the hood aswell." You step forward and cup where you think his face is from under the mask. "I'll wear this more often."
You leave the room, leaving König flustered, flabbergasted and head over heels in love.
___
here u go pookies come here and kiss me
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mochie85 · 9 months
Text
Laced Intentions
One-Shots Masterlist Complete Masterlist
Summary: You try to seduce your new lover with lingerie that he can't resist. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 3.2K Warnings: SoftDom!Loki, jealous Loki, hand works, slight degradation, rough seggs, lots of thrusting, fluff, happy ending (as always). A/N: Thor, Steve, and Bucky make a brief appearance. This fic was inspired by a TikTok I saw by Delacruz Collections. Check out their store. Or their TikTok. GIF of the actual set after fic. Dividers: @firefly-graphics
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You needed to hurry. Loki had texted you saying he would be home soon, and you had to finish getting all the little straps tightened and make sure that everything was secured. Tonight was going to be the night.
You and Loki had just started this relationship and have yet to do anything more than heavy petting and heated make-out sessions. You knew it was because he was cautious around you. He was scared that he didn’t know his own strength. He could get lost in the moment and unknowingly hurt you.
You told him that it was ok. You trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you purposely. Even so, you wouldn’t mind it being a little rough. Especially if he was the one commanding you and your body. But he wouldn’t relent.
You’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way his eyes devour every inch of your body. Licking his lips and rubbing his neck. You knew he ached for you. Just as much as you craved him.
He said so himself one night, as you straddled his lean frame and pushed him down on your bed. You had his hard dick in your hand, stroking him up and down, as you rubbed it against your needy clit. The pulsing veins on his hard cock kissing your wet lips, tantalizing your release. “…f-fuck…don’t stop, pet,” he panted. His eyes rolled back as his head sunk further into the pillow.  
“Baby…I need you inside me,” you whimpered as you continued to stroke him closer and closer to his release.
“Oh, gods! I want nothing more than to be inside you,” he said, his eyes closed from the exquisite torture you were giving him. He didn’t see you line yourself up over him. His leaking tip, red from need, eagerly crying to be inside you.
But Loki was quick. In an instant, he pinned you down on the bed before you could sink yourself onto his throbbing length. Both of your hands were suspended above your head in one of his strong grips. He continued to grind himself against you, making you cry out his name.
“Ah, ah, ah. Naughty little thing. I told you we can’t.”
“But you said-” he kissed you fiercely, making you forget the rest of your words as he expertly made you cum from his grinding alone.
You sighed at the memory.  Loki is such a passionate lover hiding underneath false notions of your fragility. You rolled your eyes at your many attempts to seduce him and convince him that you are not as fragile as he thinks you are. You can take whatever he wants to give you. And God did you wish he would give it all to you!
So when you first saw this lingerie masterpiece of sex and eroticism, you were left speechless. You clenched your thighs just imagining what Loki would do to you when he saw you in it. Green satin straps and ribbons were constructed and held together by gold hooks and clasps. The garter and cuffs were attached by a dainty gold chain, leading back to a central choker on your neck. Each strand was decorated with small baubles of crystal that sparkled under the light, connecting all the pieces to you. You only hoped that the links would survive his rough hands. It was rather pretty and you’d hate to see it broken.
You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror before you heard the latch of the front door. He was finally home! You put on your silk robe, leaving it untied so he can see a peek of what was underneath, and you walked out of your bedroom.
The clack of your heels echoed in the hallway, announcing your arrival. The first person you spotted was Loki. His eyes met yours and then traveled down your body in the most ravenous way possible. The beer he was about to put against his lips, forgotten. As were the words in his mouth. You stood at the threshold, surprised to see that Loki wasn’t alone. It was only now you registered the other voices and laughter you heard only seconds too late.
The room went quiet as you noted the other people in the kitchen. Steve, Bucky, and Thor, each with their own pizza box in front of them, had gone quiet. Watching you in shock. You were thankful you had put on your robe, at least, even though it was still open. Everyone could see what you were wearing underneath.
Oh fuck, you thought. Well, there’s no point hiding now. Smiling with fake bravado, you greeted Loki home. “Welcome home, handsome,” you said giving Loki a chaste kiss on his lips. “I didn’t know we were having company over. I’ll go change.” You smiled and turned to walk away.
“Hi, Y/N.”
“Gentlemen,” you smiled and nodded.
“Bye Y/N.” The trio said in unison as you walked back into the bedroom to change.
Brief silence overtook the room as the men’s eyes darted between a stunned Loki and where you escaped to. “Listen, if you don’t go in there right now…” Steve pointed to your bedroom. “I will personally take Bucky’s arm off and beat you with it!” Steve threatened.
“Or, you know…I could go in there.” Bucky offered, earning a snarl from Loki’s lips.
“Leave! Now!” Loki ordered.
“Right. See ya tomorrow,” Steve said with a casual salute.
“Pfft! Knowing my brother, he will most likely take all night, and all day tomorrow too.” Thor laughed as he gathered his pizza box and a six-pack of beer.
Bucky just laughed, punching Loki in the shoulder. “Let’s go to Sam’s. That guy doesn’t have a sex life.” He said to the others.
Loki stood there, still trying to process what he saw, as each man clapped his shoulder in parting. The creak and latch of the front door closing brought Loki back to his present mind.
He stalked down the hallway, following the subtle hint of your perfume. He inhaled deeply, your scent driving him mad.
The first thing he saw when he opened the bedroom door was your robe, discarded on the bed. He followed your gentle humming into the closet where you stood looking through your sundresses. Loki quietly walked in, blocking your escape. He noted your skin, radiant and perfect, complimenting the shiny satin of the straps holding you together. Loki’s eyes followed the gold chain that dripped from your neck down to the garters and matching cuffs they hooked onto.
“That was quite a show parading into the room like that,” he said in your ear. His whispered breath tickled you, making you shiver.
“I didn’t know we would have company. Let me just pick a dress and I’ll join you shortly.”
“Will you continue to wear this underneath?” he teased, knowing full well that everyone had already left. His breath fanned the side of your face. His fingers ghosted over the ribbons, tracing them down your hips.
You craved his touch, patiently waiting for him to connect to your body. “Touch me, please” you prayed.
“Oh, and why should I give in to your requests, kitten? You’ve been awfully naughty.” His hands continued to eclipse your body. You could feel the heat from his palms traveling up and down, tracing the many straps and where they lead to. You closed your eyes at the sensation. The anticipation. Loki was a master at building you up.
“I…I didn’t know…this was only meant for you,” you whined.
“I think you did know,” Loki scoffed. “I think you wanted to make me jealous.” His voice got deeper. More dangerous. “So jealous that I would have to claim you. Is that what you want, darling? For me to claim you in front of the others? So desperate to have my cock inside you that you would parade yourself in this seductive little number so that I might take action. You should’ve seen the way Barnes was looking at you.”
“Loki, I-”
“Hands up.” He commanded and you obeyed quickly, holding on to the bar that hung all your clothes. Loki kicked your heels apart, spreading you open, and making you bend at the waist. He placed himself behind you.  His palm spanked you on your right side making you scream out and moan. It didn’t hurt. It never hurt with Loki.
“You were so brazen. Only I get to see you like this. Do you understand?” he charged as you heard the buckle of his belt loosen, the zipper of his pants being opened. He grabbed your hair gently and pulled you back to him.
“I was only trying to surprise you. I didn’t know they would be here!” you moaned as you fought hard not to bite your lip. His fingers finally caress the pulse point of your neck, trailing down to the valley of your breast. His hands got caught in the chains and you can hear the soft clink of them breaking in his grasp.
He cupped your sex, making you mewl to his touch. “This is mine, and mine alone!”
“Yours…” you sighed.
“Again!” he said dipping his agile fingers inside you.
“Yours…sir,” you said barely above a whisper. Loki closed his eyes, savoring your submission.
“Oh, you are sinful!” Loki said, his resolve breaking. “I try to be good. I try to protect you from me. But you seem hell-bent on breaking me don’t you, kitten?” His lips crashed into yours. He sucked on your lower lip as his fingers continued to work your clit.
You pushed back against him, feeling his hard erection against your back. “Please…Loki…sir.”
Loki grunted in defeat. He took a deep breath and looked straight into your eyes.  “If we do this, kitten, I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle. I’m scared I won’t be able to stop once I have you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You can never hurt me, Loki.” You tried to shine your love through, showcasing how much trust you had for him.
He turned you to face him, capturing your lips in a strong but zealous kiss. He spoke in between teeth and tongue, your breath mingling with his, “If it gets too much, tell me.”
“It won’t be too much,” you tried to reassure him.
“You will tell me!” he growled, backing you out of the closet and into your bedroom.
“I’ll tell you. I promise,” you assured, looking deep into his ocean eyes.
“Good!” With that one word, he picked you up by your upper things and carried you towards the bed. You wrapped your legs around his waist as his fingers toyed with the garters gripping your thighs.
“This is beautiful, kitten,” he breathed. His cock struggling in between your pressed bodies. His teeth found purchase on the skin of your shoulder. “All wrapped up for me like a little present.” He threw you, almost carelessly, on the bed. You preened at how easily he was able to manhandle you. How effortlessly he was able to manipulate your body. You watched him take his shirt off, exposing the hard planes of his abs. The definition of his lean muscle guiding your eyes down to his exposed cock.
You felt the bed dip when he knelt in front of you. He pumped himself, once. Twice, before he teased your entrance with his stiff girth. “Loki, please. Don’t tease me.”
“Like the way you teased me with this?” he pinched the gusset of your thong and let it go, snapping the fabric on your overstimulated folds. It stung with painful pleasure as you cried out. He pushed the gusset to the side as he eased himself inside you. First, his massive tip, pulling it in and out. Teasing you relentlessly of what’s to come. Then, inch by inch, he sheathed himself inside you. Filling your walls.
Loki lost his sanity. To finally be inside you. Inside your warmth and your passion. To be surrounded by your scent and your moans, he couldn’t handle it and he was slowly going feral with each inch he fed your eager cunt. When he bottomed out, you cried as his pelvic bone rutted against your sensitive nub.
“You feel so good, pet. Better than I had ever imagined,” he said breathlessly as he started thrusting. His fingers curved around your supple thighs, bruising marks of purple and blue. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. Each gasp of air only fueled your desire for him even more. He felt so good.
So. Damn. Good.
With each stroke he would take his tip to your entrance, stretching you, and then push back inside. Loki filled you like no one has done before, and most likely never will.
“Awe, my poor darling-” thrust. “What’s the matter?” thrust. “Have I rendered you speechless?” thrust. “I thought this was what you wanted?” You nodded your head, whimpering like an untouched virgin.  He spread his thighs further apart on the bed, pushing your knees closer to your chest, to receive him deeper. He held your shoulders down, your body sinking into the silken mattress, keeping you immobile and unable to escape the onslaught of his hard cock.
“You’re going to be good for me, right kitten? You’re going to take all of me in.” He commanded, his voice barely above a whimper. Loki was going to lose it soon and he knew it. You felt so good around him. All it would take was a few more strong thrusts and he would scream out your name to the heavens.
With his new position over you, he started diving faster. More aggressive. He pushed himself further inside you. Down to his hilt, sheathing himself inside your heated folds. “Loki!” you yelled out. You grabbed hold of his arms, your nails digging into his skin leaving half-moon marks. You squeezed his cock tighter, and you were rewarded with the deepest, most beautiful, feral sound coming from his lips.
“Ah- fuck! That’s it pet, squeeze me. Gods, you feel so good. I might just have to leave myself inside you.   -heh- Would you like that, kitten?” thrust. “Want to be my cock warmer?” thrust. “Keep me cozy all night?” thrust.
You simply nodded your head. You knew Loki asked you a question, but you couldn’t make sense of anything right now besides the feel of his hard length stretching you open, over and over again.
“I asked you a question, darling,” he said grabbing your chin and squeezing your lips to pout. “I made you into a little cock-slut haven’t I?” thrust. “Can’t seem to think at all can you?” thrust.
“…Loki…” you called out with each slam of his hips.
“That’s all right. As long as it’s my name you’re calling out. My name that you’re begging for.” Loki looked down at you. Your skin was aglow from the beads of sweat and pleasure. Your hair was a crown above you tangled in a mess. And your lips had captured one of his fingers still holding onto your chin, sucking it down to the webbing of his hand.
With a pop, he took his finger out of your mouth and drew it down your neck, leaving a cold trail on your heated skin. “I’ll have use of those talents later, my dear.” Loki laid his weight on top of you, caging your head in between his arms. His sweet lips sucked hard on your salted skin leaving you crying out for more. Your hands were left clawing his back as he grunted and moaned into your ear.
“I…I…can’t…Loki…youfeel…m’soclose…” you were incoherent. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t talk. The only thing on your mind was his name. “…Loki…”
“Cum for me, kitten. Cum with me,” he growled in your ear. Your whole body tightened up. You dug your nails deep into his back and screamed your release as he slammed himself down on you hard. He grunted his pleasure in your ear, releasing a savage growl that shook your body beneath him. The euphoric wave wouldn’t stop. Loki remained still, but you could feel him throbbing inside you, coating your walls, sending you spiraling into delirious bliss.
He remained on top of you, unable and unwilling to move away from your exquisite sex. The first thing you felt after coming down from your high was Loki’s soft lips on your neck. You turned and captured them with your own, pulling his weight further down onto you.
“Are you all right, darling.” He whispered tentatively. “Did I hurt you at all?”
“Wh-what do you mean? I feel so good, baby. You feel so good!” you said smiling.
“Was I too rough? I must’ve been. I can see my marks all over your neck.” Loki lifted himself off you and he found your lingerie shredded and clawed to pieces around your sheets. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I was worried this would happen. I didn’t mean to hurt you…” Loki started rambling.
“Hey, hey, hey.” You tried to quiet him down. “Loki, look at me! I’m not hurt. I feel wonderful.” You held his worried face in your hands and soothed his hair out of place. “Did you enjoy it?” you asked, and he nodded his head. He laid next to you, spooning you.
“Every second. Every thrust,” he said, burying his nose in your hair. “I just want to stay wrapped in your warmth forever. I don’t know why we waited so long.” You laughed at his admission. You lay there in his embrace, replaying the sinful moment in your head. Smiles on both your faces as you stole kisses from each other.
Until you remembered something. “Come on. The guys are probably sick of waiting for us,” you said trying to get out of bed.
“They left a while ago,” he finally confessed. Loki aggressively pulled you back onto the bed and into his arms. “I told them to leave as soon as you walked back in here to change,” he declared, straddling over you, pinning you back down on the bed.
“I’m afraid you’ve unleashed something in me, dear,” he said as he took one of your discarded ribbons and tied both your hands up with it. “Now, I did say that I was going to see to that mouth of yours, didn’t I?”
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“Does Loki know you have a key to his apartment?” Bucky asked Thor.
“Of course he does. He’s my brother. He’s the one that gave me this key.” Thor said trying to act nonchalant.
“Come on guys. Grab the beer, and let’s go. I don’t want to miss the game.” Steve tried to hurry them. Thor opened the doors and all three men walked in looking for the forgotten twelve-pack that was left on the counter.
“Oh, Loki! Oh, fu-baby don’t stop. Don’t stop! Yes. Yes. YES!”
The three men paused hearing you scream from your bedroom. Steve blushed a strawberry red and walked right out the door.
“I just learned my lesson! Never come here uninvited.” Thor said shaking his head. He pocketed his key and followed Steve.
“Lucky bastard!” Bucky chuckled as he grabbed the beer and locked the door.
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2K notes · View notes
bookbrokelibrarian · 2 months
Text
Coming Home
141 x cook!reader pt. iii
Warning: swearing, F!reader
This is a long one-
You knew that every soldier in base had their own duties to respond to. 141 was no exception.
With how much Soap groaned that he wished you could come with them, give them the food they desired to have the passion to complete their missions,
You almost caved in and listened to his plan of smuggling you in the crates.
But no. There’s others that need that same passion. But you did send over some energy treats you survived on back at the behavioral camp.
Gaz and Price stopped by to say goodbye, and Ghost stopped by to help check how much MRE’s crates they would need.
You didn’t need to help with that, but the conversations you had was well worth it.
“L.T. You gonna miss my cooking while your gone?”
“Course I am. Anything beats boiled fucking eggs. Do me a favor and make pancakes when we get back yeah? The ones with the blueberries in em.”
“You got it.”
You even got to make them breakfast before they had to go.
With a final good bye you were left to your own for a month.
Dealing with the rookies was a new kind of vibe. You requested your team to be of the same people as day one, which was surprisingly easy. But rookies come n go in different forms.
Cleaning crew for example. My gosh you can write a list for how often you have to re-clean equipment.
At first it was just a few suds that stained the steel, then the floors just weren’t swept. Eventually you told HR, since Price wasn’t around, that your team would handle kitchen cleaning.
But then the rookies just got so messy!
You didn’t understand! They were never like this before
Well, reader, it’s cause 141 we’re Team: don’t give Crook a hard fucking time.
With them gone there’s no one out there actively staring them down to clean up after themselves.
Your crew came to you furious one afternoon.
“Crook, they’re tossing the plates and cutlery in the fucking trash cans!”
“We have to dig them out!”
One idiot straight up took the ladle for scooping one of the food trays!
Now you’re cut short on team cause you need supervision in the Hall.
Which is so upsetting. These are grown adults!!
One day- you get a snob in your fucking line.
“You guys don’t have anything healthier?”
“Sorry?”
“This is all greased up shit.”
Your sleeves are rolled up the forearm.
“This is breakfast. It’s 5 am. Take the shit provided for you or eat the fucking cereal in the dispensaries for all I care.”
The little shit reported you to HR!!
You had to revert to the provided base recipes since the ones you provided stated it was too much unhealthy cholesterol.
You understood soldiers needed a balanced meal, but these soldiers are in the best task force in the fucking UK. They burn calories in their fucking sleep.
When the month passes, your heart utterly breaks when your favorite Sergeants greet you with tired and zoned out faces.
This one was a tough one.
Ghost was in bad condition. Price was furious with intel providers. It was rough.
Oh but what breaks your heart more is they light up seeing your food, only to falter just seeing the COLOR.
“Crook? You try something new?”
You bite your lip and shrug. “It was uh…rough while you guys were gone. Someone higher up decided I needed to change stuff in the recipes.”
“Whot?!”
Soap’s exclamation has the whole Hall silenced.
“Fuck you mean they told you to change it?!”
“Does it even taste the same?”
Gaz picks up a piece of the tater tots and stops chewing, looking at you.
“Mate. No.”
“No?!”
“Crook, this is this crap people make fun of us for. This shit has no seasoning. Where’s the bloody salt?!”
“Why’s it not glistening with the butter you make yourself?”
“I don’t use that anymore we bake it.”
“You WHAT?!”
Oh sweet summer child.
Word gets back to Price about the shit food, and he comes to see what the fuck if going on for himself. There’s not a lot of people in lunch hour, which honestly breaks his own heart.
He knows how much you pride yourself feeding his soldiers. And there’s so many of your team members out n about. They’re serving the soldiers. When did that happen?
He finds you in the freezer, your arms crossed above your head, pacing around.
“Crook?”
You jump in surprise. “Jesus! You scared the shit out of me, Price.”
“Whas goin on?”
You run a hand down your face in frustration, he can see it in your eyes. Or the eye bags under your eyes.
“I had to be here at fucking 1 am. Didn’t get out till 11. Had to pack up so many leftovers, John.”
“Left overs? That’s a thing?”
You raise your hands. “Now there is!”
You never were much of a cryer, but the frustration and the exhaustion brought a mist in your eyes.
“All because some rookie didn’t want my ‘greasy’ food. These punks never had a mother! I’m sure! No mother would ever teach their child to be such slobs! I had to get half of my team to supervise- Price- SUPERVISE!”
He holds his hands up, and places them on your shoulders. “Easy now, what you mean slobs?”
You don’t even say anything you’re so furious. You grab Price by the sleeve, dragging him out. You point to some of the tables that still haven’t been cleaned cause your crew was spread thin.
There’s pieces of food all over the tops of tables, under benches, and even cutlery left behind.
Then you drag him to the garbage bins and rip open the bottom cab door.
“Look at this shit-“
Ungloved, you pull out cups, plates, forks, spoons, even a fucking spatula that was supposed to be in one of your teammates hangs. Must’ve been distracted with how many soldiers come in.
“Only the rookies come to eat cause they’re not used to how my food tasted like, the seasoned ones stopped coming. I don’t even know what the fuck to do!”
Price sighs in frustration, his hands on his hips. “Shut it down for the week.”
“…what?”
“Shut it down. I’ll fix this. Just take a breather, why don’t you visit Simon? He’s been asking for you.”
You blink up at the Captain.
Oh Simon…
You had the crew clean up and told them to take the week off. Jason, the sweet guy he is, gives you a big ol bear hug. And other follow in suite.
“You’re a great person, Crook.”
“You really are, things will change, good things always come to good people.”
You relaxed a bit after that.
The next thing you know your knocking on Ghosts door frame.
He’s got a cast on his left arm, bandages from his right shoulder to his left side torso, and a boot.
“You look…terrible.”
“Yeah well…heard you’ve been having a shit time without us. I can see it on your face.”
You’d it with him for a few hours, apologizing for not making him his pancakes.
The week flys by like nothing and Price asks to see you in HR.
When you get there, Price is elated to see you. “Right on time!”
You see the HR lady, with a very irritated twitch in her eye.
Price managed to dig around and found out that the recipes they wanted you to copy, were the same ones the old cook used.
“Miss Copper, I’m sure you’re aware of why we had to rid of our last cook yes?”
She sighs. “Captain-“
“Ten of my men got food poisoning in the two years he worked here. Now I know two years is a lot but these gentlemen were out of commission for a solid week.”
Your perplexing face was enough to amuse Price.
“Two cases of salmonella in two weeks, miss copper. Now Miss (L/n) here, hasn’t had a case like that happen yet. She’s been with us only a few months now though, so I guess my argument is flawed-“
“Captain-“
“(L/n) you wanna tell Miss Copper where you were last stationed at?”
You frowned, opening your mouth before sputtering, “Leeway’s Behavioral Sanction.”
The HR lady’s face visibly relaxes. “That…sounds familiar doesn’t it…miss copper?”
You’re so fucking confused.
“Uh…Price?”
“I sent…my son there…”
You straighten your back. “Oh? What was his name?”
“David.”
You frowned. “I’m sorry Miss Copper I didn’t know a David Copper- I knew a David Seary?”
She nods. “I remarried. My Davids last name is my ex husbands…he loved your food.”
Well…how bout that. No further point was needed to be made. All thanks to the sweetheart David, which your food won his heart over. HR gave you permission to continue. Now as for the rookies.
They were on supervised cleaning duty. Gaz and Soap had no issues volunteering to do such supervision, after every meal rush.
Ghost was there one of those days too, eating mini blueberry pancakes since he couldn’t use a fork n knife.
He shouted at the same snob rookie that started this mess, making sure he knew that the plates went into the dish bin and not the trash cans.
Everything went back to normal!
“Slow down, L.T. You’re eating too fast-“
“Crook I havn’t had a decent meal since I left this bloody place, we’re gonna have to move you to the hospital kitchen cause that shite should not legal to serve.”
612 notes · View notes
dylobilysmomg · 2 months
Text
Motel Fever
𝗙𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺: 𝗧𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗪𝗼𝗹𝗳
𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: 𝗦𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗦𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗸𝗶 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿
𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀: 𝟯.𝟭𝗸
𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪! 𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹 (𝗳𝗲𝗺 𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴), 𝗽𝗻𝘃, 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝘅, 𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀
𝗢𝗻 𝗥𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗮𝘁: 𝗦𝗻𝗮𝗽 𝗢𝘂𝘁 𝗢𝗳 𝗜𝘁 𝗯𝘆 𝗔𝗿𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗠𝗼𝗻𝗸𝗲𝘆𝘀
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
𝗔/𝗡: 𝗜 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗮𝘄 𝗗𝘆𝗹𝗮𝗻’𝘀 𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗻𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗲. 𝗜𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀, 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗴! 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗺𝘆 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 (𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗵 𝘁𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘀!) 𝗠𝘆 𝗟𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗲. 𝗡𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗴𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. 𝗟𝘂𝘃 𝘆𝗮!!
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𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗴𝗶𝗳!
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I groan from beside Allison, taking a look at the disaster coach calls a motel.
“I’ve seen worse.” Scott says, and I scoff. “Where have you see worse?” Stiles replies, rolling his eyes. I pull my jacket closer to my body, trying to shield myself from the wind the storm brings.
The track team circles up as Coach speaks up. “Listen up! The meet’s been pushed til tomorrow.” There’s a groan that comes from just about all of us in unison at that. “This is the closest motel with the most vacancies and the least amount of good judgment when it comes to accepting a bunch of…degenerates like yourselves. You’ll be pairing up, choose wisely.”
Me and Allison walk up and grab a key from Coach, checking out the number and practically stomping to our room. Scott and Stiles close behind us.
“And I’ll have no sexual perversions perpetrated by you little deviants, got that? Keep your dirty little hands to your dirty little selves!” Coach shouts as everyone makes their way to their rooms for the night.
“I can’t believe this. How much you wanna bet we wake up to a cancelled track meet tomorrow.” I complain, approaching our motel room, which is oh so conveniently right next to Scott and Stiles’ 𝘖𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵.
I stop at the door, waiting for Allison to unlock it, but she’s taking her sweet time chatting it up with Scott. Stiles whips past me, brushing my shoulder.
“Hey Stiles, will you and Scott do me a favor and keep the moans down tonight. I would rather not listen to you two get in on while I get my beauty sleep.” I taunt him, leaning against the door, burning time while I wait for Allison.
Stiles halts his actions of unlocking his door to turn to me, “Didn’t you hear the coach, Y/N? ‘𝘕𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.’ Or is that word too big for you? Need me to dumb it down?” He jabs and I scoff in his face.
“Oh I heard him all right. I just wonder if you did.” I counter, watching as he scoffs, tongue poking out to glide over his teeth.
“We’ll be quiet, Y/N/N. Besides, I don’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep; God knows you need it.” He says, and before I can come up with a comeback, Allison is coming up behind me and unlocking our door.
Scott passes us both and bypasses Stiles into their room, “Sleep tight, Y/N.” Stiles sneers before disappearing behind Scott.
I join Allison in our room, shutting and locking the door behind me. “I hope you don’t kick in your sleep, or someone’s gonna sleep on the floor tonight and it won’t be me.” I say, looking at the single bed in the middle of the dreary room.
“About that…” Allison says, her face already completely giving away what she’s about to tell me.
“Allison,” I warn her, and she trots in front of me with pleading eyes. “Would you do me a huge, huge favor and switch with Scott tonight?” She begs, and I’m completely and utterly in shock.
“You cannot be serious. You want me, to share a room, a 𝘣𝘦𝘥, with 𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴?!” I try to wrap my head around the idea of having to survive a night with Stiles Stilinski. Yeah right, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.
“Yeah, no, no way in hell!” I shout, hands flailing in the air. “Have you even met me?!” I ask, baffled that she’d even think that I’d ever agree to such a thing. “I mean? have you even met Stiles?! I can’t stand him for more than a few seconds, let alone hours!” I exclaim.
“Then don’t stand him, sit on him instead.” Allison says, the tone in her voice suggestive. I scoff, “Yeah right, me and Stiles? Never in a million years.” I say, the idea completely out of the question.
“Oh come on, Y/N! You could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife! You guys just need to fuck and make up.” Allison tries to convince me, and I’m trying to deny the pit in my stomach that tells me she might be right.
“Allison you’re crazy. There’s no tension between Stiles and I.” I answer, rolling my eyes. “Oh please, Y/N! Please, please, pleaseeeee!” She begs, not backing down.
I groan out, “Alright! Alright! But you owe me big time for this.” I finally give in, and Allison pounces onto me to give me a tight hug.
“Y/N you won’t regret this, I’m texting Scott now.” She says giddily, and I change into my pajamas while we wait for Scott.
After a few minutes, there’s a knock at our door, and I open it to reveal a just-as-giddy Scott McCall. “Y/N,” He greets me with a tight lipped smile. “Scott.” I answer, brushing passed him and out the door.
It’s dark, rainy, and cold outside. I stand in front of Stiles’ motel room, shivering in my pajama shorts and matching t-shirt. I knock. No answer. I knock again. Still nothing.
“Stiles I know this isn’t the most pleasant arrangement but it’s freezing outside, please let me in.” I plead, my teeth chattering. Still nothing. Nothing but the howling of the wind and the drops of rain.
I sigh, sliding my back down against the door, sitting down on the cold cement. I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around myself as I shiver.
Then suddenly, the door is pulled open without warning and I look up to see a half naked Stiles. “What’re you doing?” He asks, looking down at me as I scurry up and onto my feet. “Waiting for you to let me in, dumbass. It’s cold out here.” I chatter, pushing past his naked upper half and into the room.
The room is ice cold, not any better than outside in the elements. Stiles rolls his eyes coming back into the room and locking the door behind him.
I turn to him to ask why the heater isn’t on when he beats me to it. “Yeah, well, the heater is broken to shit so it’s not much better in here.” He answers my unspoken question. I shake my head, sitting on the bed, head in my hands. “This cannot be happening right now.” I complain, more to myself than Stiles.
“You wanna complain some more, Y/N? Since you’re so good at it.” He jabs, padding to his bag, digging through it. I scoff in response, and it’s then that I look up and take real notice of him frame. 𝘏𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦?
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He says, pulling me out of my daze. “Whatever, get some other desperate girl to be your paparazzi.” I reply, digging into my bag for my phone charger, but it’s nowhere to be found.
Stiles goes into the dinky bathroom to change, coming out to me huffing and puffing. “What is it now?” He asks irritated, emerging from the bathroom in plaid pajama pants and a navy blue t-shirt. “I think I left my fucking charger at home.” I groan, checking my phone percentage. 12%
He chuckles, getting snuggled into the single bed and plugging his phone in, rubbing it right in my face. He turns his phone to the side, putting on some tv show. I grab my bag off the bed and drop it to the floor, “Make some room will you?” I push his feet from above the covers, and he scoots a millimeter to the side.
I curse under my breath, jumping into the bed and shoving him over some as he watched his phone. “Jeez, Y/N/N. If you wanted to get in bed with me that bad you should’ve just said so.” Stiles quips, and I pull at the cold blanket to cover myself.
“Oh please, get over yourself. You’re the last person I’d ever want to be in bed with.” I roll my eyes, getting out my phone to distract myself from him until it inevitably dies.
We’re laying shoulder the shoulder. He’s holding up his phone as he watches Supernatural, and before long my phone is dead.
I set my phone on the nightstand to my right, then turning over to lay on my left side and watch his show. My face is millimeters away from his broad shoulder, and he turns his head to me, peering down.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks, attention split between me and the phone. “My phone died, and I like Supernatural.” I say, my eyes flick from the screen to him.
“You like this? Scott hates it.” He says, turning his face back to his phone. Is he starting a normal conversation with me? What universe is this?
“Of course Scott hates it, he hates all things 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘭.” I say, wiggling magic fingers in his face. He chuckles, “Yeah, guess it’s too close to home for him. I like it though, I like to think we’re like them.” He says, comparing him and Scott to Sam and Dean.
“So which one are you? Sam or Dean?” I ask, giggling. “Which one do you think I am?” Stiles ponders, his attention fully turned toward me by now. “Definitely Sam,” I answer confidently, “he’s my favorite.” I add, my eyes suddenly avoiding his own.
There’s an awkward silence for a moment before Stiles breaks it. “Awe, so you like me more than Scott?” He pokes fun at me, and I roll my eyes. “In your dreams, Stilinski. I wouldn’t be caught dead with you unless the situation was dire.” I counter, rolling over to my back, his phone long forgotten.
He turns it off, setting it on the nightstand on his side. “See that’s where you’re wrong.” He says, and the tone in the chilly room shifts. He sits up to almost hover over me. His face the closest it’s ever been to mine, and I can’t help but flicker my eyes from his to his lips and back again.
“I think you wanted this. I think you want me.” He says, voice huskier and hushed. “Stiles…” I can’t think of a witty response, I can’t think about anything besides his lips, and how impossibly close they are to my own.
“Say it. Tell me, Y/N.” He demands, a veiny hand dipping under the covers to slink down my thigh. My mind is running a hundred miles a minute, short circuiting.
“Awe, fuck it.” I whisper, more to myself than him, closing the gap between us. Our lips connect in a searing kiss, and my hands shoot up to his neck, pulling him down to me.
He growls into my mouth, moving to now completely hover on top of me, my legs instinctively opening to make room for him. His arms prop himself up over me, and my hands explore his body, moving to slide up and under his shirt. I slowly push up his shirt til his sits up, pulling it off in one swoop.
He’s so fucking hot. My hands dance along his slightly defined abs, speckled like his face. “Like what you see?” He taunts, leaning back down over me to assault my neck with his lips. “Oh, bite me.” I snip, and he nips at my throat in response.
Stiles trails his nimble fingers up my shirt, but I stop him, pushing his chest until he’s off of me. I push him over to his back, straddling his waist to be on top. I settle myself into his lap, his hands gripping my hips tightly. I pull my shirt up and off my body, revealing myself to him. The cold nips at my now half naked frame, nipples perking up and gossebumps cover my body.
I shiver a little, “It’s so cold in here, Stiles.” I whisper, and he snakes a hand up my waist and all the way up to my neck, pulling my face down to his. “Don’t worry, baby,” He whispers seductively, “I’ll warm you up.”
Our lips meet once again, tongues fighting for dominance. I grind down into his lap, his boner prominently poking me beneath his pants. He moans deliciously into my mouth as I do so, hands slipping into my shorts, groping my ass.
I moan as he rocks me in his lap, “God, why did we wait so long for this?” I whispers, looking up at me with those auburn eyes. “Because we hate each other.” I answer breathlessly.
“I could never hate you, baby.”
Then he’s forcefully pushing me back over, hands dipping into the waist band or my sleep shorts, pulling them and my panties down in one go. He places a palm on each of my knees, spreading my legs apart. I’m now fully bare and at his mercy.
I moan in anticipation as he methodically kisses up my thigh, getting close and closer to my dripping heat. He then brings a finger to swipe through my folds, my slick covering his digit as it glistens. “All this and I’ve barely even touched you.” He taunts me.
“Stiles please,” I beg, but he’s not ready to give in just yet. “Please what? Use your words.” He says huskily. “Please Stiles, please touch me.” I plead.
Stiles licks a stripe through my folds, sending shivers sound my spine. His mouth attacks my heat, his tongue working wonders. Stiles is like a starved man, feeding on anything and everything he can get his hands on. Feasting upon me. He sends me over the edge almost immediately. My hands shoot down to his head, gripping his hair til my knuckles turn white.
Stiles detaches his lips from my clit, sitting up to his knees and standing up off the bed. He drops his pajama pants to the ground, before zipping over to his bag to retrieve a condom from it. He rushes back over to the bed, pulling his boxers off in an instant, kneeling onto the bed in front of you as he rolls the condom into his think length.
My fists grip the bed covers, watching as he lines his swollen tip with my entrance, teasing me with it. “Stiles,” I moan, and he slides himself in completely.
He hisses as he does so, burying himself to the hilt. “Fuck, Stiles.” I moan out breathlessly. Stiles thrusts are hard, his rhythm unbearable. “Yeah, you like that?” He whispers, leaning down to me ear. His voice deep and husky, full of lust. His lips dip down to nip at my throat. “Yes, Stiles.” I moan, and I feel him smile against my kiss peppered skin.
“Awe, fuck.” Stiles drawls out into my ear, sitting up to his knees, still fucking me, his rhythm perfect. “Say my name.” He orders me, his hands gripping my hips as he pistons into me. I can barely take it.
Of course I do as he says. I moan his name, eyes rolling back, my mouth hung wide open as moans spill out of me. He slides a hand to my cunt, his thumb moving to circle my clit. He watches with hooded eyes where we meet as he fucks me senseless.
“Say it again.”
“Stiles.”
“Again.”
“𝘖𝘩 Stiles.”
“Yeah, you getting close? Do I fuck you that good? Say it.” He seethes, his dirty words rattling in my head. I’m breathless, the cold room now unbearably hot. “You fuck me so good, Sti.” I moan, the ball in the pit of my stomach tightening with every touch of his. His hand gripping my hip. His cock hitting that sweet spot inside me with every thrust. His thumb pressing to my clit.
“Yeah? You like that, baby.” I can’t take it anymore. “Stiles,” I moan, my limbs restless, I can’t stay still. “Tell me.” He says, leaning down over me to envelope my lips in a wet, searing kiss. I moan as he parts, “I’m gonna cum, Stiles.”
“Then do it.”
I obey his every word, my release washing over like a wave. My back arches into him, and Stiles buckles down, chasing his nearing high. I’m just about to tell him I can’t take it anymore when he cums, spilling into the condom. His brows furrowing and his mouth agape. He lets out the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard, I never want it to stop.
He pumps a few more times, riding out his high. “Oh, fuck.” He whispers, slowly pulling out of me. I moan as he does, partly in pleasure and partly in pain. I’m sore now, I can’t even imagine how sore I’ll be tomorrow.
Stiles gets up from the bed, he quickly discards the condoms and pulls his boxers on. He pads to the bathroom, and I lay there for a minute not sure of what to do. I close my legs and watch as he comes back with a damp rag.
He comes back to me, kneeling on the bed in front of my closed legs. “Open.” He says, placing a hand on my knee to pry them open once more. He cleans me up, and I’m completely and utterly in shock. Did he really just do that? What have I been missing out on?
When he’s does, I sit up so our faces meet, and I peck his kiss swollen lips. “Thank you.” I whisper, and he hums in response, kissing me once more.
As he goes to the bathroom to put the rag away, I gather my scattered clothes from the floor, and I’m slipping them on as he comes back, hopping back into the bed.
It’s at this point that I’m not really sure what to expect now. Are we never gonna talk about this again? Are we just gonna hate each other and fuck on the side? I’m nervous to get back in bed with him.
“Come here.” Stiles mumbles, laying his arm out for me. I crawl into bed, snuggling into him. “Do we still hate each other?” I whisper. He says nothing, reaching om his other arm over to his nightstand.
“Here.” He says, handing me his phone charger.
!𝘽𝙊𝙉𝙐𝙎!
“Jesus Stiles, turn it off.” I grumble, his alarm blaring in my ears. Stiles is dead asleep, how he’s able to sleep through his excruciating alarm? No idea.
I reach over him to grab his phone, hitting the snooze button. But before I put it down I see a text from none other than Scott, at 12:31 AM.
𝙎𝙘𝙤𝙩𝙩 𝙈𝙘𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙡: 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙤𝙬𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙨
𝟏/𝟐𝟕/𝟐𝟒
698 notes · View notes
daycourtofficial · 3 months
Text
Sweet Dreams of Holly and Ribbon
Summary: you teach the Inner Circle about your home court’s tradition of mistletoe, and someone begins placing them all around the house to catch you underneath them.
Author’s note: this is heavily inspired by Operation Mistletoe by Wkemeup, so feel free to check that out.
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“So you just hang them up so you can what- make out with people all the time?” Mor asks, confusion etched on her face as she takes a sip of her wine.
“Sounds awesome,” Cassian says, taking another bite of porridge.
You sigh, “well you don’t really do it to just make out with people,” sending a pointed glare at Mor. “Previous people viewed it as sacred for it’s healing properties, and many view it as a symbol of fertility. It’s only really grown in the Winter Court, but it’s a fun reminder of who we come from.”
Rhys leans forward, “I’m still confused about the kissing thing, I get using it as decor, I suppose. But why kissing?”
“Like I said,” you say, taking a bite of your cereal, “since it survives the winter and blooms during it; many view it as a sign of prosperity and fertility, so maybe people started kissing under it to prompt further fertility.”
Cassian huffs, “you just made sex sound so boring.”
You roll your eyes and point at Cassian, “you’re the one who asked me about winter court traditions for solstice!”
He glares at you, “yeah, well I was hoping you’d tell me you all jump in the lake naked every year.”
You laugh, “oh so you’ve heard of the polar bear plunge?”
Cassian stills, turning his head to look at you with incredible speed. “So you do do it!”
“Well, I don’t,” you say, picking up your glass to drink, “at least, not anymore.” You say with a wink.
Azriel speaks up, his soothing tone taking over the room. “So if you’re caught under the plant, you have to kiss?”
“It’s bad luck not to. You don’t have to kiss on the lips, most people kiss on the cheek or on the forehead.”
-
You woke up the next morning, coming down the stairs, clinging to the robe wrapped around your nightgown.
Coffee, then getting dressed. That was your plan, after all. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, a big perk to living with early risers being that there’s always coffee ready when you roll out of bed.
You start moving for the doorway to the dining room, to see if anyone is eating so you can say hi, when something catches your eye.
Right above you in the doorway is a sprig of mistletoe, tied together in a bundle with a red ribbon, hanging from the doorway.
You look at it, just as pretty as they are in your memories, the vibrance of the green capturing your attention, when you hear shuffling behind you. You go to turn to see who it is, when a large hand envelops the right side of your face, bringing your left cheek into contact with something.
Not something, someone. Someone’s kissing you on the cheek. Before you can process what’s happening, the warmth that was pressed against you is gone, and Azriel comes striding into view.
“Good morning,” he says nonchalantly, walking out of the dining room, nodding to Feyre as he passes her and out of the house.
You whip your head around to see if anyone else witnessed what just happened, and you see Feyre sitting at the table, a spoonful of porridge stuck midway between the bowl and her mouth.
“Did you- did that - see?” You ask, your flustered state making Feyre giggle in amusement. You bring your hand up to your cheek where he had pressed his lips to you.
You wrote it off as him getting caught up in the idea of mistletoe, until a few days later when you were heading into the library. Your head was down, trying to focus on not sliding since your shoes were still wet from the rain. You look up in time to keep yourself from running face first into someone’s chest.
You reach your arms out to steady yourself against them, apologizing for running into them, until you look up and find Azriel’s amused eyes looking back at you. You look above him, seeing he has run into you right underneath the mistletoe.
“We have to stop running into each other like this,” you joke, as you motion with your finger for him to come closer. You stand on your tiptoes, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him on his left cheek, perhaps lingering a bit longer than you should. Breathing in his piney scent one last time, you pull back, letting him continue on his day.
That night the entire group went out to Rita’s, attempting to have some fun despite the busy season. It seems like these days all of you are working double time to ensure you can keep the day of Solstice free from work.
All of you head upstairs to your private room, just large enough for your group to comfortably lounge about. Azriel stays behind, waiting for a tray of shots to take up the stairs. You decide to stay with him, opting to keep him company while he waits. You would offer to help him carry the drinks, however the shadowsinger’s height allowed him to manuever through the crowd with the tray much more swiftly than you could.
“Is all your solstice shopping done, then?” You ask the shadowsinger, knowing he most likely had finished his shopping months ago.
He flashes you a grin, one he reserves only for you. “Mostly, just little odds and ends left.”
You gasp, “As I live and breathe, Azriel hasn’t finished his solstice shopping? It’s a week away- you’re usually finished by September!”
He rolls his eyes at your playfulness. “There’s one gift left I’ve been waiting for - I just have to go pick it up.”
He leans his left arm against the counter, his body facing the room surveying the area.
“Who’s it for?” You ask, trying not to get too flustered at how close his body is to yours.
He leans in closer to your ear, as he whispers, “Beron.”
He laughs, pulling away from you. You try not to let the disappointment of the loss of his warmth show on your face.
You huff and cross your arms, “fine then, keep your secrets.”
“What about you?” He asks, nudging your foot with his, “any last minute shopping to do?”
You went through the gifts you had bought for everyone, very impressed with some of them. You got Nesta an advanced copy of the next Sellyn Drake novel, some enchanted canvases that allow multiple paintings on them, showing them like a moving picture for Feyre, a hand knit sweater from Winter for Rhys, an exquisite wall mirror for Mor.
Yet you couldn’t figure out what to get the male in front of you. Do you go with simple, so he doesn’t think you tried too hard? Or do you go all out, lay all of your feelings for him out there?
Before you can answer, the bartender presents Azriel with the tray of shots, so you lead him through the crowd of people, walking up the stairs.
You go to turn around and make a comment about how unfair it is that he can manuever through the crowd so easily, when you feel him gently place a hand on your upper arm, sliding down, lifting your hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.
Your cheeks heat immediately, as he lets go of your hand, pointing above the two of you, where someone has crudely hung a mistletoe plant above the top of the staircase.
He smiles at you, “tradition, right?“ before sauntering into the room to boisterous cheers that the alcohol has arrived.
The next few days pass and more and more mistletoe made appearances. You found yourself running into Azriel underneath them, wondering if he was catching anyone else under them.
Rhys was grumbling about his house being ruined by the plants, crudely hung by a nail from doorways, arches, balconies, really any surface, but the rest of you seemed to enjoy them.
Azriel wasn’t the only one you ran into underneath them, having run into Cassian a few times, who loved making a big show of it whenever you two were caught under one.
“Oh, sweetheart! We’re caught under the mistletoe! Whatever will we do?” He dramatically, and quite loudly, said to you one morning.
“Good morning Cassian,” you say, as he wraps his arms around you, planting an overly dramatic kiss to your cheek.
He pulls away, letting you go, starting to walk off, but he turns around and smirks while looking somewhere behind you before he’s gone. You look around, but can’t find anyone nearby.
You weren’tt the only one caught under the plant, with most members of the inner circle caught once or twice underneath the plant. You had caught a glimpse of Elain and Lucien underneath one, turning on the spot to provide them with some privacy.
You got caught under it with Nesta, who kissed you on the lips like her life depended on it. The kiss caused Mor to wolf whistle at you two, and Cassian had to pry Nesta off of you after he felt like it was lasting too long.
But it was mostly Azriel, him always catching you when you’re walking through a threshold where the mistletoe is dangling. He had kissed your forehead, your hands, the top of your head, but usually it was on your cheeks, and as much as you enjoyed the kisses, each time you secretly hoped he’d kiss you on the lips.
Rhys sighs, walking into the living room to find that Azriel and Cassian have already been by here, the room covered in mistletoe. From his beautiful crystal chandelier (a delicate heirloom, he grumbles), to the doorways where they’re crudely hung (those nails will leave holes!), to the ones hanging from the ceiling (really?), Rhys is tired of the plant.
The fresh scent of it coats the room, as he walks towards his mate and hangs his head in her shoulder. “What did I do to deserve this?” He grumbles to her.
She giggles, closing her book, “come on, it’s only a few more days, Azriel has some plan cooked up.”
His grip on her loosens, his body going even more slack against her, “yes but why does my house have to suffer for it?”
She coos, stroking his hair as he pouts.
“I think it’s romantic. Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining when I caught you under one last night.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, as Rhys begins kissing her neck.
As if he summoned them, Cassian and Azriel come back through, holding massive bags of mistletoe.
“I’m just saying, Az, you’re going through a lot of effort. I say you just plant one on her.” The general says, shrugging.
Azriel rolls his eyes at his brother, “Not everyone is wooed by someone just ‘planting one on them’.” He replies, using finger quotes at the end.
Cassian sets down his bag as a grin overtakes his face, “so you are trying to woo her.”
Azriel gives him a look that would terrify a lesser man.
“Considering the effort he’s going through, Cass, it’s quite obvious what he’s trying to do,” Rhys responds, “even though he’s ruining my house to accomplish it for a girl who looks at him like he created the night sky.”
Feyre tuts at Rhysand, as he straightens off of her. “Well, I find it sweet, Az. And this is my house too, so continue on.”
Azriel smiles at his high lady, grabbing Cassian’s bag of mistletoes as he walks out, blatantly ignoring Rhys and Feyre’s intense staring at each other as they are obviously arguing telepathically.
-
You had left for the day before Solstice to return to Winter to drop off some gifts, but hurried back to Night to be able to spend all day Solstice with your new family. You returned to find the house a green chaotic mess, with mistletoe hanging everywhere. Dozens and dozens of sprigs sprouting from the ceiling, almost looking like a garden on the ceiling.
You can’t find Azriel anywhere, unsure of where he’s gone off to. You actually get caught under a mistletoe with both Rhys and Feyre, each of them kissing you on the cheek, Rhys muttering something about not letting live plants in the house anymore as he pulls away.
You eventually retire to your room, deciding if you can’t find the spymaster, you’ll take a nap to prepare for the evening’s festivities. It’s the night before Solstice, and everyone seems to usually spend the days leading up to the holiday drinking their asses off.
Later that evening, after you took a glorious nap, a nice bath, and spent a while getting dressed and ready, you went up to Azriel’s door, knocking softly on the wood.
He opens the door after a moment, taking longer than he usually does, and he smiles down at you, his build taking up the entire doorframe.
“Hey Az, can you come to my room for a sec? I need your help.”
He nods, closing his door behind him, following you across the hall into your room. You open your door, letting him into your space, and shut it behind him. “What did you need help with?”
You pull out the box you had been holding behind your back, presenting it to him. “Open it,” you tell him, putting it in his hands.
The tips of his ears redden, “aren’t we exchanging gifts later?”
You smile, “yeah, but I wanted you to open this one now.” He undoes the ribbon on the box, opening the lid to find a piece of parchment. He sets the box down on your nightstand, standing up straight to unroll the parchment.
Neatly written in your handwriting are the words “Look up”. He does as the parchment says, looking towards the high ceiling of your room to find a small mistletoe hanging directly above the two of you.
“Happy Solstice,” you say, grabbing his shirt and bringing him towards you. You stand on your tip toes, bringing his face into yours.
At your words, Azriel swears he forgets how to breathe, much less think, as your lips cover his. You taste like cookies and coffee, a taste he wants to get lost in when he realizes he hasn’t moved, standing still like a complete buffoon.
He wraps his arms around you, deepening the kiss. He causes you to lean back, dipping you as he deepens the kiss.
When he pulls away, his eyes aglow with joy and humor, he reaches beside himself, pulling something from the shadows.
“If you’d like to open your gift,” he tells you.
You unwrap the wrapping paper, opening the box inside containing another sprig of mistletoe. You laugh, but Azriel starts speaking.
“I asked Kallias to bless it. It is an immortal sprig now. I just picked it up this morning from winter.”
He fidgets with his hands, a little worried this gift isn’t as great as he thought it was. “It’s a little piece of home to have year-round. I know how much you love Solstice.”
You smile up at him, “I love it,” and kiss him again.
He pulls back, obviously needing to tell you something. “Um- it was me, all the mistletoe around the house and everywhere we went.” He raises his hands to gesture all around. “Well it was mostly me, but Cassian helped a bit.”
He sighs, “he caught me one night, hanging them up. Nosy bastard,” you giggle. “So he insisted he help, then big blabbermouth told Rhys and Feyre.”
You laugh, appreciating how much effort he truly went to to do this.
“So I may or may not have been sitting in my shadows all week, waiting by mistletoes for you to walk by.”
Your jaw slackens at his admission, but before you can say anything, he continues. “Cassian beat me a few times when I was about to come out and kiss you. He’d gloat all night about it.”
The shadowsinger rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics.
“But what about the one at Rita’s? How did you do that one?” You ask, confusion lacing your voice. “I was with you the moment we walked in.”
He smiles, a shadow coming by you holding a sprig of mistletoe. “They can’t resist if I ask them to do something for you.”
You throw your head back to laugh, but he wraps a hand around your neck, capturing your laugh with his lips.
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charlessainzz · 14 days
Note
can do like reader with charles getting quite a few feature on dts here and there moments. thank you! i don't really like dts but I love the ferrari bits!!
My first request! Thank you for requesting this, it was fun to write! I hope it’s good! 
Drive to Survive’s Newest Star is… Not a Driver?? 
Take One: 
Cameras were everywhere. It was another Drive to Survive filming day. These days always made you nervous. More cameras than usual, more eyes than usual, and more opinions than usual. Luckily you were feeling good. You were decked out in head to toe Ferrari merch. White lace cami, vintage red leather Marlboro pants, red peep toe Manolos, with a number 16 cap. You looked the part of a die hard Ferrari fan. More importantly you looked the part of a die hard Charles Leclerc fan. And you were. His wonderful, supportive girlfriend of 2 years. His biggest fan. 
You felt the camera pan to you as Charles made his way through the garage you. He had just finished FP1 and well lets just say it wasn’t looking great… He needed you now and Charles could care less if the DTS cameras were watching. Your eyes light up as you see him getting closer to you. He grabs your waist and nudges your nose with his. 
“Hi,” you squeak, anticipating a kiss. 
“Hey..”, he whispers. “That was pretty bad wasn’t it”.
“Mmhmmm car looks pretty rubbish”, you giggle. “But that driver…. He’s pretty great. Makes a worthless car worth driving”, you say as you give him a peck. 
You both embrace in a tight hug and another kiss. Feeling the cameras rolling and hearing the photographers clicking away, you both start laughing. Oh this will be Netflix gold. 
Take Two:
Rain in October and in Austin, Texas. What are the odds! A usual dry race with an unrelenting sun had turned into a gray, storm filled race. The track was almost flooded. The radios of drivers shooting off justifiably angry that the race hadn’t been red flagged yet. The DTS cameras were here of course. Another perfect scene for them, they’d definitely be getting the footage they wanted.
Your hands enclosed in a prayer, begging for the officials to do something. To call for a pause, to cancel! There was no way the race could continue like this. Visibility is almost next to zero. You intensely listen to the radio, checking for Charles’s voice. He’s mad, he can’t see, and he’s ready to get out of the car. 
You’re watching the screen as the cars begin to slow around a turn, you see Charles and Pierre bump sending Charles off the track. It was all in slow motion. His car and your reaction moving at the speed of molasses. While the bump seemed minor, there were more cars headed his way. That’s what scared you. Just as that thought enters your mind, Checo’s car shoots down the track and narrowly misses Charles sending water crashing into him. You let out a shriek and cover your face crouching to the ground. The cameras all turn to you, documenting your reaction. You peek through your fingers seeing everyone staring and the lens facing you. At first you feel embarrassed but then you remember, that’s your man! You stand back up, straightening your posture, and brushing your hair off your shoulder. Arthur envelops you in a hug and points to the screen. 
Charles is being rescued by the emergency crew and he’s making his way back to you. He’s coming back to the safety of the garage and the safety of your arms. The DTS cameras know what’s coming next, and they stay on you waiting for the paddock’s favorite couple to reunite. 
Take Three:
Silverstone was always packed. But this year felt different. The crowd looked like sardines packed into a tin can. No room to move or even breathe. 
Charles held open the car door for you and grabbed your hand. He knew you didn’t love these crowds. He held your hand tight as you walked into the paddock. Cameras flashing, fans screaming, and DTS film crews lurking. You and Charles had one mission. Get to the Ferrari building as fast as possible.
Hands stuck like glue, you’re both practically running through the paddock. Of course, Charles being the man he is, has to stop and take pictures. But this leads to more attention and bigger crowds. You don’t mind, you know they love him. He deserves the love. Yet, the crowd becomes more…. pushy, more desperate for a glimpse at the Ferrari man. 
As he takes the millionth picture, you feel someone clench your arm and rip you from Charles. Letting out a scream, you fall into the ocean of the crowd. A man, desperate to get a picture, had done the unthinkable. He put his hands on you. Charles felt you instantly leave his presence. He snaps around grabbing your hand once more, and focuses his attention at the man. 
“Don’t you dare touch her!”, Charles growls with a finger in the man's face. That’s when you notice a boom mic over you capturing every second of this interaction. You let out a groan knowing that this will probably be in an episode. But hey! Your man was protecting you! 
His arms wrap around your shoulders and you both rush through the crowd heading towards the Ferrari hospitality. To the safety of your second home. Fans still hot on your tails screaming, “Leclerc! Y/n! Wait!”. Unknown to you both, DTS cameras are right behind you. Capturing the knight in shining armor protecting his princess. After what felt like a marathon, you see the Ferrari crew waiting at the entrance to welcome you in. Like deer leaping through a field, you both jump through the front doors. Doors closing, the cameras catch you both hunched over trying to catch your breath still clinging to each other. Like a wildlife documentary they sit at the door documenting two creatures that had just escaped a near death experience. 
After taking that moment to pause, you turn and see cameras pressed against the door recording you and Charles. You can’t help but let out a big belly laugh tapping him on the shoulder to look. Charles sees, grabs your hand, and flips off the camera pulling you towards his room. 
This episode will definitely be talked about! 
Take Four:
He takes the checkered flag! Charles Leclerc wins the Las Vegas Grand Prix!
The whole garage erupts into celebration. Charles wins! Carlos in 2nd. It’s a 1-2 result for the Ferrari team. What more could Fred have asked for. The whole garage runs towards the podium, awaiting their boys. You take off running towards the barrier followed by a film crew of course. Unsurprising to anyone, the Drive to Survive team is here to capture the lavish race that is Vegas. 
The podium waiting area is front to back red. You want to see him, you need to see him. But how can you get to the front? Not wanting to be rude, you tap shoulders and whisper ‘excuse mes’. As people turn ready to shout at the person cutting through, they recognize you. With sheepish smiles they usher you through to the front. Cameras following, but you could care less. 
Finally, you're at the front waiting for the drivers to exit the cars. Barriers crushing your ribs, you can feel your heart ready to leap out of your chest in anticipation. Then there he is! He leaps out of the car and throws his hands up. He points to the sky, and then points to the team. Jumping down he sprints to the Ferrari team ready to welcome back their champion. He leaps into the arms of the first team members he sees. Everyone reaching to touch him, to congratulate him, to get a glimpse of their driver. He scans the front row looking for you. He knew you’d be there but where are you? As he takes off his helmet he sees you. Tears have stained your cheeks and hair a mess from running. 
Charles jumps to you and grabs your face. Hands over your jaw, he brings your lips together. The kiss says everything and more. Cameras push in closer and closer as you continue kissing your driver. You break apart and laugh knowing what they’re capturing. Charles looks you in the eyes and says, “Another kiss for the winner?”. 
“Always”, you beam and bring him back into you. Charles takes a hand and pushes the lens away from you both. Trying to get some privacy in the most public situation ever. The film crew lets up knowing they just got their shot. They just got the money shot of their number one F1 driver and Drive to Survive’s newest star… who’s not a driver. Who would’ve thought!
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dannyphantom-zero · 2 months
Text
Doctor Danny: First official chapter
The busy hospital was on its last leg. Nurses and interns were scattered, running around like mice.
Sounds of trauma care patients and emergency care patients alarms were constantly ringing.
In the midst of it all, one calm collected doctor cared tenderly for each patient.
He, was Danny Fenton, who used to be known for having two crazy ghost enthusiasts for parents. He still loved his parents despite how hard it was growing up as half ghost.
Jazz had told them a long time ago and they had ignored it for the most part. Like that side of him didn't exist.
It had hurt at the time but Danny had managed to move past it. After successfully securing his position as ghost king (on accident) he put his newfound authority to good use making the ghosts swear a vow to behave.
A ghost vow is a big deal, which is why Danny swore a vow in return acknowledging them, if ever a ghost were in danger he would help them.
After the lack of ghost attacks Danny found he had next to nothing to do. His only hobby outside of playing video games had been ghost fighting. He hadn't realized how used to it he had gotten.
Danny hadn't even picked the college he wanted to go to yet.
Danny approached the Nasty Burger, his last refuge.
That's when he noticed a man who seemed a little out of it. The man stumbled making Danny wonder if he was drunk.
Danny turned to go inside when the man collapsed. Danny rushed over to the man and rolled him on his back. He checked for a pulse but couldn't find one.
Of course he wasn't exactly medically trained.
Danny dialed nine-one-one and started to perform CPR as best he could.
He explained to the operator clearly the situation and the ambulance came in no time.
Later that night Danny was processing the events in his head and instead of feeling scared or nervous he felt excited.
He was thrilled to have something to get his blood pumping again. Which is why he applied for med school. He studied hard, using all the time he had to memorize all the medical information that he could.
After graduation he interned at Amity Parks local hospital before moving up his position to resident.
Only a week after getting his new position he was forced to leave the hospital. It was closing because of a lack of funding.
"Please sir! What about the staff or the patients?"
The head of the medical board shook his head.
"Dr. Fenton, this hospital runs on little to nothing to begin with, we are lucky to have even made it this far. The patients will be transfered and the staff, relocated"
Danny furrowed his brows in concern.
"Don't worry Dr. Fenton, your quite literally the best we've seen walk these halls, your sure to get a good recommendation"
Danny clenched his fist.
"What are my options?" He asked.
The board looked at his sheet, flipping several until he found the right one on his clipboard.
"You said you wanted to work at a busy hospital right?"
Danny nodded yes.
"There aren't too many around here, the busiest hospital I can think of belongs to a crime ridden city a bit far  from here." He said.
"Gotham City"
Danny's breath hitched. He had heard about Gotham before. It was notorious for its villains.
Despite that, it was alluring.
"There! Send me to Gothams hospital!" He said suddenly and eagerly.
"Okay, if you say so. Do us all a favor and survive alright"
Danny laughed, "sure, I'll do my best. No promises though"
Just like that Danny packed up moved to Gotham.
He had little time to research Gotham before hand but he had heard several mutters in passing of a place called Crime Alley, a strange nickname for sure.
Danny was sure that this place would either be completely clean due to police intervention or incredibly overrun.
Danny signed a lease at the Shirley Apartments.
"Are you sure about this young man" the desk lady asked him.
He smiled kindly.
"Yes I am, I've heard the rumors and have weighed the risk. In the end it might be helpful to know just how my patients love to receive the injuries they do"
The lady sighed.
"That's right, you said your a doctor. Be careful out there, any talent in Gotham is either warped by a villain or destroyed"
Danny was a little startled by the warning, apparently there was even more to Gotham than he knew.
"I'm sorry I forgot to ask for your name"
"Didn't give one, in Gotham it's best to remain anonymous"
Danny blinked a little surprised.
"It's that dangerous, well I'll take your word for it then, thank you miss" he said as he took the key from her.
He had been able to store the old car his dad had given to him in a locked garage. He wasn't sure how well it would hold up but there was only so much he could do against humans.
Ghost powers had little, of any, effect on humans when it came to offense. Defensively they were pretty great to have.
He had only brought five boxes with him, no furniture. Back in Amity he had been busy studying and had brushed aside buying furniture.
Unfortunately that meant he had no bed.
Danny was glad to have found a beaten up wardrobe. It was missing it's doors and was leaning to the side, even so Danny was able to fix it and hang his clothes up in it.
He grabbed one of the boxes and smiled warmly when he saw a Fenton Emergency pack inside.
His mom must've stuffed it there when he was looking, lucky for him it had a sleeping bag.
An air mattress would've been nice too, but it's the thought that counts.
Danny safely stored his two favorite pictures. One of him with his family and one with his friends.
They were hidden just in case someone decided to break in, not that there would be much to find anyway but it never hurt to be careful.
Danny went to sleep soon after despite the sounds of the city.
Danny woke up feeling refreshed. He grabbed his bags and hopped in his car.
Danny hadn't realized how busy Gothams hospital actually was. Danny pulled into Gotham General and as soon as he was in his scrubs and coat he was dragged into the frey.
"We need a doctor over here!" Someone called just as Danny had finished with a patient.
Despite having to run around all day Danny wasn't tired, his ghost half supplied him energy after his human side ran dry.
All in all Danny first day on the job was hectic and he had worked for fourteen hours.
Once he was back in his apartment Danny set up a table that he had pre ordered online.
Then he got to work. According to his knowledge, most of his patients had suffered from some kind of attack or other.
Most of the heavy hitters were villains named Joker, Penguin and two face.
The riddler was taken care of, Poison Ivy had been rehabilitated and Harley Quinn had broken free from Jokers choke hold on her.
There was also the less obvious villains, like the business man lex Luther.
Lex Luther was shady at best, while no one could get hard evidence on him most people knew to be wary.
But just being informed didn't stop them from falling into his traps.
Lately Bruce had done official business with Lex Luther, which made him a suspicious person whom Danny had decided to keep tabs on, he was wary of the rich and for good reasons.
The cork board above Danny table has a litter of documents and pictured pined by red string. The players who were out of the game were crossed off.
Then there were the vigilantes. A few of them had been known to be rough, a necessary violence.
Still they seemed to have little awareness of what their little battles did to other people. Because many people came in for minor injuries due to being caught in the crossfire.
Which meant Danny had to find a way to keep everybody in line so patients would decrease in number. Danny let himself sleep for four hours before returning to the hospital.
"Oh my gosh, Doctor Fenton is still here" one nurse whispered. It had been a full day and half, Danny was running on his ghost half that seemed to keep replenishing itself due to the toxic air of Gotham. A positive side effect.
"How does he never get tired?"
"Maybe he's superhuman" one girl cracked. They noticed as he rushed by them to get to another patient.
"He's quite handsome too" one said wistfully, "but who wants a husband that works all the time"
Danny noticed the next patient seemed tense and he kept screaming for his daughter.
Danny whispered in the man's ear and put a hand on his forehead. He had used a ghost technique he learned from Nocturne and the man calmed down.
The other doctors were impressed as they worked to care for the man's injuries.
Finally the head of the unit noticed Danny and after reviewing his chart had forced him to go home.
"I don't feel fatigued at all sir, I promise I am not compromised. I can care for the patients"
The head wasn't having any of it.
"Above all your health is just as important as the patients we care for. For them to get healthy, you have to be healthy. Go home Dr.Fenton, you can come back after you get at least ten hours of sleep."
Danny wanted to argue but he knew the head was right.
"Yes sir" he said before changing into civilian clothes and leaving the hospital.
Now that he was out of a hospital setting things like hunger started to appear.
Maybe he had been to focused to notice how hungry he had been.
Danny blearily noticed a fast food place. His instincts told him the food would be greasy and way too unhealthy.
Mmm, comfort food.
The nostalgia fought with his doctoral instincts and won. All Danny wanted was to sit in a booth and eat some greasy food.
Danny ordered the double cheeseburger with bacon with a side of ten pieces chicken nuggets and large order of fries.
Waiting, even for five minutes, was starting to make Danny ravenous. As soon as he got his food he sat down and started gorging himself.
It was pretty good food for a little fast food place in the world's worst city.
Danny liked the tenderness and crispiness of the burger, the cheese was melted just right too.
Danny dipped his nuggets in sweet n' sour sauce while fighting the urge to kick his legs like a happy little kid.
As Danny left the restraint he saw an alert on his phone for a villain attack and rushed to the scene.
To his satisfaction the culprits were already being hauled away in police custody. They were just small fries, not of them appeared connected to a big player, so Danny was free to shut them out of his mind.
Which is exactly what he did. Danny drove back to his apartment and let out a sigh of relief.
That's when he noticed his door was slightly ajar.
His guard was up immediately. Danny stepped inside cautiously. He was relieved when everything appeared untouched but the scare had sent him a trip to get stronger locks.
On his way back to his car from the store he heard sound of a glass bottle breaking in a nearby alley. It was small alley, from what Danny could tell it was also a dead end alley.
Taking a risk Danny stepped in and chills went down his spine when he heard labored breathing.
Danny rushed over and froze at what he saw.
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mikanotes · 4 months
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happy sweet home season 2 release everyone!!! i just watched the final ep and started screaming. here’s something quick! greetings from, lee eunhyuk x gn!reader, warning sweet home season 2 spoilers possibly ooc eunhyuk im trying to decide how different he shld be, mentions of scars. cheers
“Took you long enough.”
Eunhyuk scoffs silently, hands buttoning up a white shirt over his figure. Unharmed. Clean. Possibly unstoppable, now. His gaze is on his own reflection but his focus is on you, sitting nearby with your back towards him.
“Mm.” he hums, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Did you miss me?” he asks, something like a teasing tone to his voice.
You turn to look at him through the mirror and he raises his eyebrows. You roll your eyes and turn back. “No.”
Eunhyuk smirks a little at that. He tugs at his collar to make sure his shirt looks fine, out of habit, then heaves a deep sigh and turns around. He walks over to the couch you’re sitting on and sits at your side, eyes on the book in your hands.
“Is that why you kept things for me?”
Clothes. A pair of glasses. Books he used to read during your time at Green Home.
“Who said they were for you?”
Eunhyuk is dead. Anyone from Green Home would have agreed with this statement. This fact. But you refused to believe it. Parting ways with the rest of the survivors you knew (as well as the only other person who shared your feelings on this matter), avoiding the military and living in isolation, you had decided to try and make living bearable. Settling in an old apartment in a small building near the river. With enough practice from before, you had traps settled around the place and at least one or two weapons.
You used to stay at the shelter at the stadium, but hated all about it. It was much too many people and too much change all at once. No matter how organized it was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stay. So you left, and made your own home.
Maybe it was luck that you came back to check on Green Home a day after Eunhyuk came back.
(Maybe it was meant to be.)
“How long have you been living here?” he asks quietly. He watches your eyes scan the page on your book, watches the twitch of your lips when you hum in thought, watches every detail that he missed during this time. Time passes weirdly in the state he was in, and a lot changes. A lot doesn’t. Like feelings. “I missed you.”
You turn to look at him and he tilts his head. His expression is serious and his voice is as steady as it always is.
“Thank god, you survived.”
You stare at him for a while, silent, before looking away. “You didn’t even give me time to answer.” you sigh. “It’s been ten months here. I spent two at a shelter before I got sick of it.”
“Was it bad?”
“Terrible.” you say, “I’m sorry I left Eunyu there. She can handle herself well enough, though.”
Eunhyuk sighs at that. That’s a whole other problem. At least she’s alright. “I’ll find her eventually.” he nods to himself, gaze on the floor. “I have a lot of people to find, anyways.”
“You’re so strange.” you comment, suddenly closing your book and shifting your whole attention to him. Eunhyuk does the same in turn, gaze focused on yours.
“As in?”
“You’ve changed.”
Eunhyuk blinks slowly, before narrowing his eyes. You’re not wrong. But not right either.
“You too.”
You reach your hand to his face and hold the side of it gently. He tilts his head slightly into your palm, not breaking eye contact. It was worth waiting, even if just to see you again. Your eyes are colder and your skin gained a few more scars. He’s mildly annoyed he couldn’t keep away anything that hurt you, though he knows it simply wasn’t possible. He could direct his anger towards the other people that were with you.
But humans are just so… weak. How could anyone ever count on them?
“In any case, you don’t have to worry anymore.” he says, sounding almost cold. “Not even a little bit.”
He’s here, now, and he intends to make sure you won’t have to change more than you already have because of this hellish world.
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starsstuddedsky · 8 months
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What? Like It’s Hard?
gn reader x soonyoung
summary: With the help of a little bit of bleach, Soonyoung is certified legally blonde–complete to last minute-dedication to scoring as high as Elle Woods on the LSAT. While he has no interest in law school, he’s notorious for never turning down a dare. So how does a frat bro in serious danger of failing his senior year get a 179? He asks the smartest person he knows. 
Or, studying for a law test has never seen this much chemistry.
genre: fluff, angst, non-idol au, uni au, friends to lovers, opposites attract
warnings: swearing, drinking, food, arguing, a couple sex jokes, one spicy scene at the end but no actual smut, refusal to acknowledge feelings, what's the word for beyond oblivious????
full wc: 24.3k
playlist! - i'm not very good at this but i tried to add songs alternating between yn and soonyoung :)
a/n: hello!! first of all, sorry this so long! it's been a very very busy summer. thank you to everyone who has continued to show interest in the story, it's really kept me going. i honestly have no idea what this is anymore but i hope it does not disappoint :) as always i appreciate feedback of any form <3 thank you again for reading and have a lovely day! finally, happy scoups day :)
a/n2: a special shout out to @chocolatemilk139 for being my beta and for helping me fact check... why do i keep writing about lawyers when i know absolutely nothing about the field.......
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“Nope.” You grab your backpack, shoving your laptop inside, but he gets to your water bottle before you can reach it. 
“Come on.” Soonyoung pouts his lips. 
“I won’t do it,” you say. 
Soonyoung hugs your water bottle hostage against his chest, dark blue hiding in the crook of his elbow, bright against the pale pink sweater he wears. It’s an unusual choice for him, normally clad in baggy jeans and loose t-shirts. Still, the color highlights his new hair, blonde bordering on white. Hardly the first time he’s done something insane for a bet. 
“Please! I’m desperate!” He cries again, stepping closer, though he keeps a firm grip on your water bottle. You never should have told him how emotionally attached you are to it; you should have known it would be held against you. 
“No,” you say. You sling your backpack on, just in case he gets any other ideas. The other students shoot dirty looks at you, actually in the library to study (like you were, until Soonyoung arrived). So you grab him by the arm, rolling your eyes at how he jerks the water bottle out of reach. 
“Walk and talk, we’re not doing this here,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. 
“Come on, how hard can it be?” Soonyoung asks. “It’s just a test.”
“Just a test?” You snort. “Soonyoung, you are aware that most people don’t apply to law school on a dare?” 
“I don’t have to get into law school!” He says, “just get a 179 on the LSAT.” 
As if that makes it any better. You eye Soonyoung and his tight grip on the plastic. Maybe it’s a lost cause and you should just swing by the bookstore to get a new one instead. But that water bottle has butterfly stickers that have survived since freshman year and a dent from the time Jun tried to use it as a weapon in a fight against Jihoon (that was declared a draw when the bottle busted open and doused both of them equally); it holds memories better than water and you’ll be damned if you let Soonyoung hold it hostage. 
“That’s actually harder,” you mumble. From the corner of your eye, you can see him tucking the blue bottle under his right arm, farthest from you. This won’t be easy, especially since you saw the poorly disguised thirst trap of him and one of his frat bros at the gym: those arms are not to be underestimated. 
“I’ll pay you!” 
“With what money?” 
Soonyoung pauses. You’ve reached the exit by now, sunlight warming you through the glass doors. He turns to the sunlight, and you know he’s pretending to be a main character from an artsy film (not that he’s ever seen on). He takes a deep breath, as if he already regrets what he has to say next. 
“Okay, I’ll offer you the only services I have.” He turns to face you, eyes on the floor. 
“Oh my god, Soonyoung!” You shove his shoulder. “You are not selling your body for a test!” 
“But it’s all I know!” He says. He pokes your arms. “You could have so much muscle if you lifted just twice a week.” 
“Oh.” You blink at him. “You meant working out?” 
“What did you think I meant?” 
You feel heat rush into your cheeks. You push the door open, praying Soonyoung doesn’t notice. “It doesn’t matter,” you say, not daring to check if he’s following. “I don’t have time to workout.” 
“Then what do you want?” Soonyoung asks. He stays just out of reach, adjusting his grip so that the water bottle hangs from his hand. “Please, I’ll do anything!” 
“Why do you need me?” 
“Because you’re the smartest person I know,” he says without hesitation. In the three years of your friendship, you’ve learned that the only time Soonyoung isn’t serious is when he flirts. 
“You are,” he insists. “Plus you’ve already taken it, so you’re my best chance. My only chance, it’s not like I have a good track record with tests.” He gives you a lopsided smile as he tries to pretend like he’s joking. But Soonyoung has always been easy to read. You see the sparkle in his eyes dim, and you remember freshman Soonyoung–when he failed the midterm and holed up in his room in the frat house for two full days, not even venturing out to drink. It’s that damn sparkle that gets to you. He isn’t paying attention anymore, water bottle hanging loosely from his hand, but you can’t bring yourself to snatch it. 
“You can pass it,” you say with a sigh. “It’s about studying correctly.” 
“I don’t know,” Soonyoung says. “I’ve never really studied.” 
“Well, that’s what I’ll teach you.” 
Soonyoung freezes, grabbing your arm. “Seriously?” When you turn to face him, his smile is so bright it warms you from the inside out, hotter than the actual sun on your skin. He throws his arms around you, wrapping you in a hug so tight he lifts you off the ground. Your heart does this strange thing where it hops into your throat. Your arms come up as a reflex but his embrace is too tight for you to even hug him back.  
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He shouts. He doesn’t let go, even when he sets you back down. He loosens his arms just enough to look at you, the full force of his smile directed at you. “I swear you’re welcome at the frat house any time, I’ll buy you anything you want when I have money, I’ll drive you wherever you want if I can get Seungcheol’s car, I’ll do whatever, just thank you, thank you, thank you.” 
You know you should answer, or say something, but thinking is too much when he’s so close you can smell the strangely sweet combination of laundry detergent, cologne, and sweat. You push out of his arms, snagging your water bottle on the way out. 
“It’s whatever,” you mumble. Though his arms aren’t around you anymore, you feel strangely hot, like your blood is boiling, and your heart still pounds. 
“It is not whatever,” Soonyoung declares. “I swear, whatever you want, I’ll do it.” He holds a hand over his heart and if it was anyone else you’d think they were joking but it’s Soonyoung: he’s deadly serious. 
You can’t handle his gaze anymore, turning to study your beat up sneakers. “Really? You’ll get my first edition copy of Pride and Prejudice from Jun?” 
“I’ll get that book back.” He glances at you. “It is a book, right?” 
“Yeah,” you say. “Though there’s been some good adaptations.” 
“That’s the one with the zombies?” 
“Zombies?” You frown. “Oh my god, do you mean Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?” 
“That’s not the original book?” 
“No,” you say, laughing. “The original is Jane Austen, in the 1800s.” 
“Oh,” Soonyoung says. 
“I’ve actually never seen that one,” you say. “It’s the only adaptation I haven’t seen.” 
“How many movies are there?” 
“Well, there’s the 1940 adaptation, the BBC series that’s widely regarded as the most faithful adaptation, the 2005 Kiera Knightley movie that’s iconic, plus the Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which is a vlog-style Youtube adaptation. Then of course there’s Jane Austen’s other works, like Persuasion, which, the new one, for the record, was a terrible adaptation.” You stop when you realize you’re dangerously close to going on what Jihoon calls ‘an Austen tirade.’ 
“I liked the movie,” he says after a pause. “I don’t know if it was that good, or close to the books. But it was fun.” 
“I’ll have to watch it, then,” you say. “I know it’s the obvious choice, but Pride and Prejudice really is my favorite Jane Austen novel. Good luck getting it back from Jun though. He’s studying abroad this semester.” 
“He’s the friend from your history class?” 
“No, that’s Jihoon, my roommate,” you say. “Jun was in my language class.” 
“I thought you hated everyone in that class.” 
“Oh, I did,” you say. “But Jun is friends with Jihoon, so he sort of just became my friend too.” 
Soonyoung hums, saying nothing else. You don’t recognize the song, though you tend to mostly listen to classical music when you study or whatever Jihoon blasts from his room, so it’s not that surprising. The melody is nice, though. Well, Soonyoung’s voice is. 
“I really am grateful,” Soonyoung says. “I know I was begging, because I don’t think I can do this without you–well, I don’t know if I can do it with you, but you’re my only hope and–I’m rambling again.” He flashes a smile. “The point is, thank you.” 
You shrug, feeling shy under his gaze. “It’ll help me study anyways,” you say. “You learn a lot when you teach.” 
“I thought you already took it?”
“I only got a 150,” you say, sighing. “I need at least a 165.” 
Soonyoung nods, forehead creasing like it always does when he’s lost in thought. “Thank you anyway.”
“Well, you swore to do whatever I tell you,” you say, desperate to change the subject. “Don’t think I won’t abuse that.” 
“Oh, YN,” he says, “I’m counting on it.” He even winks. 
You cough, choking at the outright flirting. Soonyoung hasn’t tried a line on you in so long you thought he’d used them all. He isn’t serious–it was engraved in his DNA the second he became a fully fledged member of Sigma Beta Tau but it’s not like many people flirt with you, so it’s hard to stop your heart from jumping. 
You check your phone, unable to look him in the eyes. It’s 2:18 now, prime naptime if you can get back to your apartment before Jihoon gets back. But if it’s past two, unless he lied to you at the start of the semester, that means Soonyoung should be in his data ethics class. “Hey, don’t you have class right now?” 
Soonyoung glances at the time on his phone. “Shit.” He takes off, sprinting across the grass, dodging three picnics and narrowly avoiding getting rocked in the back of the head by a frisbee. He pauses at the edge, turning back around to wave wildly at you. 
“Thank you!” He shouts. The picnickers glance between you and him and you can feel the blush returning. Soonyoung doesn’t notice all the eyes on him, waving like a goofball one final time before sprinting off again. Like a whirlwind, he’s gone again, leaving you to stroll across campus and wonder what you just signed up for. 
.
.
Soonyoung’s brow furrows into a frown, lips pulling together in a pout. He rests his chin on his hands, looking up at you from the table like a puppy that knows he’s in trouble. “That bad?” 
“Your analytical reasoning was good!” You say, not wanting to destroy him just yet. “The logical analysis wasn’t that bad either, you just need practice.” 
“Wasn’t there a third section?” 
“The score for reading comprehension was pretty bad.” Horrendous, actually, but you can’t tell him that, not when he’s deflating faster than a balloon at a knife throwing contest. He sits back, head knocking lightly against the back of the stiff library chairs. 
“We can work with this! It’s really not that bad,” you say. You reach out instinctively, wrapping your hands over his hands. Your thumb rests against the soft smooth skin of the back of his hand, the rest of your fingers brushing lightly against his calloused fingers. You jerk back when you realize what you’re doing, patting his hands once and grabbing the workbook in front of him as if it’s what you meant to do all along. You study the upside down words, not daring to look at the disgust that’s probably painted on Soonyoung’s face. 
“You can start with practicing the logic problems,” you say, flipping through the work book. “I’ll figure out a strategy for the reading portion.” 
Soonyoung heaves a sigh, sitting up and hunching over the workbook. You flip open one of your old workbooks and try to pretend like you’re not trying to melt away from embarrassment. 
“This isn’t very much teaching,” Soonyoung says without looking up. “Lots of problem solving.” 
“I don’t really know what I’m doing either,” you say. “I just watched a lot of youtube videos when I was studying last year. I should have known better than to take it over the summer, though.” 
Soonyoung glances up. “How come?” 
You chew on your lip. You’ve known Soonyoung for a while now, but you’ve never talked to him like this, mentioning any real things other than complaining about roommates. Soonyoung would listen, probably say the ‘right’ things, but it’s a study session, so you just say, “Just not good timing.” 
He nods, returning to his humming. You turn to your own workbook, trying to figure out how to get Soonyoung to actually read the passages for the reading comprehension. Twenty minutes pass in an instant and Soonyoung drops his pencil, sliding his journal with the answers back in front of you. You flip to the answer key, scanning between the two. 
“When are you taking it again?” Soonyoung asks while he waits. 
“Just before Halloween,” you say. Exactly 38 days from now, according to the IMPENDING DOOM countdown clock on your phone. 
“That soon?” 
You shrug. “I wanted to give myself time to take it again in case I bomb it and it had to be before midterms, so, yeah.” 
“Is it really that bad to take all your tests at once?” Soonyoung asks. 
“I mean, finals week pretty much kills me every semester. I actually thought I was cutting it close with only two weeks between it and midterms.” 
“Is November cutting it too close?” 
“Depends on when in November you plan on taking it,” you say, “though you probably won’t be able to take it again if you don’t like your score.” 
“Not a problem for me,” Soonyoung says. He doesn’t waver against your raised eyebrow. “I’m getting that 179, first try.” 
“You’re that confident?” 
“In you.” He winks. “Also the bet is off if I don’t get it on the first try.” 
You nod. “Yeah, that makes more sense.” You glance at your calendar. “
“November 18th.” 
“That’s not too bad, you dodged between midterms and finals, there should be plenty of cram time.” 
Soonyoung shrugs. “I just scheduled it so that I would get the results before the Christmas party.” 
“I didn’t think you would be the religious type.” 
“Oh, I’m not,” he says. “The frat has this annual post-finals party before people go back home for holiday break, usually on the last day of finals. There’s no way I’m letting Seungkwan get away with my hard earned Playstation, and there’s no way he’d miss the party.” 
“You can’t just buy your own game?” 
“It’s a console actually,” he says, “and that’s not the point.” You prepare for some lecture about honor or frat code or something overly dramatic and inspired by any of the countless war propaganda movies he loves, but he closes his mouth. 
“I guess it doesn’t really matter,” you say. You turn back his sheet, half the answers marked with a dark blue X because red feels too cruel. “You’re clearly committed.” 
He sighs at the answers, flipping back to the first question and frowning. You think the conversation is over, but without looking up from glaring at the right answers, he says, “You should come.” 
“To?” 
“The Christmas party.” 
You stare at the top of his head but he doesn’t seem to notice. You wonder how he manages to keep his hair so blonde without ruining his scalp but you don’t see any dandruff. “Me?” You finally say. 
“You said you’d come, like, freshman year,” he says. “You never did.” 
You did promise, back when you saw him for class every day. But frat parties weren’t your scene back then. They aren’t your scene now. Nothing about blasting music and binge drinking appeals to you, and yet Soonyoung peeking at you from his notebook makes you feel guilty anyways. He looks at you like he really doesn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to go.
And that’s the worst part: for Soonyoung, you would go. When he looks at you with the damn Soonyoung Sparkle, you’d do anything. 
“I’ll… think about it,” you finally say. 
He looks at you for a moment longer, then nods, like he didn’t really expect you to say yes. You try not to feel like you’re letting him down. 
“Can you explain this one to me,” he asks, turning the book so you can see it from across the table. 
You skim the question, which turns out to be a series of questions about stained glass windows. You take a moment to glance between Soonyoung’s answers and the correct ones. 
“Walk me through your process,” you say. 
“Okay, I start with…”
.
“Soonyoung, are you even listening?” 
He blinks at you, lifting his head from his arms. “Something about strategies? For reading?” 
You snap the book shut, shaking your head. You open your mouth, speech on responsibility and studying on the tip of your tongue but one look into Soonyoung’s Sparkle Eyes (patent pending) and all the words are gone. You really need to figure out how to get around that super power. 
“Come on, it’s so nice out,” he says. “We should be outside.” He grabs your hand. “This is not studying weather, this is dating weather.” 
“Soonyoung your test is in two months, you seriously want to skip?” You don’t dignify the second part of his complaint with a response. The idea of Soonyoung on a date makes your stomach flip. 
He sighs. “No, but it’s October, we won’t get many more nice days, so can we at least go outside?” 
You hesitate a heartbeat too long and Soonyoung jumps up. He closes the workbook, knocking loose papers off the table and sending highlighters of every color flying in every direction. The chaos earns a couple side eyes from the people around you and a full on glare from the person directly next to him, but Soonyoung, as Soonyoung as ever, doesn’t seem to notice. He picks up the papers and highlighters, shoving them into his backpack without a folder and slinging it over his shoulder. You can only follow him, grabbing the drinks before he tries to carry them along his laptop. When it comes to Soonyoung, mixing liquids and technology is more dangerous than mixing alcohols. You haven’t forgotten The Coffee Incident, flooding his backpack at 8 in the morning. 
He drags you out of the library, though you don’t put up much of a fight. Soonyoung makes you want to relax, just a little, and when he smiles back at you as soon as he steps out of the sunlight, you find you don’t regret a thing. 
Soonyoung pulls his emergency blanket out of his blanket, passing it to you. He’s more prepared for naps than any class he’s ever taken but the thin fabric is soft so who are you to judge? He heads straight for the quad, which is already filled with people, some groups of friends, too many obvious couples with heads in each other's laps or arms wrapped around each other. Soonyoung settles down in a relatively unpopulated corner, taking the blanket back to shake it out the blanket a few times before laying it flat on the ground. 
Soonyoung groans when you pull out the workbooks as soon as you sit down. “There isn’t anything more fun to study?” 
“Soonyoung, it’s the LSAT,” you say. “It’s not really meant to be fun.” 
“But–” 
“You’re the one that wanted to go outside,” you remind him, tapping his arm with a pen. “If you’re too distracted we’ll have to go back into the library.” 
He gazes at the other people laughing for a long moment before turning to face you again. You raise your eyebrows and he takes the workbook from your hands, flipping it open to the sticky-note bookmark. 
The next twenty minutes are relatively quiet, the only noise coming from the chatter of the people around you, too far away to clearly hear, and Soonyoung humming while working through practice problems. You’re not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it, though he bobs his head slightly. You wonder what Soonyoung is like when he isn’t trying to get out of studying–even outside of the party invites you’ve avoided, you rarely see him on campus (because you aren’t on campus when you don’t have to be). You almost went to dinner with him to celebrate passing the business class freshman year where you met him, but you got food poisoning and he never rescheduled. 
It’s for the best, though. Even like this, tutoring him minus payment of any kind, you can tell that spending too much time with him will be dangerous. He flirts so easily it feels genuine, and even though he can be ridiculous, he’s never been anything but lovely to you. And it doesn’t help that he’s hot. He glances up, as if he can feel you staring, but he just flashes a smile at you and ducks his head again. Damn frat bros with endearing charms that melt you like the perfect grilled cheese. 
Perfectly blue without a cloud in sight, the sky is an empty canvas above you. The air is just the right temperature, just between hot and cold, the sun ensuring that it never dips into the latter. Just the slightest breeze kisses your skin, lifting the edges of the papers but never flipping them. Soonyoung was right: the perfect date weather. 
“Soonyoung?” You turn your head to see a dark haired man standing over you. Wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and sides ripped open, you figure there’s a 80% chance he’s one of Soonyoung’s frat brothers. 
“Seokmin?” Soonyoung frowns. 
“You were actually serious?” Seokmin asks, gesturing to the books. “You know Seungkwan said it as a joke, right?” 
“Yeah, but a bet is a bet,” Soonyoung says. “And I really want his Playstation.” 
Seokmin snorts. “You know he only said it because he knows you can’t do it.” 
“I’m not like I’m losing anything by trying.” Soonyoung sets his lips in a sharp line of determination (which you recognize from the dining hall when he sweet talks his way into free cookies). Seokmin raises his eyebrows at his aggression but eventually decides it’s not worth the fight. Instead, he plops down on the blanket, making a little triangle between the three of you. 
“You must be YN,” he says, extending his hand. His easy smile and the way he sat down without waiting for an invitation reminds you of Soonyoung. Unlike the faux blonde, it feels foreign and you shift a little closer to Soonyoung instinctively. 
“It’s nice to meet you,” you lie. Seokmin’s eyes curl into little half moons when he smiles, apparently not noticing your awkwardness. You can’t help but feel like he’s intruding as he turns to Soonyoung and asks him to explain what he’s doing. Soonyoung explains it well, though it helps that he was working on the analytical reasoning section. 
It’s because he’s interrupting Soonyoung’s studying. That’s why it bothers you that he’s here, even though Soonyoung doesn’t seem to mind and Seokmin seems genuinely interested. Unfortunately, the revelation doesn’t stop you from wishing Seokmin would just leave.  
“I don’t know how you do any of this,” Seokmin says after Soonyoung explains the next problem. 
“It’s easy!” Soonyoung says. “Half the time the answer is in the question, you just have to know where to look!” 
“Quoting me?” You raise your eyebrows. 
“Well I did learn from the best!” 
“So cliche,” you mutter but the compliment gets you smiling anyway. You look up to find Seokmin looking at you. He has a strange look on his face, frowning, but not angrily. He looks a little bit like when Soonyoung can’t decide between the right answer and the second best option. He doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. 
“What?” 
He pauses a long moment before answering, as if pondering how to answer. Finally, he says, “I like you.” 
You stare at him. Soonyoung had been diligently working on practice problems but his head jerks up at the words. 
“I mean, you’re a cool person,” Seokmin quickly says. “Good tutor for Soonyoung.” After hearing his name, Soonyoung grins and turns back to underlining in the workbook. 
“Tutor?” You say. “I really don’t think I’m doing all that much.” 
Seokmin shrugs. ”I don’t know many people that would spend this much time with someone if they aren't helping. Besides, either way, I’ve never seen Soonyoung this dedicated before.” 
“That’s because you don’t dare to bet against me,” Soonyoung says without looking up. 
“He might have a point there,” you say. Soonyoung takes a moment to smile at your support. 
“What I’m trying to say is that you’re cool,” Seokmin says. 
“Thank you?” You wait for him to say something else but he sits back and rests his hands behind him, stretching out in the sun a little more. Sighing, he tilts his head toward the sun. 
“Seems like the weather will turn cold soon,” he says. “This might be the last warm day of the year.” He glances at Soonyoung. “And you’re spending it here instead of pre-gaming the Tau party.” 
Soonyoung’s pencil freezes. He peeks up at Seokmin, then at you, then shrugs. “I take my bets seriously.” 
“Whatever,” Seokmin says. He lays back fully, half of his body sticking off the blanket into the grass. “What are the Ke$ha lyrics? ‘The party don’t start ‘til Soonyoung walks in?’” He doesn’t wait for a correction. “I think I’ll wait until you're finished and we’ll tear it up together.” 
Soonyoung glances at you, then unsuccessfully tries to hide his laughter at your expression. You don’t mean to be rude, but Seokmin really just invited himself all on his own and crashed your picnic. Study date. Outdoor study session. The name doesn’t matter, what does matter is it’s only supposed to be you and Soonyoung. 
“He’ll fall asleep in about five seconds,” Soonyoung whispers. “He doesn’t actually care about the party, he just likes my nap blankets.” On that point you can’t really blame Seokmin. 
“As long as it doesn’t disrupt your studying,” you say. 
“Right,” Soonyoung says, more to himself than you. “That’s what’s important.” 
You aren’t so oblivious that you miss his bitterness, but you are enough of a coward to decide not to ask about it. How do you even ask about something like that? You can barely answer his questions about the LSAT, so feelings? No chance. 
You flip open your own workbook and set a pencil case down to keep the book open and ignore the soft snores from Seokmin. Soonyoung hums, the soft breeze carrying the gentle tune to you and easing you into a false sense of comfort, planting the idea that it’s always been like this and it always will be. But Soonyoung will take the LSAT in November and you will graduate in the spring and there won’t be any more excuses for seeing him, let alone laying out in the sun with him. Letting yourself enjoy this moment has dangerous consequences for your heart. 
And yet you enjoy the warm sun on your skin and hum along with Soonyoung anyway. Seokmin is right: this kind of day won’t last long. 
.
.
You jump awake at the sound. It takes you a moment to register where you are, to blink the sleep out of your eyes and recognize the stiff library chairs, the yellow tinted lighting of the study rooms on the third floor. Built like a prison cell with no windows and stained linoleum floors, you aren’t entirely sure how you fell asleep. The last thing you remember is working on your essay on Sense and Sensibility, which was rather difficult since you haven’t had the time to finish rereading it. Your book rests on the table next to your open laptop, screen dark. 
A second knock reminds you why you woke up in the first place and you turn to the door. Through the glass door you see a student with a backpack hanging off their shoulder, half smiling. They turn the knob, opening the door just enough to stick their head in. 
“Hey, sorry, I think I have the room scheduled,” they say. 
“Oh, I’m sorry, I lost track of time,” you say, slamming your laptop shut and shoving everything into your backpack. To their credit, the other student doesn’t rush you, even apologizing and telling you to take your time. But if you’ve lost the room, that means the two hours you had booked the study room for–the two hours you designated for writing the essay and doing problem sets–were spent asleep, which means the LSAT cram schedule has been completely thrown off with only three days before the test. 
You groan as you step into the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor. The farther up, the more intense the quiet levels get. Hopefully it won’t be so quiet that you fall asleep, but since you got a nap, you should be able to power through an all-nighter. It wouldn’t be the first time. You brace yourself to check your phone for the time, though being kicked out of the room means you already know your fate. 9:08 means that you have a little less than three hours until the library closes. You’ve done more with less time. 
The first couple desks are occupied by students but you don’t stray, heading for a familiar corner, ignoring the empty desks that line the stacks. Your corner, that you found freshman year during finals season when you couldn’t find an empty desk, is perfect: hidden behind the encyclopedia shelves with a light directly above it, only three dicks carved into it–all on the underside (discovered on a particularly bad day where you found it most comfortable to lay underneath and rethink your entire life). You smile at the small comfort, striding through the stacks with Sense and Sensibility still in your arms. 
You nearly drop the book when you see the backpack, abruptly turning despite the fact that it must have been obvious to whoever stole your corner that you were headed there. You feel rage boiling up and threatening to spill. You close your eyes, reminding yourself that the corner isn’t actually yours. Still, as you settle into a desk facing a giant window that reveals the dark campus, you can’t help but feel bitter. Your thoughts stray to the desk that should be yours, even as you pull out your computer. 
BATTERY LOW
The words light up your screen, mocking you before the screen falls dark again. You dig in your backpack for your charger that you always slip into the main pocket. You feel your underused pencil pouch, the single journal since you keep most of your notes on your laptop, LSAT prep book, your three folders, and no charger. Even when you look inside and lay the entire contents of your backpack on the desk in front of you, the only charger you find is for your phone. Which means the longer laptop cord is probably sitting on your desk, all the way back at your apartment. 
A twenty minute walk back, twenty minutes less for writing your essay. You can start it on your phone, maybe, though the thought of switching between reading the Sparknotes and typing already exhausts you. It’s moot anyways, since all you can do is sit and stare at the desk, covered in the contents of your soul. This is what your life has become: a stack of paper that weighs less than the digital universe on your laptop that’s all contingent on a $15 charger that abandons you when you need it most. 
In the end it isn’t the rage that gets to you. It’s the hilarity of it all, how silly it is that your life is dictated by something so stupid. 
The fifth floor decrees silence, so you make sure that your sobs don’t make a noise. You can’t control the tears but you can hold your breath. When your head starts to feel light and your lungs are desperate for air, you can breathe through your mouth and inhale as slow as you can to keep the shakiness to a minimum. You can do everything you can to hold it together, even when you’re falling apart. 
Someone taps you on the shoulder. You lift your head, ready to face a tired librarian kicking you out but instead you see bleach blonde hair and a forced smile over a furrowed brow. 
“What are you doing here?” You whisper, glad for the quiet because you don’t trust your voice to support you. 
He holds up a thick, leatherbound book. LSAT for Dummies. “Extra reading couldn’t hurt, right?” 
You blink at him. The only times you’ve seen Soonyoung in the library on his own has been with a thick blanket and closed eyes (it’s how you know he sleeps with his mouth open, just a little). You can’t quite believe he’s in front of you and yet he takes a step closer and doesn’t vanish. 
“What are you doing here?” He asks. 
“Shhh,” you say, holding your finger to your lips to get him to quiet down, even though there’s no one in sight. “Quiet floor.” 
He nods, looking around as if he’s waiting for someone to kick him out. He turns to look at your desk, the contents of your backpack still strewn about. He tilts his head but doesn’t dare raise his voice to ask. You know he hasn’t missed the tears, still wet on your cheeks. 
You done? He mouths. 
Not even close, you think, but you nod anyways because it’s the easier answer. Soonyoung doesn’t hesitate, gently closing your laptop and sweeping everything into your backpack. You watch as he dumps it all into the biggest pocket, zipping it up and slinging it onto his back. He tucks the law book under his arm and holds out his other hand for you to take. 
“Come on,” he whispers. And you take it, let him pull you out of your chair. The walk to the elevator; out of the library; toward the edge of campus; nothing feels far when Soonyoung doesn’t let go of your hand. You follow him in a daze, clinging to his hand in the off-chance that all your luck rides on him–like if you let go, you’ll lose your tether to this planet. 
Soonyoung rarely walks in silence and today is not an exception. He rambles about the only member of the frat capable of cooking that apparently can’t do anything without creating a giant mess. Even as he complains about the guy, Soonyoung can’t help defending him, explaining in mouth-watering detail how good his food is. 
“One time he crowd sourced some steaks and did a grill for the new pledges and they all thought it was a prank or something and nearly cried when he actually let them eat them. I think they burnt their mouths from eating it too fast, afraid someone was going to take it away from them.” Soonyoung stops at the edge of campus. He glances at you, a question in his eyes. Where are we going? 
“Soonyoung,” you say. Squeezing his hand feels natural. “I don’t really want to go back right now.” 
He nods, squeezing your hand back. “You want to go for a ride?” 
“You have a car?” 
“Nope.” Soonyoung fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes a call. You can only hear Soonyoung, who says, “I need a ride,” and “Pick me up by the duck statue,” and then he hangs up. 
The edge of campus that Soonyoung drags you to is right next to the athletic fields, which explains why there is a giant statue of the mascot that towers over you. It has three of its own personal spotlights and shiny claws from fans rubbing them for good luck, despite there being no official tradition. You only went to one game, mostly to confirm you would rather be anywhere else (except maybe the bathroom of the stadium). Either way, the only thing you do know about the statue and mascot for your school is that it is not a duck. 
“That’s a raven.” You point at the statue. 
Soonyoung frowns between you and the hunk of metal. “Oh, Larry?” 
“It has a name?” 
“Well, there’s the official name, which is like, Midnight Rain or something, and the frat name.” 
“And the frat name is Larry?” 
Soonyoung shrugs. “I didn’t choose it.” 
“And you call it a duck, too?” 
“It looks like a duck.” 
You study the statue. You aren’t an ornithologist, but you’re pretty sure ducks have webbed feet instead of talons, and different beaks. Plus you’ve never seen a pure black duck. But you’ve spent enough time with Soonyoung to know it doesn’t have to make sense when the frat is involved (in fact, you’ve found sense is rarely involved in their decisions). 
“We just call it the duck. Or Larry, when we want to be formal.” Soonyoung jumps at the honk of a horn. You turn around with him to find an obnoxiously red convertible parked against the curb. The driver’s smooth black hair is styled to look effortless, hair falling just above his eyes, and he wears sunglasses despite the fact that the sun went down three hours ago. He might be attractive, if he wasn’t trying so hard. You never thought you had a type, but someone like Soonyoung, who wears clothes that he likes and sticks his hair straight up because he thinks it looks funny–that’s more your style. 
“Here’s our ride,” Soonyoung says. He starts walking, pulling you with him, still holding your hand. You aren’t sure if he even realizes, but you’re in no hurry to remind him. 
“Hey Josh,” he says. 
Driver (Josh, apparently), finally pulls off his sunglasses. “Soonyoung, you have a friend.” 
“I’m YN,” you say, wishing your voice didn’t sound so scratchy from crying. 
 “Oh, I know,” he says, a twinkle in his eye that flirts between danger and fun. “I’m Joshua.” You try not to feel unsettled by it. He raises an eyebrow as Soonyoung slides into the backseat and you sit beside him. “Am I just an Uber to you?” 
“Seungcheol is out and I knew there was no way you would let me drive your car,” Soonyoung says. 
“So, yes?” 
Soonyoung shrugs and laughs at Joshua’s expression. 
“Where are we headed?” He asks with a resigned sigh as if he’s used to Soonyoung’s antics. Has he done this before? You frown. Why does it matter to you if he’s done this with someone else? You’re so busy with the internal war, you miss Soonyoung’s answer. 
“Seriously?” Joshua asks. “It’s a weeknight.” 
“Like that’s ever been a problem for you.” 
Joshua glances at you. “You’re okay with this?” 
You pause. You don’t actually know where Soonyoung said to go. But it’s Soonyoung, your heart says. You're inclined to agree with it tonight. “Yeah.” 
He shakes his head and mutters something you don’t catch and kicks the car into gear. Before long, you are flying down a two lane road you didn’t even know existed. The wind starts to pick up with the top of the car down, blasting your face. Though your nose is still stuffed from crying, the air fills your lungs, tasting like dead leaves and unnatural warmth courtesy of climate change. For the first time tonight, you can breathe. 
.
.
The clock reads just shy of 1 am by the time the car stops. As soon as the rumbling engine cuts out, another noise takes over, drowning everything else out. Crashes too rhythmic to be thunder, the blows softened by tall dunes illuminated by the car’s headlights that Joshua didn’t turn off. 
Soonyoung turns to you with a grin. “Ready to have some fun?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, jumping out of the car instead of opening the door, ignoring Joshua’s shout. He sprints toward the crashing waves. 
Joshua shakes his head, opening his door and ushering you out from the back. He even closes the door behind you, folding his arms over his chest and walking slowly to the beach with you. The headlights cut out but the moon and stars shine enough to see where the boardwalk ends and the sand begins. Soonyoung’s movement gives him away more than any light, running alongside the water and dancing with the tide. 
You clear your throat. The ride cleared your head enough for you to feel properly embarrassed about meeting someone right after sobbing. You shudder to imagine how terrible you looked when he first picked you up, clinging to Soonyoung like he was the only thing keeping you alive. A blush forms just at the thought of it. 
“So, you do this often?” You ask. 
“Do something truly insane because of Soonyoung? All the time.” Joshua laughs. “We don’t usually end up this far away though, and usually someone’s life is in imminent danger.” 
“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say, watching Soonyoung strip his socks and shoes off and toss them behind him. One sock gets caught in the wind and blows back toward you and Joshua. 
Joshua stops before the two of you can catch up to him. You turn to look at him. It’s difficult to read his expression in the moonlight but he frowns like he’s not sure he should say something. Eventually he says, “I’m going for a walk down the boardwalk.” He glances at Soonyoung, then back at you and smiles. “Have fun with him.” 
You watch him turn around and trudge back up the sand, wondering if all of Soonyoung’s friends are this strange. Maybe it’s just being in a frat. You grab Soonyoung’s sock and set it with his shoes, smiling when he turns around and waves like a maniac. 
“It’s the ocean!” He shouts over the crashes. 
“You’re soaked!” You shout back. He glances down and apparently finally realizes his shirt is wet, clinging to his shoulders already. He strides back toward you, grabbing your arm and pulling you closer. 
“My shoes are not coming off!” You warn him. 
“Just come closer!” He says. “It’s amazing!” You stand with him at the edge of the water, watching it rise in the darkness and draw closer and closer. It crashes on the sand first, a violent move, kicking up wet sand and mixing it with white water. The frothy white water creeps forward, until you have to dance backward. Soonyoung stays in the water, letting it wash around his feet. 
“It feels better like this,” he says. 
“My feet are covered in enough sand,” you say, though he does look like he’s having fun. The water must be freezing this time of the year–it would feel so nice running over your skin. But you’d end up with wet socks and even more sand in your shoes to clean out. 
Soonyoung holds out his hand. “You’d like this.” 
You chew on your lip. Normally you’d laugh in his face and say ‘not a chance.’ But normalcy has never been running three hours away to the beach in the middle of the night when you have class at 9 in the morning. You pull off the sneakers without untying them and pull your socks off, setting them next to Soonyoung’s and joining him at the edge of the water. His hand isn’t out by the time you return but he slips it into yours when you join his side. 
Another wave crashes and you watch the water creep forward, faster than you expect it to be–and you’re right, it’s freezing, but Soonyoung’s right too, it sends an icy shock throughout your body that sends a tingly rush up from your toes to every nerve in your body, setting them on fire. You squeeze his hand and laugh. 
“Good?” He asks.
“I love it.” 
You don’t know how long you stand there, holding onto Soonyoung’s hand and letting the water wash over you. After a few waves, it doesn’t feel cold anymore. You stand until your feet are buried in wet sand, each wave sending you lower and lower. 
“My feet are freezing,” Soonyoung eventually says. 
“Mine, too.” You lift your feet reluctantly, already missing the coarse sand and cold water. You have to let go of Soonyoung’s hand to put on your socks and shoes, shuddering at all the sand in your socks. The cotton became damp from sitting too close to the water, your shoes faring the same. Yet you don’t regret a second of it. 
You stand up and stretch, feeling your spine pop. When you turn back around, you almost scream. You manage to contain it to a gasp, a wheezing Soonyoung’s name. He blinks at you innocently, like he isn’t standing in front of you with his shirt in his hand. 
“What are you doing?” You choke out. 
“We’re at the beach,” he says. “I have to take pictures.” 
“And you need to take off your shirt for that?” 
“Why? Does it bother you?” He smirks. 
Muscles have never been a selling point for you. The “people” you’ve crushed on have all been smart or kind, crushes of intellect rather than bodies. His toned abs, sculpted shoulders, the way his body curves gently as he allows you to stare at him–normally it wouldn’t get to you at all (other than the embarrassment of being this close to a shirtless man for the first time in a long time). But it’s not just the muscles. It’s Soonyoung, your Soonyoung who calls you at four in the morning to tell you about the movie he just finished and is too endearing for you to truly be annoyed at. It’s the Soonyoung that gets lost in the Engineering building even as a senior. It’s the Soonyoung that drags you to the beach in the middle of the night just to make you smile. Yes, it bothers you. No one should be this incredible and hot. 
“No,” you mumble, failing to convince yourself of the lie. 
Soonyoung seems to be done teasing you, dropping his shirt into your hands. He walks a little closer to the waves, apparently not bothered by the chilly ocean breeze. He starts to pose, then raises his eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to take pictures?” 
“Where’s your phone?”
“The camera’s broken,” he says. “Just use yours and you can send them to me.” He continues to pose, flexing his arms as subtly as he can which isn’t particularly subtle (though the muscles are even more impressive in person). You are tempted to reach out and feel the tension, before you realize you are staring again. 
You numb to Soonyoung in this half-dressed state as you take the pictures. The frat must have a professional photographer or something, because Soonyoung knows how to pose. Despite some of the angles and positions seeming awkward, each picture comes out as if from a photoshoot. He only gives you a few instructions on taking pictures, and compliments you way beyond your talents. 
“Just like that!” Soonyoung says, breaking his model face to grin at you. “You’re really good at this.” 
“You can’t even see the pictures,” you say. You bite your lips so you don’t smile. Apparently that doesn’t matter, because he keeps posing. It’s a good thing you just upgraded your phone storage because you estimate at least a thousand pictures are taken for each pose. 
“Are you guys done?” You jump at the voice next to you. Apparently Joshua returned from his walk, sneaking up using the crashing waves as cover. “We should head back soon if you want to make your morning classes.” 
“Definitely want to,” you say. You haven’t gotten any work done, but that’s no excuse to skip class. Soonyoung pouts but doesn’t argue. 
“Perfect!” Joshua claps his hands together. He shoves you toward Soonyoung and grabs your phone. “One more picture together and we’ll go.”
Being at a distance worked perfectly fine but those muscles have you frozen in place again. Soonyoung throws an arm over your shoulders and grins like you do this all the time. His biceps press through your jacket, the flex of the muscle exactly as you imagined it, not that it stops your heart from thundering. 
You can’t help but steal a glance at Soonyoung. Despite feeling like you’ll malfunction at any second, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. Soonyoung’s features look soft this close, even the sharp cut of his jawline. You want to study every line of his face, each curve, memorize it until the way his lips slowly curl into a smile is carved into your heart. Spending the rest of your life here doesn’t seem too bad. 
“Let’s go,” Joshua says, breaking whatever magic froze time for you. You are left with cold toes and sand in your sneakers as you march up the dune and back to Joshua’s car. 
“I just cleaned it,” he groans, looking at all the sand you and Soonyoung tracked in. 
You mumble an apology but when you try to offer to clean it for him, he shakes his head. “Nobody touches my baby.” 
You glance at Soonyoung, who followed you into the backseat again. He rolls his eyes at Joshua, smiling in a way that you know means he isn’t serious. You smile back at him and click your seatbelt into place. 
“Address?” Joshua asks, handing you his phone. You punch it in and hand the phone back. 3 hours and sixteen minutes. 
Joshua whistles, seeing the arrival time of 4:53. “Remind me never to do this again.” 
“The beach was your idea,” Soonyoung says. His words slur a little. 
“Just go to sleep already,” Joshua says. The engine rumbles on and he pulls away from the empty boardwalk. 
“‘m not even tired,” Soonyoung says, fighting a yawn. He slouches and leans against the headrest, rolling his head to look at you. “You have class in the morning?” 
“Not until nine.” 
“That’s good.” He doesn’t succeed in fighting the yawn this time. His blinks become longer and longer, eyes closing more than opening. It’s like watching the energizer bunny shut down. 
“Soonyoung?” 
He opens his eyes and you think maybe he’d wait for the rest of his life for you to say something. 
“Thank you.” 
“Always.” He smiles lazily. “I swore I’d do anything.” 
His sworn loyalty. It should be fun, having a boy like him dedicated to fulfilling your wishes. But what would it be like if he wasn’t sworn to you? If he did these kinds of things just because he wants to? 
You didn’t think you were tired but the next thing you know, Soonyoung gently shakes you awake. 
“We’re here,” he says in a quiet, very un-Soonyoung voice. 
You blink at him, trying to figure out why your neck hurts so much, frowning at the unfamiliar surroundings. From the rear view mirror, Joshua watches you. Right, instead of writing your essay, doing the problem sets, or any of the readings, you went to the beach. You wait for the guilt to set in but it doesn’t come. None of the anxieties from earlier in the evening (the technical part of your brain reminds you it was the night before) overwhelm you. 
“Right,” you say, clearing your throat. Your mouth tastes nasty but before you can say anything, Soonyoung hands you a water bottle. You take a sip before saying thank you. 
Soonyoung unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’ll walk you up.” 
You nod, grateful you don’t have to ask him. The night has been a full adventure on its own yet you aren’t quite ready for it to be over. At least you aren’t ready to say goodbye to Soonyoung. 
There’s still something you want to tell him. You want to tell him that you like his blonde hair, even though everyone else thinks it’s ridiculous. You want to tell him that you lied earlier, you nearly lost your mind seeing him shirtless. You want to tell him that you feel proud when he gets the right answer on the first try, that you think his concentration frown is cute, that you’ve never enjoyed studying like you do when he’s by your side. You want to tell him that on your worst days, days like today, just being Soonyoung makes it better. 
But you learned a long time ago tired ramblings and drunk confessions are siblings. They both end in heartbreak and twelve packs of ramen. 
So you ride the elevator with him and watch the lights flicker. You never cared when Jihoon brought his friends (well, Jun) over, but the carpets that look dirty no matter how many times they’re cleaned and beige walls are even worse tonight. You can stand to live in a boring apartment, but not a dirty one. 
“This is me,” you say, gesturing to 808. You turn your back on the door, facing Soonyoung instead. He looks radiant under the fluorescent hallway lights, which really isn’t fair. They make his bleach blonde hair look natural, highlight the blemishes on his skin, easy to see when he’s this close. 
You should go inside and he should go back down but neither of you move. For the second time tonight, you are frozen in time with Soonyoung. 
The floor creaks and you jump, turning around at the same time, accidentally knocking into Soonyoung’s chest as you turn to face the noise behind you. Jihoon, gym bag over his shoulder, frowns at you across the hallway. 
“Are you seriously just getting back now?” 
Shit. You never texted him. “Um, Jihoon, this is Soonyoung,” you say. He waves behind you. “Soonyoung, Jihoon.” 
Jihoon folds his arms. “I’ve heard about you.” You glare at him, which he ignores. “You’re taking the LSAT on a dare?” 
“You’re the one that wants to be a music producer?” 
Jihoon raises his eyebrows and looks at you. “You’ve mentioned me?” 
“Only the worst,” you say, smiling at him. 
“I thought you were at the library all night?” Jihoon says. 
“We went on an adventure,” you say. You show him your sandy shoes. He raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear he knows he interrupted something, but the stubborn asshole doesn’t move. 
You turn back to Soonyoung. “Goodnight,” you say, resisting the urge to hug him. 
“It’s morning,” Jihoon says. 
“Goodnight,” Soonyoung says, glancing at Jihoon. He pauses and fidgets with the hem of his shirt but finally gives you a half hug that feels more like a bro hug than anything else. He disappears into the elevator then pops his head out a final time “Send me the photos!” 
You turn to Jihoon. “I forgot to text you.” 
“I figured I’d wait until the morning to call,” he said. “Even if you were kidnapped there’s still a 90% chance you’d figure out a way to show up for class on time.” He turns the key in the lock and strides into the apartment. You’re too tired to argue back, especially when he’s right, so you just follow him into the apartment. 
“I like him,” Jihoon says before you vanish into your room. 
“Should I find you a wedding dress?” You say. “Soonyoung is single.” 
Jihoon rolls his eyes and grabs a protein shake from the fridge. “Why do I even bother?” 
You don’t wait for him to leave first, peeling your shoes off in the entryway where you can sweep up the sand and practically fall into your room. It’s race to change into an old t-shirt before you collapse onto your bed. 
You set an alarm for 8:30 and check fifty times to make sure it’s actually set. Then you open your camera roll, shaking your head at the countless pictures. You choose twenty non-blurry ones before your eyes start to droop. You scroll to the bottom and click on the pictures Joshua took. Soonyoung grins for the camera, his easy smile as captivating on your phone as it is in person. You are staring at him, a soft smile on your lips and hearts practically bugging out of your eyes. It’s so ridiculously obvious how you feel. You send him his thirst traps and keep that picture for yourself. 
It takes a week for you to realize Soonyoung never posted the pictures. 
.
.
The weight of the world has the decency to wait until you’re home to fall on your shoulders. You hold your keys up and can’t push it into the lock. If you didn’t do well today, it means the past two months have been a complete waste–all the studying, the assignments you got low grades on because you were studying, the nights you spent at your desk–wasted and doomed to repeat. 
All but the time you spent with Soonyoung. Even if you fail (again), he should at least score decently, and you can’t consider that a complete waste. 
You raise your key to insert it into the lock but the door flies open. Jihoon glares at you, arms folded over his chest. “What the hell is taking you so long, your boyfriend is here.”  
You peer past him and find Soonyoung lounging on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table. He sits up when he sees you, grinning and waving. You wonder if he’s been there since you told him you were finished. You make a mental note to get Jihoon his favorite protein shakes. 
“How did you know I was here?” 
“Me and your boyfriend heard you shaking your keys in front of the door for like twenty minutes,” Jihoon says.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” you mutter, praying Soonyoung didn’t hear either of you. You push past Jihoon, letting him lock the door behind you. Soonyoung jumps off the couch as soon as you drop your bag, almost tackling you in a hug. You pretend not to hear Jihoon’s scoff as he locks himself in his room again. 
“How’d it go?” He asks, squeezing you one more time before letting go. You try not to feel disappointed about it. “I mean, I know you did amazing, but how do you feel? Was the room super hot or super cold? Did the proctor give you the evil eye when you turned in your paper because they were secretly trying to sabotage you?” 
“No?” You frown. “And the room was fine, I felt pretty good about it, but I felt good last time, so I don’t really know, I just really don’t want to take it again.” You sigh. “I know you want to know as many details as possible for your test, but I really, really don’t want to think about it right now.” 
Soonyoung grins and pulls out a package of White Claws and a bottle of vodka from a plastic bag that you just noticed sitting on your coffee table. “That’s perfect because I brought a gift from the whole frat.” 
“That seems pretty on brand,” you say. 
“And a gift from me.” He digs again and pulls out a DVD. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. 
“You’re kidding.” You say. “I think I have to be drunk to watch that.” 
“You don’t have faith in my taste in movies?” Soonyoung asks but he pops open the first drink and slips something shaped concerningly like a knife out of his pocket and stabs the can, chugging it before it can really spill on your carpet. Before you can register what he did, he tosses the empty can on the coffee table, immediately scrambling to straighten it. “Sorry, force of habit.” 
“Soonyoung, I don’t think I can keep up with you,” you say, sitting slowly onto the couch. 
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m a lightweight,” he says. “I definitely should not have chugged that.” 
“I guess I better catch up,” you say, unscrewing the vodka and pouring a shot in the little paper cups that Soonyoung brought. The acrid scent curls your lip but you knock it back as fast as you can, forcing it down when you miss the back of your throat and it burns your tongue. Soonyoung hands you a can, the lime flavored seltzer pushing the nasty flavor out of your mouth. 
“Yeah, I’m terrible at that,” you say. 
Soonyoung shrugs. “I’m not one to judge. You should have seen me as a pledge.” 
You grin at the mental image of Soonyoung wearing a fake toga made of bedsheets. “I bet you were adorable.” You take another sip of the drink (which tastes significantly worse when you aren’t comparing it to straight vodka) and miss Soonyoung scrambling for words. 
“I can’t drink this,” you declare, setting the can down. You cross the room to the fridge, opening it and studying the contents. Soonyoung follows you, resting his chin on the door and glancing inside. 
“Jihoon does most of the cooking,” you say, feeling self-conscious. Not much populates your fridge, a package of chicken breast and a carton of eggs. A couple containers of take out that are either two days or two weeks old sit in front, and the drawer of fruit that is filled with apples from Jihoon’s mother definitely smells funny. 
“I live in a frat house, this is heaven.” 
You flash him a smile and grab the orange juice, shaking it as you grab a glass from the cabinet (thank god Jihoon did the dishes last night). Soonyoung follows you back to the couch and waits for you to pour a glass and add two shots of vodka. You raise the glass and he takes your rejected White Claw and clinks it. 
“Cheers,” he says, sipping this one instead of chugging it. He sets it down and leans against the armrest so that he can face you. “How did you meet Jihoon, by the way? He seems like a pretty reserved dude.”
“Yeah, sorry if he was short with you, he isn’t half as mean as he pretends to be,” you say. 
“We actually talked a lot.” He pauses, tilting his head as he thinks about it. “Well, a lot about working out. I think I could turn him into my gym buddy with enough pressure.” 
“I would pay to see that,” you say. Jihoon tried to bring you to the gym exactly once, and you have regretted it ever since. The soreness haunts you, but you think Soonyoung might be one of the few people on the planet that could keep up with him with those arms. 
“I didn’t know you were into that,” Soonyoung says with a giggle. You roll your eyes. 
“You know for a fact that’s not what I meant,” you say, “and to answer your question, we lived in the same dorm freshman year. He was next door, and both our roommates were psychotic, so we ended up trading. We’ve been living together ever since because I’m the only one that can put up with his annoying ass. Also he cooks and keeps me alive during finals.” 
“I can’t believe I was a dorm assignment away from living with you.” Soonyoung shakes his head and pretends to sigh. “Fate isn’t on my side.” 
“Don’t you live in a frat house?” 
“Semantics,” Soonyoung says. He pauses. “Semen-tics.” He starts to laugh and though the joke is far from funny, you find yourself giggling too. 
“You’re drunk,” you say. 
Soonyoung points at you. “I’m pretty sure you’re drunk too.” 
You tilt your head from side to side, trying to think at first but the motion feels nice, toeing the line between dizzying and comfortable. Right, you were checking if you were drunk. You have your answer, but you don’t want to stop spinning just yet. 
“Do you really want to be a lawyer?” Soonyoung asks. You freeze with your head on your right shoulder, frowning at him. “I mean, like, how do you know?” 
“It makes good money,” you say. “Well, corporate law does. Everything going according to plan, I’ll be out of debt before I’m thirty, retiring at 65.” 
“But how do you know that’s what you want?” Soonyoung asks. You wonder if he’s asking you or himself. You think about the first day you met him. 
It was the first day of your sophomore year, 8 in the morning in the worst classroom in the Armhayer Building at the end of a dead end hallway with no windows. The business program had a required career building course and some cruel administrator decided to make the other available class clash with the other required business class for the year, so half the class was people you were stuck with for the full year. Despite its reputation, the business school at the university seemed to only accept idiots. 
You settled for a long semester of biting back your eye rolls and yawning through class, choosing a seat in the front so that at least you won’t have to look at anyone else. And for fifteen minutes, you struggled to keep your eyes open. 
Then Soonyoung walked in. 
He was out of breath, telling the professor that he got lost several times and someone gave him the wrong directions. You didn’t really pay attention to him until he dropped into the seat next to you. Fully prepared to give him a side eye and judge him for the rest of the semester, Soonyoung flashed a smile at you and apologized for disrupting you. He was so obviously not your type, yet when his head dropped on your shoulder, you didn’t wake him up. Two classes later when the professor told the class that you would be in a semester-long partner project, you didn’t hesitate to say yes when Soonyoung asked you. 
Soonyoung hadn’t ever taken the class seriously, going through the motions and doing the bare minimum for most of the assignments. You never paid any attention to it, but you realize that he never actually told you what he planned to do with his life, always asking you what you planned to do with your copious amounts of money. Now you wonder if it was because he really doesn’t know. 
“I want stability,” you finally say. “This plan is stable. Safe, as long as everything goes according to plan. I guess it’s not as cool as dreaming about being an astronaut or whatever, but it’s what I want.” 
“I think it’s cool. Knowing what you want to do.” Soonyoung says with little enthusiasm. 
“You don’t have any idea?” 
He shrugs. “I have to be smart to do the things I want to do.” 
“You are smart.” 
“You don’t have to pander to me, I’m not looking for your pity.” 
“Soonyoung.” You wait for him to look you in the eyes. “You are smart. This isn’t pity. Sure it takes you a little longer to read things, and you have to work a little harder to answer some questions, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. You’re just as capable as me, more capable when it comes to emotional intelligence. Have you ever noticed that wherever you go, someone is always waving to you? I don’t think there’s a single person in this world that doesn’t like you. Don’t downplay how important that is.” 
He chews on his lip and you know he doesn’t believe you. How many people have told him he’s dumb? You want to drag every single one of them here and make them apologize, make them realize how special the boy in front of you is. Eventually he shrugs. “I’ll just end up being an intern, and then I’ll be so charming they’ll promote me without realizing I don’t know what I’m doing and I’ll become a CEO that pays people to do the job for me.” 
You smile and shake your head. “We can vacation together in the Bahamas.” 
“Please, that’s where the semi-rich people go,” Soonyoung says, lifting his head from the back of the couch. “We’ll have our own islands and sail past each other.” This time when he smiles, the sparkle glints, just a little. His bleach blonde hair sticks in strange angles from rubbing against the couch, looking a little like a fuzzball. You reach a hand out and pat it down, except the hair is fried from being bleached so many times and almost breaks under your hand. 
When you pull your hand down, Soonyoung is staring at you. Except staring isn’t the right word. He looks at you like no one else ever has, a thousand unsaid words behind his eyes, a language like no other that maybe only you can understand. Those dark eyes, so soft and warm, begging you to drown in them. He’s a siren, luring you in with a song of desire that only you can hear. 
You don’t realize you’ve leaning closer until you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. Soonyoung’s hand flies to your waist, moving so fast it must have been reflex. 
“Sorry,” you mutter but you don’t get off him. Resisting his eyes from this close is impossible. Soonyoung blinks at you, frozen. It occurs to you that you’re almost kissing him. All you have to do is lean forward, press your lips against his. Would his lips be chapped? Would he kiss you back? Would he make fun of you for being a terrible kisser? You hold your breath, wondering if you are about to find out. 
You jump at the bang of a door slamming shut. You push off Soonyoung’s chest, back to your side of the couch until your back slams against the armrest. The pain is almost enough to sober you up and you realize exactly what you were about to do. You can’t bear to look at Soonyoung staring at you so you look at Jihoon instead, who doesn’t seem to realize that he interrupted anything by walking into the kitchen, headphones blasting music so loud that you can hear it. He grabs one of the takeout containers from the fridge and finally notices you and Soonyoung staring at him. 
“What?” He shouts over his headphones. You shake your head and he stares at you all the way back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him with enough force to make you jump again. 
“We should probably start the movie,” you say, turning to face forward, anywhere but Soonyoung. “I’ll get my laptop.” He doesn’t say anything but you can feel Soonyoung’s eyes on you as you jump up. Ignoring the spinning in your head, you walk to your room. You lean against the door as soon as it shuts behind you, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. 
You wish you could blame the idiocy on the alcohol, but you aren’t drunk enough for that. Besides, regardless of the reason, it was a mistake, it would be a mistake, to kiss Soonyoung. No matter how badly you want to do it. 
Your computer sits on your desk. The longer it takes for you to get back, the stranger it will be, so you grab it and return to the couch. Dizziness gives you an excuse to peer at the floor, perfectly valid reason to avoid Soonyoung’s eyes. 
“Are you ready to have your mind blown?” He asks when you insert the DVD into your laptop. 
You raise your eyebrows but still don’t have the courage to face him. “It’s that good?” 
Soonyoung laughs easily, as if nothing happened. “You have no idea what you’re in for.” 
You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He faces the computer, sitting back against the couch. Other than his red tinted cheeks, you can’t tell he’s drunk at all. You have no idea what you’re in for, he said. He has no idea how right he is. 
.
.
You hold Soonyoung by the shoulders, staring him down. Your eyes begin to water but you hold them open, determined not to lose. Soonyoung squints, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. You just have to hold out a little longer, but your eyes begin to ache and the air pierces into them. 
“Damn!” Soonyoung cries, throwing himself back onto the couch and squeezing his eyes shut. You let go of his shoulders and resist the urge to rub your eyes, settling for blinking as fast as humanly possible. Your eyes burn but you smile anyways, wiping tears away with the back of your hand. 
“How are you so good at that?” Soonyoung asks. He gives into the impulse, hands pressed against his eyes. 
“I’m really not, I think you’re just bad at staring contests,” you say. “Now hurry up, you lost so you have to answer.” 
He sighs as if he didn’t beg you to help him study. With only a day before his test, you’re not sure how much this is really helping, but at least he isn’t partying with the rest of his frat (who do a pre-finals bar crawl, apparently). Instead, Soonyoung is on your couch, again. You try not to think about the last time he was here. Not productive thoughts, especially not when Soonyoung is one day away from taking the most important test of his life. 
“Is it B?” 
“Are you asking or telling?” 
“I hate when you say that.” He peers at the paper, eyes moving slowly as he rereads the line. “No, it’s C! Wait, no, B. No, A!” 
“Pick an answer.” 
He chews on his lip. You have to force yourself to keep your focus on his eyes. “B,” he finally says. 
You’re tempted to drag it out and make him wait but he puts on the Soonyoung Sparkle so you go ahead and nod. 
“I knew it! Trust your gut!” 
“You’re quoting me now.” You pretend to wipe tears from the corner of your eyes. “You’ve grown up so quickly.”  
If it were Jihoon, he’d roll his eyes but Soonyoung perks up, as if you’ve given him a real compliment. He pauses before asking his next question, eyes flickering to the papers separating you from him. 
“You really think I’ll do well?” He asks softly. 
You study him, the way his unnaturally blonde hair has been strategically gelled to stick up in all the right places, the way his plain white t-shirt hangs loose on his shoulders. You wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror because the way he sits now, waiting for an answer as if you’d actually say no, breaks your heart a little. He really has no idea how brilliant he is, in every sense of the word. You don’t know how to make him see it so you just take his hand and wait for him to look you in the eyes. 
The second the glittering dark irises meet yours, you see the desperation. He tries to smile, to hide the fear but Soonyoung has always been easy to read. You fight the urge to brush your fingers against his cheek. 
“Soonyoung.” You squeeze his hand. What you feel isn’t a passing crush, you’ve known that for a while now. Admitting it doesn’t give you the bravery to do anything except pull the shield of cowardice around your heart a little tighter. “I’d be an idiot if I said I didn’t.” 
He holds your gaze a little longer, until it almost looks like he believes you. Then his eyes light up. “I have a surprise for you!” 
He digs into his backpack, pulling out a blanket (not the one he used when it was still warm enough to sit outside in the grass), a plastic water bottle half-full of bright green liquid, three crumpled flyers for events on campus, and finally, a small rectangular item, carefully wrapped in paper towels. 
“I was a little worried it would get damaged in my backpack,” he says. “I really, really tried to walk gently and didn’t bring it near any coffee.” 
You choose not to point out the unnatural liquid in the plastic water bottle, instead appreciating his efforts to protect whatever your surprise is. Besides, it’s not like he didn’t try. He carefully pulls the paper towels off, revealing a navy blue leather bound book with gilded lettering. Not just any book. 
“You got it back?” You cry. Soonyoung pulls the rest of the paper towels off to reveal the intricate design on the cover, the golden pages, with Pride and Prejudice inscribed on the spine. “My baby!” 
You hover over the book, not wanting to ruin it with the dirt and oils from your hands but so desperately wanting to caress the beautiful book. It’s just as you remember it, down to the tiny dent on the front cover where you accidentally knocked it against a railing. You can’t wait to put it back on your bookshelf where there has been an empty space ever since Jun managed to snag it. You remember Soonyoung is there when you hear his laughter. 
“You like it that much?” 
“Of course,” you say. “It’s my baby.” 
“It’s a book.” But he smiles and you know he’s just teasing. So you figure, why not? 
You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. His frat-bro instincts must take charge because he doesn’t hesitate to hug you back, pulling you against his chest and squeezing you like he’s the one getting a gift. 
“Thank you,” you say. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 
“This is my thank you,” he says. You can feel his voice rumbling in his chest, a strange sensation that sends butterflies tumbling around between your stomach and your heart. “It’s the least I could do for you. 
The awkward position isn’t exactly comfortable, twisting your body to face him with your shoulder overtop of his forcing your face into his neck but you don’t want to let go. You give yourself five more thundering heartbeats before you let go, turning to study your book again so you have an excuse to avoid his eyes. 
“How did you get it back?” 
“Same way you lost it,” Soonyoung says. “I made a bet.” 
“On what?” 
Soonyoung shrugs, turning to look at the book that still sits in his lip. He gently places it into yours, using the paper towels to prevent smudging with his fingers. 
You frown. “How? Jun is in another hemisphere.” 
“Don’t underestimate the power of video calls and express shipping,” Soonyoung says. “By the way, I’m wearing your friends down. Pretty soon they’ll like me more than they like you. 
“Oh really?” You raise your eyebrow. You ignore the vole gnawing at your gut whispering that he might just be right. 
“I got Jihoon to go to the gym with me and I got him to admit I was friends with you before he was,” he says, holding a finger out. “Jun says that he wants to meet me the second he returns to the country.” A second finger goes up. “Who else can I add to the list?” 
He’s only joking. He doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but your skin wants to crawl inside out. The truth is, they are pretty much your only friends. Jihoon, Jun, and Soonyoung, the latter two having wormed their way into your life. My only friends. 
“You’ve got to start going on the offensive,” Soonyoung says. He avoids your eyes and you know he didn’t miss your discomfort. Great, now he pities you. “I’m serious, Seokmin and Joshua have been asking about you, and Seungcheol keeps complaining that he hasn’t met you yet.” 
You snort. “They’re frat bros, they just want more people to party with.” 
“I’m a frat bro,” he says. 
“Yeah, but…” But what? He’s Soonyoung? Once again, you wonder why he is so different to you–why the epitome of frat boy chaos doesn’t repulse you like he should. But he isn’t some one-dimensional steroid-infused party boy, not the type to bully the freshman trying to join just because he can. He gets drunk after two shots and makes his pledges follow him for 24 hours a day as “hazing,” only to take them for a dinner he can’t afford and skips his own classes so they don’t miss theirs. 
He’s not a typical frat boy. But Soonyoung loves his frat, and you can’t find a way to tell him this without making it sound like you are looking down on the rest of the members. 
So you just say, “Isn’t this supposed to be a study session?” 
Soonyoung sighs, pulling the book in front of him and staring at the words. Even though you can see that he isn’t reading, he doesn’t say anything else. 
“Your test is tomorrow,” you say. 
“Yeah, I know.” He doesn’t pick up the pencil. 
You’ve never struggled to read Soonyoung. He can’t hide when he’s upset, shoulders slumping, a little pout forming over his lips. He doesn’t fully frown but his eyebrows comes together, just a bit. And it’s usually easy to figure out what’s wrong–he’s tired, or wants to be at a party instead of studying. But now? He was fine just a moment ago, even while he was cramming earlier. 
“Is something wrong?” You don’t know why you’re so scared of the answer. 
“I just thought that… nNever mind.” He sighs again. “You’re right, this is a study session. I should be studying.” He doesn’t look at you and you can’t help but feel like you messed up. But Soonyoung eventually picks up his pencil and asks you to check his answers and the feeling slowly fades. 
Will the rest of your feelings fade when you aren’t with him like this anymore? When he takes his test and has no reason to see you every day? Will your heart still beat at the mention of his name? Will you spend the rest of your life thinking about all the almosts with him? Or will it fade until Soonyoung is just a boy that you helped because of a silly bet?
Even as you consider it, you know the answer. He isn’t just a boy, and he never will be. Maybe that’s what really scares you. 
.
.
You glare at Soonyoung. “Do you know what time it is?” 
Jihoon glances at his watch. “7:43.” 
Soonyoung grins beside him, arm over his shoulder. Both boys stand in your bedroom doorway looking far too composed for this ungodly hour. 
“It’s a Saturday.” Just two minutes ago you were in blissful sleep. Okay, maybe not blissful, since you stayed up until three in the morning because you couldn’t fall asleep, and you were having a weird dream where you were looking for something and ended up by the stadium staring at a giant duck statue instead of the raven. But the point is you were asleep until two fists banged on your door so loud you thought it was going to fall apart. 
You can’t even be that mad at Soonyoung, not when he smiles like that. So you glare at Jihoon.
“Honestly, I figured you would be up,” he says. “You were the one that said you didn’t think you were going to get any sleep.” 
“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung says. “I really just wanted to help distract you for the last hour.” Right. The last hour until your entire future would be determined by a triple digit number. No biggie. 
“Let me get dressed,” you say. They step back before you have the chance to slam the door in their face. You’d like to be able to dress up nicely, but you’re already shivering, so you grab your comfiest sweatpants and the sweatshirt Soonyoung lent you (that still smells like his cologne). You dart into the bathroom and meet the two boys in the doorway of the apartment, pulling on your sneakers. 
You pull the hood over your messy hair and tighten the strings. Soonyoung grins at you and taps your nose. 
“Ready to go?” 
“How did you get out of bed this early?” 
“Oh, I never got in,” he says. “Long story, but we gotta go, they won’t wait much longer.” 
“They?” You ask but Soonyoung doesn’t hear you. He turns to Jihoon, waving. 
“See you tomorrow!” He says, throwing an arm over your shoulders to pull you out the door. “I’ll let you know how it goes!” 
Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” But he looks at you and smiles. “It’ll be fine.” Before you can thank him, he shuts the door. 
Soonyoung doesn’t let go of your side, pulling you to the elevators and squeezing you against him. “How are you feeling?” 
“Like I should be asleep.” 
Soonyoung smiles, as if your grumpiness is funny. You decide it’s moot since there’s no way you could fall asleep now that you are an hour and seven minutes away from finding out the results of your future. 
“I figured I’d save you from wallowing in worry,” Soonyoung says. “We can do fun things while we wait. I planned out the whole morning, we have options! There’s going to the gym, or for a job around campus, breaking into the science lab and petting the rabbits, going to Barb’s for breakfast–”
“Breakfast,” you say. You aren’t a huge fan of getting in trouble with the college when you have just over a semester before graduation and though you aren’t sure if your stomach will accept food, working out is a guarantee for throwing up. Besides, a hot cup of coffee could clear a little of the fog in your brain. 
“Barb’s it is,” Soonyoung says, practically bouncing on his toes. He really seems to only have two settings, and today he’s at 120%. 
He lets go of your side when the elevator opens and you step to the ground floor of your apartment. You rub your arms and pretend like the chill is from the weather even though the lobby is still warm. He holds the door for you pretending to be a doorman, bowing and gesturing with his arm for you to pass. You turn so that he doesn’t see that the silly gesture made you smile. 
Parked outside is a white jeep that looks larger than normal, and is apparently the asshole that’s been blasting their music for the past ten minutes. You aren’t surprised in the slightest when Soonyoung strides up to the car.  
“I don’t have a car,” he says, belatedly apologetic. The two men in the front seat don’t seem to mind, though you suspect they have been up all night along with Soonyoung as soon as the door opens and you hear their voices singing off-tune over the blasting music. 
“Boy, you got my heartbeat runnin' away,” The driver cries, using a water bottle as a mic. You recognize Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s descriptions, half from his voice and half from the back of his head. The person riding shotgun is also familiar, a mess of dark hair that must be Joshua. He doesn’t look much different in daylight, sunglasses resting on his forehead. Thankfully they turn the music down a little and stop singing when you get it. 
Seungcheol grins at you through the mirror. “So I finally get to meet the infamous YN. You know, you still haven’t shown up to any parties.” 
“I’ve been busy,” you say, glancing at Soonyoung who focuses a little too much on his seatbelt. 
“Hi, YN,” the passenger up front says, waving at you through the rearview mirror. 
“Joshua,” you say. “Get into life and death scenarios with Soonyoung recently?” 
“Well, Soonyoung jumped out of a car window.” He pauses. “It wasn’t moving,” he adds when Seungcheol jerks his head towards him. “Though I wouldn’t put it past him.” 
“I have done it before,” Soonyoung says solemnly. It takes him a moment to realize everyone is staring at him. “It was a dare.” 
“Why am I not surprised,” Seungcheol grumbles, turning back around and putting the car into drive. Though you were thinking something along the same lines, the way Soonyoung deflates a little makes you wish Seungcheol hadn’t said anything. 
The rest of the drive is quiet–at least in terms of conversation. Seungcheol cranks his stereo up to the loudest setting and blasts the Spice Girls until Joshua starts singing along. Apparently car karaoke for “Wannabe” is sacrilegious to the frat leader. 
You can hear yourself think again when the car pulls into the parking lot and he finally cuts the engine. A few cars line the parking lot of the 24 hour diner that sits on the outskirts of campus. The giant neon red Barb’s that hangs over the entrance flickers in the cloudy morning light teeters the line between quaint and electrical fire waiting to happen. 
The workers, a host and three waitresses, wave at the boys, and do a double take at you. You swear you hear the host whisper “Is that really them?” to Joshua as he leads the group to a table in the corner but Soonyoung distracts you with the menu. 
“I had this thing memorized since freshman year, I can’t believe you’ve never been here. The pancakes are my favorite for hangover cures, not that I’m hungover by the way, I’m actually running on my third energy drink.” He taps the picture, a golden stack of perfectly fluffy pancakes that can only be photoshop. 
“Aren’t energy drinks bad for your heart?” 
Soonyoung shrugs. “Joshua invented this to get through finals, you mix Red Bull, Bang, and Coke and it keeps you up for three days straight. Great for when you’re nervous because you physically have to do something about it.” 
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you say. “Wait, why are you nervous?” 
“Your test results come out today,” he says too quickly.  
You consider debating with him but a waitress approaches, wearing a fifties frock and a high ponytail with a ribbon that probably looked like a bow at the start of her shift but has drooped down and now just looks sad. Her face is a mask of emotions, not a smile, not a frown, just emptiness, a contrast to the button clipped to her collar making her “Happy.” 
“The usual?” She asks, pausing at you. She tilts her head and you can see the mask twisting at the edges, a frown almost forming on her brow. She glances at Soonyoung. “Is this who I think it is?” 
“Who do you think it is?” Soonyoung asks at the same time that Joshua and Seungcheol say, “Yes.” 
The corner of Happy’s lips turn into a tiny smile that seems to be her equivalent of a grin. “I’ve heard so much about you.” 
“Okay, haha, very funny,” Soonyoung says. “Stop harassing my friend. We’ll order when we have a chance to look at the menu.”  
Happy raises her eyebrow just slightly at the word “friend,” but closes her notepad. She returns to a pastel pink bar where you can clearly see her whispering and gesturing to you. 
“Why do so many people know me?” You mutter, shrinking into the corner of the booth. 
“The thing about Drunk Soonyoung is that he doesn’t really shut up,” Seungcheol says. 
“That’s being gentle,” Joshua says. “One time he spent four hours describing Finding Nemo. That’s longer than the actual movie.” 
“It’s a good movie,” Soonyoung says. 
“The point is,” Seungcheol says, glaring at Joshua, “he tends to talk when he’s drunk. Usually about good things, things that he… Well, things that he likes.” 
You turn your head to look at Soonyoung, who is once again pretending to study the menu. “You like studying for the LSAT that much?” 
Joshua unsuccessfully tries to hide his laugh with a snort while Seungcheol gains slightly more success with a fake cough. Soonyoung doesn’t react at all, staring at the painted flowers on the menu. Eventually, he shrugs. “I’m dedicated to the bet.” He points at a stack of pancakes covered in bananas and chocolate. “That’s what I usually get.” 
“Isn’t against all rules of gym core and muscle building to eat decadent things?” 
“Did you just call working out ‘gym core?’” Seungcheol asks. 
“Am I wrong?” 
“Nope!” Soonyoung says brightly. “And cheat days are a thing, so do you want to split it or not?” 
“You know I can’t say no to bananas and chocolate.” 
“And pancakes!” He waves down the waitress and points to the stack. 
“Ah, the new Soonyoung,” she says. “You guys getting your actual usual?” 
Joshua and Seungcheol nod and she doesn’t bother to write any of it down. Then again she already knows their orders. Except she called Soonyoung’s “new.” Before you can ask what she meant, a shout makes you jump. You turn around to see a stream of boys entering, enough of whom you recognize that you realize at least half the frat has rolled into the diner. The waitresses roll their eyes and groan but somehow they don’t look all that upset. 
“Mr. President!” The tallest boy, Johnny according to Soonyoung’s Instagram tags, holds a fist over his heart and pounds it a couple times. Seungcheol nods and greets each of the boys, most of whom seem to still be in various stages of inebriation. Almost all of them glance at you and whisper to each other, and you get the feeling they know exactly who you are. 
Just what has Soonyoung said about you? 
“How are we doing on time?” One of them calls out. 
“46 minutes,” Joshua says. You frown. 46 minutes… until 9? Do they all know about today? 
You tap Soonyoung on the arm. “What’s going on?” 
“You see, the thing is,” he says, “apparently I was nervous?” He tries to fake a laugh but it sounds strained. “I don’t really know but the guys made me tell them about today and then I didn’t really know what was happening but I guess they followed us here? Thought you might like moral support, or something.” 
You peek out at the booths crowded with frat bros and cringe back into your seat when they grin at you. “They’re all looking at me.” 
“Well, I guess I do talk about you a lot,” he says, only loud enough for you to hear. He won’t meet your eyes. 
Ask him why. You want to be brave. You want to be right about the answer you think he’ll give you. You chew the inside of your cheek. 
“Because of the bet?” 
Soonyoung doesn’t answer for a moment. “I guess.” 
Coward. 
“Why are we whispering?” Joshua asks, leaning across Soonyoung towards you. “Are we gossiping?” 
Soonyoung pushes him off. “Butt out.” 
“Just telling Soonyoung that I’ve never had an army of drunk guys rooting for me before,” you say. 
“Could have had it sooner if you came to a party,” Seungcheol says. 
“You really want me at a party that bad? We just met.” 
Seungcheol glances at Soonyoung, who shakes his head. He sighs. “If only I could tell you why you need to come.” 
You frown between the three men. “I don’t like when people talk in circles over me.” 
“Just promise you’ll come to the Christmas party. It’ll all make sense then,” Seungcheol says. You’ve heard a lot about Seungcheol from Soonyoung, and the more you listen to him, the more you believe it. He’s a strange man. 
“I’ll think about making an appearance.” 
“Really?” Soonyoung whips around to face you and you know that you have to come now. You haven’t seen him this excited since you let him skip studying to party. No, he’s even more excited now. “You’ll come?” 
You can’t stand his gaze so you study the placemats. “Maybe.” 
He grabs your hand until you meet his eyes. “Please?” 
The Soonyoung Sparkle. You never win against it. “Fine.” 
“Get a room,” Joshua says behind a very fake cough. You pull your hand back into your lap and pretend like you aren’t embarrassed. 
“How long now?” You shout out.
“40 minutes,” someone answers. You groan and lean back into the sofa. Studying was hard enough but waiting makes you want to pull out each individual hair on your head. You stare at the ceiling, trying to decide if the stain looks more like a horse or a flower. 
“Look at this.” Soonyoung passes his phone in front of you, forcing you to look down. His Instagram is open to a picture of a kitten looking drunk, face covered in milk. Such and obvious attempt to distract you but you smile anyway. 
“Sweet,” you say and even you aren’t sure if you mean the cat or Soonyoung. He shows you cat pictures until the food finally arrives (33 minutes to go). You have to wait another five minutes because Soonyoung insists on having a photoshoot, despite your protests that you look like you just woke up (he raises his eyebrows at that). You stop fighting when Joshua makes him cut a piece of the pancake and feed it to you. Chocolate nearly drops in your lap but Soonyoung shoots his hand out at the last second and catches it. 
“Okay, can we please just eat,” you say. Joshua and Seungcheol shrug and pretend like they weren’t instigating the pictures and telling you and Soonyoung how to pose. 
Soonyoung was right about the bananas and chocolate. Rich and decadent, they’re delicious. When he cuts you a slice and pushes it toward you, you can even forget the countdown to the end of the world. Or, more accurately, the end of the world doesn’t mean anything to you when Soonyoung smiles at you like that. 
You eat slowly enough to bring you to the ten minute mark. Fear mixes with the dessert for breakfast in your stomach, twisting it until it threatens to jump out of your throat. Soonyoung takes your hand under the table and holds it. You don’t run away this time. 
He holds you to the planet again, keeps you from floating away and disappearing before you can reach the stars. It’s Soonyoung that keeps your heart beating. Always Soonyoung. 
Seungcheol and Joshua chat, Soonyoung piping in a few times, but their words don’t reach you. Stuck somewhere between crushed beneath the weight of the world and floating away, you focus on the clock, watching the seconds tick closer and closer. 
“Last minute!” Someone behind you finally shouts. Soonyoung squeezes your hand. You pull up the website on your phone and put in your login information and hover over the SUBMIT. At thirty seconds, they start shouting it out. 
“Ten!” 
“Nine!” 
“Eight!” 
“Seven!” 
“Six!” 
“Five!” 
“Four!” 
“Three!” 
“Two!” 
“One!” 
Half the guys start cheering already, probably forgetting the count down doesn’t mean as much as the results themselves. You hit SUBMIT and watch the little wheel spin around and around and around until it finally refreshes. The number stares back at you, impossible to read right in front of you. 
169. 
“Congratulations!” Soonyoung shouts, throwing his arms around you and squeezing while you try to comprehend what that means. 169. The number should be all you can think about but Soonyoung holds you, shouting how proud he is, how he always believed in you. 
“169!” Seungcheol shouts, miles away from your bubble. You can hear the guys break out into cheers, hear them chanting the number (which turns into 69) but it’s just you and Soonyoung. The world didn’t end and Soonyoung is still by your side. 
The rest of the morning is a blur. Every member of the frat insists on congratulating you, which mostly means a lot of hugs, though one of the more drunk guys tried to spin you around on his shoulder. You laugh when you’d usually frown and find your way back to Soonyoung’s side like a magnet. 
Maybe it’s the euphoria that gives you courage. 
“Hey Soonyoung?” 
“Hm?” 
You say it before you can think too much. “Maybe just the two of us next time?” 
He grins before you can finish speaking. “I’d love that.” 
.
.
You have the courtesy to let Soonyoung sleep in as much as he wants. You wait for him at Barb’s, trying to figure out how to call this a date. 
You’ve seen him a couple times since you got your score back, but you needed to study for finals and he had to make up for missing a lot of frat activities. You’ve only seen him in passing, nothing to fill the Soonyoung shaped hole in your heart. But today that will change. You will celebrate together and you will tell him how you feel. And then… you have no idea. 
It’s just Soonyoung there’s nothing to be nervous about. Too bad your body doesn’t agree with you. Every nerve stands at attention, jumping at the bell that rings when the door opens. You don’t worry when Soonyoung doesn’t get to Barb’s by 8:30 like he said he would. Even at 8:45, you aren’t worried. 
It’s only at 8:55 that you really start to wonder where he is. Maybe you should have picked him up. Knowing him, there’s a 50% chance he’s lying in a ditch after a failed attempt to recreate an impossible stunt from Fast and Furious. At 9, you call him. Between each silence in the ring, you wait for his voice but it never comes. He uses the automated voicemail, so you don’t even get his voice telling you to leave a message. 
The anxiety turns to fear while you wait. The door rings and you see a fluff of bleach blonde hair and jump up. But though you recognize the face, it isn’t Soonyoung. 
Chan, one of the younger members of the frat, with Mingyu and a guy whose name you forgot. They all have the same look in their eyes when they see you, far too much like pity. 
“You’re YN, right?” Mingyu asks. “You’re supposed to meet Soonyoung?” The two guys with him, easily identifiable as frat members between their unkempt hair and sweatshirts plastered with Greek letters, stop mid conversation and glance at each other. 
“Is he okay?” You ask, still standing in the awkward position in the booth. 
“He’s got his score back,” Mingyu says. 
“We were supposed to–” 
“Yeah, I know,” Mingyu says. “It was a 167. You should really talk to him yourself.” He pauses, glancing at his frat brothers but they shrug. “He’s at the house. See if you can talk some sense into him.” 
You’re too afraid to ask any other questions so you just watch Mingyu and the other two walk past, and pretend that they aren’t whispering and stealing glances at you. 
Going to a frat house was never on your bucket list but your feet travel without guidance. You find yourself in front of a rather nondescript house. No bodies hang out from windows, no one is passed out in the yard. Then again it’s a weekday. 
You pause at the door, wondering if you should knock. You tap your hand on the door and it slides open, the latch bolt pushed completely in. You step inside tentatively, peeking around but it’s quiet. You turn the corner to find an open room and Soonyoung sitting on a couch, glass with a bright liquid in his hand. He doesn’t even look at you. 
“Are you seriously drunk right now?” 
Soonyoung just shrugs, taking another sip from the glass. Even from here you can smell that it’s more tequila than fruit punch. 
You shake your head, crossing the room sitting beside him even though he didn’t invite you to sit down. He was considerably cuter the last time you saw him drunk. You’ve gotten used to the power of Soonyoung’s facial expressions, his smiles, his frowns, the way his eyes glaze over when he’s bored, the way they gleam when he daydreams; they’re as precious to you as Soonyoung himself. But his face is a clean slate now, not a smile, not a frown, just a blank stare. 
“You know a 167 is still insanely good, right?” 
He shakes his head. 
“Soonyoung.” He doesn’t look at you, so you grab his drink. Any other day and you would have failed miserably but his alcohol-impaired senses make him slow enough for you to get a hand on the half-empty glass. He glares at you but you don’t yield, tightening your grip and pulling the bottle even harder. 
“Let go,” you growl. “Talk to me like a normal human.” 
He shakes his head, pulling on the glass so you yank back, except you overestimate how weak he is like this, and the glass flies out of his hand, the contents spilling all over you. The red liquid sinks into your blue sweater, soaking you through all three layers. 
“What the hell?” Soonyoung says. 
“That gets your fucking attention? Spilling your drink?” You say. “You know, I really thought you were different.” 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” 
“You’re acting like a child. So you didn’t win the bet. Who fucking cares? Do you know how hard it is to get higher than a 160? Soonyoung, you are smart, and you worked so hard for this. You could go to law school with that score. You could graduate above a 2.3 if you stopped acting like a stereotypical fuck bro and actually studied. 
“You know, you could actually be something if you wanted. You don’t have to get a degree and work at a corporate job that sucks your soul away until the Soonyoung that actually matters is gone. I know it’s easier this way, but if you actually tried to dream, you could do something. I don’t get it, honestly. Because everyone thinks you’re an idiot you act like one? Is that what it is?” 
“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t think the same thing.” 
You snort. “I don’t, but clearly you won’t believe me. You think that if you have to work for something then it’s not worth it when you could be so much more.” 
“Why do you even care?” Soonyoung asks, looking you in the eyes for the first time. For a moment, you think you might actually be wrong, because all you see in his eyes is pain. A physical force that constricts your heart and makes you weak in the knees, Soonyoung looks at you like he’s been fighting a war you never knew about, like he’s been suffering in silence for a lifetime. He looks at you like you’ve broken his heart. 
Why do I care? You could scoff. Because I’ve been in love with you ever since you fell asleep on my shoulder. I’ve been fighting this stupid crush for so long that I don’t know who I am without it. I don’t know who I am without you. I care because every day the world proves that we aren’t worthy of this planet, that love can’t solve all problems yet you make me question it all. You don’t just bring light into my life, you make it glitter. And I can’t tell you any of this. 
“I don’t know.” The lie tastes bitter but it’s still sweeter than rejection.
“Then why are you here?” Soonyoung looks away. Without his eyes pinning you down, you can breathe again, but every inhale still drags against your heart. You stand up. Afterall, you don’t have an answer for him. 
“I take it back. You are an idiot,” you mutter over his head as you walk past him. You make it to the corner of the street before the tears finally spill over your cheeks, and all the way back to your room before you can’t breathe. 
.
.
Without the distraction of finals, you are left with your own thoughts, your words and Soonyoung’s floating around your head. You have always been something of a hermit but you’ve become J.D. Salinger himself, only leaving your room to sneak into the kitchen and scrounge for scraps of junk food that Jihoon hasn’t thrown away yet. You watch so much reality TV that you start to dream about it. 
Every episode the people, a family living on a homestead that just happens to dress in brand name clothes and drive a Benz, fight and cry and make up. You yell at the mother when she forces her daughter to change because she didn’t think polka dots are appropriate and cry along with the daughter when she starts to sniffle in her confessional, wondering if her mother would ever approve of her choices, whether it was clothes or the people she wants to date. 
You bet your confessional would be a hit if it was ever filmed. Tears run down your cheeks as you practice it in the mirror, choking out an apology for calling him an idiot and telling the whole world what you aren’t brave enough to tell him. 
Jun calls but you can’t answer. He leaves three voicemails: an apology, a goofy one telling you he’ll be back soon, and a final one, yelling at you to pick up or at least let him know you’re alive. You text him an apology you don’t know if you mean. He says thank you anyway and doesn’t call again. 
You have no plans to change your schedule (wake up, steal food, cry, sleep) but on the third day you run out of goldfish and can’t find anything in the kitchen that doesn’t make you nauseous. To make matters worse, despite the fact that it’s seven in the morning (the earliest you’ve woken up since the Fight), Jihoon catches you. 
You’ve successfully avoided him and his inevitable lecture, slamming your door shut and ignoring his knocks but he catches you off guard today. He sneaks in from his morning workout wearing a black t-shirt and slides that he somehow manages to walk stealthily in, scaring you when you close the fridge and find him standing where the door was. 
“Are you done hiding?” 
“I’m not hiding,” you mutter. 
He folds his arms. 
“Fine,” you say. “I’m not done hiding.” 
“Well too fucking bad,” Jihoon says. You try to step past him but he holds his arm out. You’ll never beat him in a physical fight so you step back, shaking your head. 
“Have it your way. Go ahead.” You wave your hand. “Get it all out. Yell at me or lecture me or whatever, I don’t care. You’re going to tell me that I’m an idiot? That I shouldn’t be so afraid of rejection, that I’m blind to how he feels? 
“Or are you going to tell me that I shouldn’t trust someone like him? That I shouldn’t be crying over a goddamn frat boy, I’m better than this, I’m better than him.” You choke back a sob, not sure what words are coming out anymore. You wipe at the tears in your eyes and are so focused on trying not to cry that you don’t notice Jihoon walking away. You do see him come back, blurry shape coming into focus as you blink away the tears. He holds something in his hand, a navy blue square. A throw pillow from the couch? 
He shifts it in his hand until he holds the corner with the zipper, swinging it a couple times back and forth. Then he yanks his arm back and arcs the pillow in a wide loop, landing directly on your head. 
“Ow!” You cry but Jihoon just swings again, hitting your arm this time. He hits you so hard it knocks you off balance, sending you to the floor. Jihoon doesn’t hesitate, swinging the pillow into you again and again, every inch of you. 
“You. Are. An. Idiot.” He grunts out each word with a blow. “You really think you’re better than him?” 
He finally pauses, not even breathing heavily. You shake your head to answer him. “Of course not.” 
“Good,” he says. Then he hits you again and again and again. 
“Ow, Jihoon, what the hell?” You bury your head in your knees and hold your arms over you, trying in vain to protect yourself. 
“I’m not your babysitter,” he says. “I’m not your father, or your brother, or any of that shit. I’m your best friend and you’re being an idiot and I’m not going to stop hitting you until you get some sense knocked into you.” He freezes, as if realizing exactly what he said. “Wait, no–that’s not what I mean, shit, sorry, but–” 
You peek out from your arms and find Jihoon opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out what to say. He looks like a fish out of water, and it occurs to you he is a fish out of water. He’s never had to comfort you before, probably never had to comfort anyone. No wonder he’s so bad at it. 
You wouldn’t laugh at him and borderline abuse, but your emotions are beyond fried, and he just looks so funny standing over you with a pillow raised, still sputtering half apologies. You try to stop the laugh before it comes out but it turns into a snort and then you can’t stop laughing, tears that you tried to push back falling freely. You lay back on the floor and laugh until your sides hurt, only vaguely aware of Jihoon laughing above you. Eventually he joins you on the floor. 
“You know what I meant,” he says. The pillow rests on the floor between his legs, all the fluff on the far end from the one-sided pillow fight. 
“I knew what you meant without the pillow.” 
“Too bad,” Jihoon says. “I’m tired of listening to the theme song of that god awful show. You could at least watch something like–” 
“I swear if you bring up an anime, you’ll feel exactly how hard that pillow can hit.” 
Jihoon laughs, patting it a couple times. “I saw him the other day. He looked tired.” He pauses but you don’t dare speak. “We didn’t speak. I don’t even think he saw me. But it doesn’t matter because I’m not the one he needs to talk to.” 
“I know,” you say. 
“Then why are you still on the floor?” 
Because you’re scared. Because it would be easier to just give up now, for once to ignore putting in the hard work and just let it pass. But just because it’s the easy option doesn’t mean it’s the right option. At the very least you need to apologize to him. 
“What if he hates me?” 
Jihoon snorts. “Then he’ll get some pillow violence too.” He pauses. “He doesn’t, though.”
“It doesn’t mean that it will turn out okay.” 
“No, it doesn’t,” Jihoon says. “But no matter what happens, you’ll deal with it. And even if it absolutely sucks in the moment, eventually it will be over, and it sure as hell will be better than that stupid fucking show.” 
You nod, setting your chin on your knees. Your stomach turns in anticipation for what you will have to do, but he’s right. It’s time to stop running. Tonight is the Christmas party, and you were never formally uninvited. Somehow you doubt Seungcheol will throw you out. It’s time to get off the floor and get ready. 
“Have you ever thought of being a life coach?” 
“Hell no.” 
.
.
What am I doing here? You fake a smile at Seungcheol and swallow the shot as fast as you can, grimacing as the vodka burns everything from the inside of your mouth to the depths of your stomach. You should have just stuck to your mixed drink only policy but Soonyoung always has you breaking your rules. Even when he isn’t with you. 
Seungcheol disappears as soon as you take the drink, and you don't see anyone else you are comfortable enough to chat with, though that list is quite short. You do a turn of the house, which looks marginally better than the last time you saw it ,the benefit of bad lighting. It’s already crowded with more people than you’ve ever seen on campus. You make your way through each room on the lower floor, finding more than a couple bleach blondes. None are who you’re looking for. You stop in the living room, where you saw him last. 
“He isn’t here.” You turn at the voice. An unfamiliar boy stands next to you, holding a half-empty Smirnoff Ice. “He went to visit family or something.” He pauses, looking you up and down. “At least that’s what he said.” 
You nod. You find it doesn’t surprise you that he seems to know who you are. You suppose you’ve grown used to it, just one of the side-effects of being close with Soonyoung. Though it’s still strange, it doesn’t make you uncomfortable anymore. Or it wouldn’t, if you didn’t think this stranger is implying that it’s your fault Soonyoung isn’t at the ‘Party of the Year.’ 
You can’t stand his gaze so you make your way back towards the drinks, grabbing the first bottle you could find and chugging half of the lukewarm drink. It tastes like a fruit you can’t recognize and carbonation and the more you drink the harder it is to swallow but you force it down. 
You came to apologize. He isn’t here, so why do you stay? Because you promised him? Do you really miss him that much? That you would come here and suffer through all this chaos, just for the memory of him? It doesn’t make any sense but you think that might be a side effect of the alcohol. You get another drink just in case you’re still sober. 
.
.
Your head pounds, the aching feeling of the stage between drunk and sober. Normally you’d like to be sound asleep by now, or at least in the comfort of your home, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. It’s hot and sweaty, the music is way too loud, and you can’t find water anywhere, but you stay anyway, because you’re an idiot that fell in love. 
You curl up on the couch, opposite of a couple making out as if the room isn’t full of people, waiting for just a glimpse of him that will never appear. Even drunk, you think it’s pitiful, but you can’t stop. 
You didn’t think you could fall asleep in all the noise but you open your eyes when you feel the world tilt sideways. You’re vaguely aware of the arms underneath your legs and back, cradling you against someone’s chest. No, not just someone. 
Because you aren’t enough of an idiot, you can tell it’s him, his sweet scent, maybe even just his arms. Soonyoung carries you out of the living room and up the stairs, the blaring music fading only slightly. 
“I thought you weren’t here,” you mumble. 
Soonyoung frowns down at you. “You okay?” 
You shake your head, suddenly realizing there are tears in your eyes. No, I’m not okay, I love you, you want to say. He squeezes you a little tighter, trying to hug you while still carrying you. 
With your head resting against his chest, you can fully appreciate his beauty. His hair is black, which suits him even though he looks nothing like your Soonyoung anymore. You reach up and trace the lines of his face that are unchanging, the sharp straight line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his nose, his soft eyebrows. You drop your hand when you realize he’s staring at you, belatedly realizing you never got to his lips. You can only imagine how soft they’d be, soft like Soonyoung himself. 
“You’re crying,” Soonyoung says softly. You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or not. He pauses in front of a door, struggling to open it without dropping you. Finally the door swings open and he sets you down on a bed, taking a deep breath and sitting beside you. 
He brushes the tears from your eyes, as Soonyoung as ever. Sweet as ever. Sweet and Soonyoung. They should be the same word. You make a mental note to email Merriam-Webster’s dictionary and make the suggestion. 
Soonyoung doesn’t say anything, just watching you with those perfect eyes. His hand rests on your face even though the tears are long gone, thumb tracing shapes on your cheek. 
“You swore you’d do anything for me,” you say. 
“Anything,” Soonyoung repeats. 
You turn to the walls, knocking his hand off your cheek, not daring to look him in the eyes. Even drunk, you are a coward. He’s put up pictures on his wall, a couple Polaroids but mostly printed pictures, with the frat, some childhood pictures, and one that you recognize. The picture of the two of you at the beach that you thought you didn’t send, where you are looking at him with all the love in your heart. You trace his smile, blinding even in paper form. 
“Could you maybe try loving me back then?” You mumble. Your eyes feel heavy between the alcohol and the tears and you’ve said what you needed to say, so you let them take over, closing your eyes and letting the blasting music from downstairs drown out any thoughts. And because it’s so loud and you’ve already drifted off to sleep, there’s no way you could hear his answer. 
“I already do.” 
.
.
The first thing you do when you wake up is throw up. You make it out of the bed but not to the bathroom, mostly because you don’t actually know where it is. You grab the nearest bucket-shaped item, which happens to be a mostly empty trash can. You lean away as soon as you’re done, breathing through your mouth and looking away from the mess. Belatedly, you realize someone is patting your back, brushing hair out of your face. 
“Better?” Soonyoung asks. His knees rests against your lower back, one hand resting on your back, the other caressing your face. Thank god you already threw up because looking at him makes your stomach twist again and if there was anything in you, it would come up again. If you could throw up your heart, you would. As it is, the organ is trying to climb its way up your throat, whether it’s guilt or heartbreak you don’t know. 
 You nod in answer to his question, letting him help you up. Your head pounds and though you know you won’t throw up again, your stomach flips. Right, your policy of mixed drinks is definitely reinstated after this. 
“Sorry I threw up in your trash can,” you say. 
“Believe me, that is not the worst that trash can has seen,” Soonyoung says. “Wait, that sounds bad, I didn’t mean it in a weird way, I just mean–” He stops himself, shaking his head. “It’s a frat house.” 
“It’s your room,” you say softly. With sober (albeit heavily hungover) eyes, you take in the room again. It’s tiny, one bed pushed against a wall with a desk set right next to it. Unsurprisingly, it’s stacked with protein powder and a pile of frat flyers, laptop balancing off the edge, not a paper in sight. Except for the one next to his bed, the walls are bare, an ugly shade of beige except for a circle filled with white plaster that looks suspiciously like the reformed crime scene of a fist going through drywall. It must be from whoever owned the room before Soonyoung. 
The wall next to his bed is covered in pictures. You remember being amazed by them last night. Your eyes zero in on the picture of the two of you, right next to the pillow that’s still dented from your head. 
“Did I steal your bed?” You frown except the movement hurts your head. 
“I slept in Johnny’s room since he’s decided to disappear off the face of the planet instead of accepting the fact that he graduates next semester,” Soonyoung says. “I actually just came in here for some clothes, which reminds me.” He rummages through a drawer, pulling out a wrinkled t-shirt and handing it to you. “If you want a change.” 
You glance down and feel like throwing up all over again. Your favorite shirt is covered in stains, alcohol, vomit, and something you definitely don’t want to name. If you weren’t feeling so terrible already, you’d cry that Soonyoung is seeing you like this. 
“I’ll get you a toothbrush, too,” he mutters, disappearing and leaving you to scramble to switch shirts. The white dri-fit is meant to be a workout shirt, though it’s clear that it would be oversize on Soonyoung. Either way, the soft fabric is gentle on your skin, much better than the jeans you slept in. Too bad you’re stuck in them until you get back to your apartment. 
You could run away right now. Soonyoung probably wouldn’t be surprised. But he’s being nice to you, so much nicer than you deserve. Sweet and Soonyoung. But you came here to apologize, and though last night got derailed, you can’t keep running from it. Besides, it’s not like the morning can get much worse. 
So when Soonyoung comes back proudly brandishing an unopened toothbrush that he may or may not have stolen from Seungcheol’s bathroom, you accept it gratefully. You stare yourself down in the bathroom, fighting nausea and an impending migraine because you have a mission to achieve, a real mission unlike last night. It’s still a haze, but you don’t think you’ll ever forget how gently Soonyoung cradled you against his chest, the brush of his fingers on your cheek. If he didn’t show up this morning, you’d think it was a dream. 
Soonyoung’s door is open when you finish but he isn’t in his room. You grab your bag from the floor and venture down the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. There’s a couple people passed out in the living room, and one person snoring softly in the kitchen, head folded in his arms in a position that must be incredibly painful for his neck. But it’s where you find Soonyoung, digging through the fridge and finally pulling out a water bottle. He hands it to you, along with a bottle of pills. 
“Thank you,” you sigh, not even bothering to check the label for the brand. You take a couple and chug half the bottle, gaslighting yourself into believing that it will instantly revive you (it doesn’t work and your head still pounds). 
“Are you hungry?” Soonyoung asks. He opens the fridge again, this time wide enough to show the shelves that are filled with beer, vodka, and White Claws. There’s a pizza box and some eggs, but not much else. 
“How are any of you alive?” You ask softly, glancing at the snoring person on the counter. 
“Yuta can sleep through an apocalypse, don’t worry about him,” Soonyoung says, waving his hand. He closes the fridge, leaning against it. “And most of us keep our actual food in mini-fridges. I just cleared mine out for break, so I don’t have anything in it.” He doesn’t say anything else about vanishing. 
“I’m pretty sure that pizza has been in there since the start of the semester and I’ve never seen eggs in here before though, so I don’t think you should risk any of this,” Soonyoung says. “McDonald’s fries are a far superior hangover cure, they’ve never failed me.” 
“There’s a McDonald’s nearby?” 
Soonyoung grins, pulling keys out of his pocket and spinning them around his fingers a couple times, except they fly off and clatter on the floor. The man asleep on the counter, Yuta apparently, stirs but doesn’t move. You can’t help but smile as Soonyoung scrambles to retrieve them from the floor. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was flustered. 
“There isn’t one,” Soonyoung explains, leading the way to the door. “But I have the keys to Seungcheol’s car.” 
“I’m not really comfortable with grand theft auto,” you say, though you don’t stop following him to Seungcheol’s giant white Jeep. 
“He gave me the keys last night when I walked in,” Soonyoung says. “Something about owing me. He was pretty drunk.” He darts around to the passenger side before you can, opening the door for you. He waves his hand when you frown at him, as if you’re the one acting strange. Thinking with this headache is too hard so you just get into the car and strap the seatbelt on. 
“I can’t believe you thought I’d steal a car,” Soonyoung says. He turns the engine on and scans the front of the car before finally settling his right hand on the gear shift. 
“You have driven this car before, right?” 
“Of course,” Soonyoung says a little too fast. You grab onto the door handle and hope that your stomach really is empty. 
Soonyoung’s driving isn’t the worst you’ve ever experienced; that title goes to Jihoon, who was banned from touching car keys after his Mario Kart driving. That said, you think he’s a good second place. He slams on the gas and the brakes too hard and drives altogether too fast. He blasts the radio and sings along purposefully off key. You should be terrified but it’s the most fun you’ve ever had riding in the passenger seat. 
“I’m never riding with you again,” you say, breathless from laughing. He pulls to a stop at the red light, the Golden arches of your destination still one light away. “You know yellow lights mean slow down right?”
“I stopped at this one!” Soonyoung says. “I’ll have you know I haven’t been in an accident.” He pauses. “Since I was nineteen.” 
You nod, pursing your lips to stop yourself from smiling fully. “That’s what I figured.” You peek at Soonyoung and he’s smiling too. 
So different from the last time you saw him. You don’t deserve this. You shouldn’t be able to laugh and joke around with him so easily, not when you still haven’t apologized. And Soonyoung shouldn’t be looking at you like that, genuine fondness in his eyes. 
“The light’s green,” you say. His smile fades a little when he turns his head and drives ahead, stepping lightly for once. You’re so close now, but a car going straight in the right lane prevents him from turning. 
The pain medicine must have kicked in because your headache is slowly fading, replaced by heartache that no medication can cure. 
“Why are you being so nice to me?” You blurt out. 
The blinker beeps a steady rhythm in the empty silence. “Isn’t it obvious?” 
“Nothing’s ever obvious with you, Soonyoung,” you say softly. 
“Oh.” The light turns green and he guides the car slowly into the parking lot, stopping in a spot instead of pulling up to the drive through. As soon as the car is in park, he turns to face you. There’s a crease in his forehead that you recognize from the rare occasions that he would actually talk to you seriously. “YN, I genuinely thought I was being clear about this from the beginning, but if you still really don’t get it, then I’ll say it straight up: I like you. I’ve liked you since the day we met and then I fell in love with you. 
“Did you know you’re the first person that’s ever genuinely believed in me? I mean, I know I have friends, and my family means well, but they always get this look in their eye whenever I talk about trying for things, like it was cute that I was trying, but they never actually believed in me. And I started to believe them too. I started to believe that I couldn’t believe in myself.” He frowns. “That makes no sense. The point is, you are the reason I started to believe in myself again. 
“No one’s ever looked at me like you do. No one’s ever told me to get my shit together–well, they have, but you’re the only one that told me it was because I could be better. 
“You say it wasn’t obvious, but I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times. I flirted, I tried to ask you on a date so many times, and I finally accepted that you’d never see me like that, so I was a dick. I told you off, even though you were right. I’m so sorry for that, and I’m sorry I ran away, and I’m sorry it took me so long to apologize.” 
“Stop,” you say. Soonyoung’s eyes widen, tears welling up, and you realize he thinks you’re rejecting him. “Stop apologizing!” His brow creases in confusion, an adorable frown. Summoning all your courage, you reach out, resting your hand on his. “I’m the one that’s sorry. I didn’t have any right to judge you and the choices you were making, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you when I knew how much the bet meant to you.”
You squeeze his hand, closing your eyes. “And I think I was a little oblivious on purpose. I’m not the kind of person that has crushes, let alone crushes that like me back, so I freaked a little and missed all the signs.” You open your eyes and grin at him. It’s easy to feel brave when he smiles back at you. “But I like you, Soonyoung. I like you so much, I don’t have enough words to express it. My whole life has been about my future, my career, and it’s exhausting, but being with you makes it all exciting again. Like, no matter what happens, if you’re with me, it won’t just be okay, it’ll be fun.” 
Soonyoung beams. “Really?” 
You squeeze his hand. “I like you.” Like the first time you took the LSAT, you can’t think of a single word, except instead of damning your future this feels like the start of it. Soonyoung sits across from you and you don’t need words. 
You don’t know how long you sit there, but reality sets in when your stomach growls. You glance outside the window and remember where you are. “Did you just confess to me in a McDonald’s parking lot?” 
“Better than drunk in my own bed.” 
“I didn’t!” You let go of his hand to hide your face. 
Soonyoung grins. “You were cute!” 
“I don’t remember it, it doesn't count!” 
“Whatever you say,” Soonyoung says, leaning over the center console. He gently pulls your hands away from your face, hand circling your wrist gently. You instinctively hold your breath, though you don’t lean away. Soonyoung leans a little closer, forehead resting against yours. 
“This okay?” He whispers, breath kissing your lips, and you remember that less than an hour ago, you were throwing up. Your head still aches and your stomach is still queasy and your whole body feels disgusting. 
“We are not having our first kiss in a McDonald’s parking lot,” you say, leaning back. Soonyoung sighs, but he sits back in his chair, settling for grabbing your hand and interlacing his fingers with yours. 
“Fine,” Soonyoung says. He rubs his thumb back and forth, and when you meet his eyes, you see a familiar glint of trouble. “You know I’m still sworn to you. Whatever you want.” 
The words go straight to your heart. You could live a thousand lives and never meet someone as genuine as Soonyoung. You know that he means it, heart and soul, that he’d do anything for you. And it should be terrifying that he’s willing to bear his heart for you, that you are willing to do the same. But it’s Soonyoung. It’s easy to trust him with it, because even though he breaks half the computers he touches and can’t hold onto a pencil for his life, he won’t ever drop your heart. 
I love you. One day you’ll be able to say it, one day you’ll scream it like you so desperately want to. But until then, you settle for his certified brilliant smile and the gentle brush of his lips on the back of your hand, only letting go to turn the engine back on. 
“Let’s get you some fries,” he says. “Then kisses?” 
You shake your head and laugh, slipping your hand back into his. 
Before he can put the car into gear, his phone rings. He stares at the screen for a moment, frowning like he can’t decide whether he should answer it or not. Finally he slides the green across, turning on speaker. 
“Hey Seungcheol, I’m with—” 
“Where the hell are you? And where is my car?” Seungcheol’s voice is somewhere between angry and concerned. “You think it’s okay to vanish and then show up only to steal my car?” 
“First of all, you gave me the keys,” Soonyoung says. He glances at you. “And I’m at McDonald’s because YN desperately needed a hangover cure.” 
“Hey,” you say so Seungcheol knows you’re there. 
The line is quiet for so long you think Soonyoung’s phone has finally given up on him but eventually he says, “You’re with YN?” 
“We talked,” he says. “And we’re good.” 
You snort. “That’s how you’re going to describe it?” 
“Are we not good?” 
You glance at your hand still intertwined with his, the Soonyoung Sparkle glittering back at you when you look him in the eyes. Good? There’s not a word to describe how you feel right now. 
“We are beyond good.” 
.
.
“Are you crying?” You whisper. Soonyoung shakes his head, chin brushing against your head but when he inhales again, he sniffles. You reach up to pat his cheek and are entirely unsurprised when it’s wet. On screen Elle Woods continues her speech, for once not wearing pink. 
“She’s just so cool,” Soonyoung says. You lift your head off his chest so you can look him in the eyes. The temptation to tease him is hard to resist but he pouts his lips and you see another tear slip out. You kiss his cheek, out of habit more than anything. Strange how much can change in two weeks, how something you’ve never imagined doing has become natural. But being with Soonyoung is just like that. New and old at the same time, the kind of comfort that has you planning how to make this last a lifetime. 
Soonyoung wraps his arms around you tighter, so you nestle back into his chest, turning away from the end of the movie to close your eyes and breathe in his cologne. 
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this,” you whisper, lips brushing against his neck. “The whole bet was based on a movie you haven’t seen.” 
“You’re missing the end,” he says. His voice rumbles in your ear, drowning out his heartbeat. 
“I’ve seen it before.” Your bed really isn’t built for two people to lay down together. You are laying more on Soonyoung than the mattress but it’s not the first time. From the way he holds you, you doubt it’ll be the last. 
The credits roll too quickly, but Soonyoung still doesn’t let go. He pulls you up so that your head is next to his, nose centimeters away from yours. 
“So am I officially qualified to go to law school?” He asks. 
“You are Elle Woods certified,” you say. “But you’re sure that’s what you want?” 
“I mean I have to get in. But I figure if I’m going to waste away at a desk, I might as well do it for something I believe in.” He pauses. “With someone that believes in me.” He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, breath tickling the sensitive skin. You can’t help but sigh. 
“That doesn’t mean it’s what you want,” you say, after several heartbeats of struggling to think. 
“I want…” His words “To be with you. However you’ll have me.” His arms loosen, hands sliding down to your waist. 
“Still not answering the question,” you breathe out but you can’t even remember what the question is, not when he’s shifting to lay on top of you, lips inching their way up your neck. He kisses your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your lips, then stops, pulling away and meeting your eyes again.
The Soonyoung Sparkle. The grinch has nothing on you–your heart swells so large it feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest–Alien style. Does he know what he does to you? How he’s made everything in your life shine? How happy you are when he’s with you? 
“I love you,” you whisper. 
Soonyoung blinks at you. “You…” 
“I love you,” you say again, this time with more confidence. “I really, really love you.” 
Soonyoung grins, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours, moving like the world outside has stopped. He makes a bubble around you again, or maybe it’s your own heart; either way the only thing that exists is the way his hands inch up your shirt, the way his lips begin to press harder against yours. You give up on coherent thoughts, settling for wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. 
“I love you, too,” Soonyoung whispers between kisses. “If that wasn’t obvious.” 
Soonyoung who always treated you like you were enough already. Soonyoung who does everything with 100% of his heart. Soonyoung who has always been sincere with you, from the first day you met him. Soonyoung, who you are so lucky to be loved by. 
You don’t know how to say any of this in a way that makes sense so you let his fire melt you until you are putty in his arms. He pulls away, and the Soonyoung Sparkle burns, your personal stars flickering back at you.  
“You want to–” Soonyoung starts to say, but the door slams open. Then Soonyoung falls on you, pillow rolling off his head. 
“I’m taking this back!” Someone shouts while you hear Jihoon cursing. 
“Read the room, idiot!” Soonyoung pushes off of you, sitting up and pulling your shirt down as smoothly as he can. You sit up, trying to decide if you should be embarrassed or angry. Facing Jun, frozen midstep with his jaw hanging open a little and Jihoon in the doorway with his arms folded, shaking his head slightly, you opt for the latter. 
“Does no one knock in Colombia?” You frown at him. “And when did you get back? Why didn’t you call?” 
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he mumbles, staring at his feet. “And you were supposed to be alone, according to my sources.” He glares at Jihoon. 
“YN didn’t say he was coming over,” he says with a shrug. 
You turn your frown to him. “You walked in halfway through the movie, I literally shouted ‘Soonyoung’s over.’” 
“I had my headphones on,” he says, though he’s avoiding your eyes too. Typical of your friends, never claiming responsibility for their actions. 
“So this is Soonyoung,” Jun says, turning to face him. Soonyoung moved to the edge of the bed, too far away for your taste but probably an appropriate distance for your friends, especially compared to what they walked in on. Jun tilts his head. “You dyed your hair.” 
“Yeah,” Soonyoung scratches the back of his head. “Spur of the moment thing.” You miss the blonde, surprisingly fitting considering it isn’t his natural color. But the black suits him too, and probably will help him with law school interviews. Then again, knowing Soonyoung, this color won’t last long either. Good thing there isn’t a color you don’t think suits him. 
“We should do this properly,” Soonyoung says. “Go out for dinner or something.” 
“Hey, I didn’t get dinner,” Jihoon says. 
“You want to get dinner with me?” Soonyoung perks up. 
“No, I’m protesting unfair treatment.” 
“It’s not unfair, I’m just clearly his favorite,” Jun says. 
“Can you guys stop fighting over my boyfriend?” You say. 
Jihoon and Jun stare at you. When Soonyoung turns to face you, he grins, eyes sparkling. 
“What?” 
“You just called him your boyfriend,” Jun says. 
“Well… he is.” You feel your cheeks flush. “Why are you guys making it weird?” 
“It’s not weird,” Soonyoung says. He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s cute,” he whispers in your ear. “Adorable.” This only makes you flush even more. 
“Well, I don’t want to interrupt, so I’ll just grab this and you two can get back to… whatever.” Jun takes a step towards your bookcase. You grab the pillow that he threw at Soonyoung and nail him in the chest, earning a laugh from Jihoon. 
“Don’t even think about it.” 
“The book is mine, Soonyoung never fulfilled the bet!” Jun says. You stand up, blocking him from your Pride and Prejudice. 
“Hey, I followed through!” Soonyoung says. “We’re dating!” 
“I remember the bet stating that you had to ask YN out after you took the LSAT.” Jun turns to him. 
“And I did,” Soonyoung says. “You never said it had to be right after.” 
Jun eyes him. “That’s cheating.” 
“That’s being a lawyer,” you say. “And I think he’s going to be really good at it.” 
Jun glances between you and Soonyoung and shakes his head. “Whatever, I’ll get my book back another day.” 
You step closer to Soonyoung and he links his pinky with yours. You glance at your friends. “Are you going to stand there forever or are we getting dinner?” 
“You two don’t want to get back to what you were doing?” Jihoon asks. 
You slip your hand into Soonyoung’s. He meets your eyes and he’s only been your boyfriend for two weeks but looking at him is like looking home. There’s no need to rush. 
“Sounds like someone doesn’t want to pick where we go.” 
“We should make them pay, too,” Soonyoung says. 
You grin at him. “You are the smartest person I know.” 
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house-of-lovin · 10 months
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legally binded - 8
Jenna Ortega x F!Reader
masterlist | series mast. | prev. part | next part
Chapter 8: Beetlejuice and London Blues
Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.
Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)
(this is all fiction!)
Note: hey y’all. I’m gonna be taking a break from this series for a bit after I post this. I’m gonna be real busy this summer, so LB updates probably won’t be weekly for a while. thanks for understanding!
Word Count: 8.2k+ (these are getting longer)
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“Fuck me.”
A mistake.
You made a mistake.
Was your first thought when you woke up with the sun shining directly into your eyelids; the throbbing pain deep in your skull was the first symptom of your grave oversight. 
“Fuck you is right…” A loud voice pierces through the silence in the room and the pounding in your head worsened immediately. 
Turning over at a snails pace, you find Link leaning against the doorframe, with a bitter frown on his face. 
“What did I do?” You moaned, holding your head in your hands.
“Other than be a massive asshole? Drink yourself stupid.” He says bluntly, walking into the room and placing a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the bedside table.
Pushing yourself up, you continue to loudly groan despite the pounding in your skull and desperately reached for the medicine bottle. After popping two in and washing it down it some water, you leaned against the headboard with a heavy sigh.
Being ran over by an 18-wheeler and somehow managing to survive would be a fair comparison to your current condition.
“I don’t remember how I got back.” 
“We don’t know either, you just opened the door…”
“Right.” Hazy memories of last night’s escapades we’re starting to come back.
“What the hell, Y/N, we were looking for your ass for almost four hours.” He crossed his arms, staring you down as his nose flared in anger.
“Sorry…” You mumbled, closing your eyes. The familiar feeling of guilt rumbled in your chest the longer you met his judging eyes.
After sneaking off to the bathroom, you knew you had to take the opportunity to escape that after-party. You thought drinking your problems away and partying would help distract you from your argument with Jenna. But your efforts proved fruitless. The longer you stood in that loud room, the more suffocating it felt; Jenna’s words echoing mercilessly in your head. 
So you slipped out without letting anyone know. Dumb idea, I know.
You had full intentions of going for a walk to clear your head, thinking of what to say to Jenna and then making your way back to the hotel to wait for her so you could talk, but before that could happen…
“Well, well, well… look who it is.” 
Dropping your hand that was holding your phone limply by your side, you perk up. All thoughts of calling an Uber back to the hotel were forgotten as you turned; feeling your blood run cold immediately at the familiar voice.
“Damon.” You greet flatly. 
“Aw, come on, that’s how you greet an old friend?” He held a hand to his chest, walking forward. “Vegas was so long ago, don’t you miss my company?” 
“Not particularly no.” You cross your arms, standing your ground.
“You don’t mean that, baby…” He stood in your space, leaning into you. You held your head up, not intimidated by his presence.
“What are you even doing here? Last time I checked, you weren’t invited to the Met.” You grit. There’s no way his C-list ass was invited to one of the biggest social events of the year. 
“I was someone’s plus one.” He answered, shrugging.
You roll your eyes because of course he wasn't even invited. He was always sliming his way into events.
“Come on, we used to have so much fun…” He leaned closer.
“Get out of my face.” You grit, standing your ground.
“You don’t really blame me for Vegas, do you?” He stepped back, annoyance growing as his brows furrowed.
You bit back a laugh, spatting out. “Of course I do! You had coke on you – snorting that shit in a fucking strip club with me beside you. The hell were you thinking?”
He crossed his arms, anger steadily masking over his features. “You weren’t complaining about wanting to get fucked up before that. Actually, you were the one that begged me to leave L.A.”
You glare at him as you’re reminded of that weekend three months ago. “Clearly that was a mistake. The press thinks it was mine, Damon.”
He shrugged, smirking.  “Beats me.”
Your glare hardens as you clenched your jaw. “You’re an asshole.”
“Oh baby, you just found out?” His smug smile widens and you wanted nothing more than to punch it clean off his face. 
“Stay the fuck away from me if you know what's good for you.” You bark, eyes never leaving his.
His gaze twinkled in amusement at the challenge, paying no heed to it. Then he leans in close to your ear, whispering. “You’ll be back soon when you realize no one wants you.”
Your heart drops as his words ring in your ears. You keep your face impassive, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing his words affect you.
“Your little PR relationship with Jenna is cute. You guys almost have everyone convinced, but I know the truth. You’ll be back when Jenna realizes that you’re too broken to love.” He taunts, smiling widely. 
Your heart thrums so loudly against your chest that it makes your entire body throb in tandem.
“Fuck you.” You shove his chest firmly as he stumbled back a couple steps from the sheer force.
You don’t wait for a response as you leg it down the sidewalk, ignoring people’s questioning looks. You weren’t sure if they recognized you or if they were questioning why you were in a fancy suit on the streets of New York City but you didn’t care either way; just stomping off in no particular direction. Not giving anyone who may have recognized you, time to stop you.
You kept walking even as your legs begged for reprieve, taking sidestreets and alleyways to hide from prying eyes, hiding in the shadows. You lived in the Big Apple for a year for a role and in that time, you had gotten to know the city well; preferring to walk to familiarize yourself with new locations. 
“Where the hell were you?” Link questioned. You can hear the agitated tone in his words even as your eyes were closed. 
“I went for a walk.”
“You came back drunk.”
“I stopped by the liquor store.”
“You were gone for three hours.”
“It was a big bottle.”
He huffed. 
You crack an eyelid open, already noting his firmly-set jaw. “Okay, I’m sorry, truce?”
Even you know when you’re being an asshole. You note the dark circles and heavy bags under his eyes and it reminded you of the first time you came home after meeting Jenna. The moment Link opened the front door, he had the same expression on his face.
His jaw tightly clenched but his brows pulled in a way that showed his concern. 
Before you could spew any apology you had saved, he pulled you in for a hug, muttering on about how worried he was about your arrest. It made your throat close up and tears build in your eyes at how distressed he sounded. Even when you’ve fucked up, he was still worried about you. 
That familiar pang of guilt comes crawling back the longer he stared at you now with that same look.
Instead, he sighed, dropping his head in surrender and muttering, “truce.”
That makes you open your eyes fully, nodding. “Okay.”
He sat on the foot of the bed, posture more relaxed. “Seriously though, what were you thinking?”
Picking at the loose thread of the duvet, you couldn’t meet his inquiring gaze. “I really did just need some air at first. Then I was gonna go back to the hotel to wait for Jenna, to apologize… but then I saw Damon.”
His sharp intake of breath reaches your ears. “Did you–”
“No!” You were quick to answer. “No… but he was an asshole, said something that pissed me off and I just couldn’t go back to that party or see Jenna. So I kept walking, I think I ended up in Central Park.”
“What did he say?” His nostrils flared.
“Nothing important, I walked away.” You omit.
He conceded but you could see his reluctance anyway.
“And then what — you were walking around, drinking in the middle of Central Park?” He asked bewildered, like you were stupid. Which, hearing it out loud now, is a very stupid decision. It was a miracle you made it back safely.
“Yes…” You muttered, ashamed. “I know I fucked up.”
His laugh is loud and taunting. “Fucked up? We’re way past that. Jenna’s pissed at you and Jake and Sarah found out you two didn’t go to the same after-party. They’re expecting it to be a headline.”
You bang your head against the headboard, ignoring the worsening ache. You deserved it, anyway. “Shit, Jenna… where is she?”
He scoffed, “gone.”
You whipped your head to find his eyes, ignoring the queasiness it caused in your stomach or maybe it was news of Jenna’s departure. “What?”
“She got out of New York first thing in the morning.” He explained.
“Fuck…” You close your eyes again, sliding down the bed. Flashes of your anger bubbling over, reaching a boiling point and exploding on Jenna. You remember your harsh words and the hurt expression that takes over the other actress’ face as you spoke with unabated hatred. “What did I do?”
“Don’t know, I left the room – but whatever you said, it must’ve been pretty bad 'cause it looked like she was about to cry when she came out of your room.” He recounted; not bothering to sugar-coat it. There seems to be nothing and no one that can get to you other than Jenna. 
Maybe realizing that you’ve hurt her, will be the wake-up call that you needed.
“I fucked up.” You repeated, staring at the ceiling.
“I know, buddy.” He sighed, patting your leg. “But you’ll fix it. You always do…”
“I don’t know about this one man.”
Telling Jenna that you wanted to end this PR relationship with her? You just wanted to be mean and hurt her back and that makes Jenna right, you are an asshole.
“What did you even say?” 
You recounted the anger-filled words that you spewed through your drunken stupor, avoiding Link’s angry expression when you finished.
“Are you fucking serious? How could you say that?”
“It was a mistake… I didn’t mean it.” 
“You need to get your head out of your ass and apologize to that girl.” He huffed, getting off the bed. “Get up, our flight leaves in an hour… stupid idiot.” He muttered, walking off as he shook his head in disappointment. 
This time, you couldn’t even blame him. You are an idiot.
***
“Where’s Jenna?”
“She’s busy but she’s been briefed, we can start now..” Liv pursed her lips, leaning back in her seat. 
The tips of your hands start sweating at her words, not knowing what they could mean.
As soon as you landed back in Los Angeles, you had the day to yourself to recuperate after a long week in New York. You sent the other actress a text before the plane took off, asking if she made it back to L.A. safely but you never got a message back. 
You might’ve deserved that one.
There was no other proof of life from the actress other than when you asked if you could pick up your dog from her since she was looking after the pup before the Met. The only response you received was a text from her assistant saying Jenna’s driver would drop him off at your house later in the day.
Again, you might’ve deserved that one. 
As promised, her driver pulled up in a sleek blacked-out SUV with a dog cage in hand. Upon releasing the pup, you noted the new toy he refused to let go of.
Other than her team obviously playing the middleman between you and her, the only other sign that she was well was the Instagram post on her account of her night at the Met Gala; a variety by herself, showing off her Thom Browne gown, some at the after-party with Enrique and other celebrities.
You'd be lying if you said you didn’t feel the slight emptiness in your chest that she didn’t post you. In the late hours of your stalking, you failed to realize that she did in fact, post the two of you, just a couple of hours later.
As a solo picture, was the two of you kissing on the red carpet. You don’t know why the black heart emoji captioning the photo sends your own heart to a frenzy. If you stared at the photo long enough, it was almost like you can feel phantom sensations of her lips pressed against your own again.
You’re ashamed to admit how long it took for you to decide on a response before eventually settling on a white heart to comment back. 
You thank the heavens that Liv barely sleeps because you got a message from her at that exact moment about a meeting the following morning; distracting you from Jenna and that stupid black heart. 
So that’s where you found yourself, in the dark, clutching the armrests of the stiff office chair in nervousness, the longer Liv and Jake waited to explain why you’re here. 
“It’s an update about Vegas,” Jake explained, leaning on the desk, and staring down at you.
“What about Vegas?” Your brows furrowed in confusion.
“Sarah found out who leaked the coke…” Liv chimed in. “The source comes from a Twitter account, claims she’s one of the girls in the club, and said she saw you taking a bump, as well. Gossip sites got a hold of it and spread it like wildfire.”
“That’s a lie, I was passed out.” Not the best argument, but it’s the truth.
“She claimed that it came from you.”
“Bullshit!”
“Of course, it’s bullshit. But we’re in damage control now... The police still hasn’t made a comment about pursuing a possible case against you ‘cause there’s nothing there. We’re just dealing with rumours, at this point but I don’t want you to worry about that.” Liv reassured, holding a hand out. She could see the frustration etched on your face.
You rolled your eyes, slumping against the seat. “So, what do we do?”
“The PR with Jenna is going well. It did a good job at covering up headlines about your initial arrest – but now that Vegas headlines are back, we need to work on overtime.”
Immediately, you shake your head, brows furrowing. “I thought the relationship was only meant to last three months?” 
It’ll be three months by the end of this week and Jenna has yet to talk to you since your drunken night after the Met Gala. 
“Yes… and I also said less the faster people forget your night at the county jail, clearly, they haven’t forgotten.” She raised a brow in challenge, and you opted to bite your tongue 'cause she did say that.
“Even then, how would you get Jenna to agree? She’s not exactly my biggest fan, right now.” You muttered, looking down at your hands. Jenna’s probably rejoicing at the fact that this agreement was almost over. After the disaster that was the Met, she’s probably laughing at the proposition of extending this agreement longer.
“Is that why you two didn’t go to the same after-party?” Jake flicked a brow, more so curious. You’re surprised he doesn’t too mad about it.
“You don’t even wanna know.” You closed your eyes in exhaustion at the thought of that night, missing Liv and Jake’s silent conversation, debating if it was time for a parently intervention. But you caught on to their silence.
“Please don’t lecture me on my dating life,” you grumbled, “it’s the last thing I want to hear.”
“Dating life?” Jake piped up, eyes lighting up.
“Did you and Jenna actually catch feelings?” Liv asked, a small smile on her lips.
“I literally said don’t.” You glared and the bite in your tone seemed to get them to relent; dropping the conversation. “And don‘t say catch feelings, it sounds wrong coming from you.”
“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that, for your sake.” Liv glares before looking at her business partner.
You don’t comment on the weighted glances they keep sending each other.
“Anyways…” Jake cleared his throat, “Lucky for you, Jenna already signed the updated contract—we just need your signature, that’s why you’re here.”
You to sit up straight, unsure if you heard your manager correctly. “What? She did?”
Maybe she wasn’t laughing at the proposition of extending this agreement. But why would she sign it? After what you said to her in New York, you figured she’d be on her merry way out the door and your life.
Liv reached over to the side, cracking open a thick document, and flipped to a page before sliding it over to you; a pen on top.
Beside Jenna’s ink-printed name on the paper, is the same neat handwritten signature that you noticed all those months ago. Your sight flickers down; the empty line with your name just below waiting to be signed seemed menacing this time. As you continue to scan the page and you settle on a certain line causing your heart to stop momentarily.
“A year?” 
Liv nodded, lips thinly pressed. “People are invested. Your names are selling headlines and getting clicks, it’s working. But not well enough to cover Vegas. We need to build you two as a brand, together.”
Suddenly the decision felt weighted.
“A brand?” You drawl, the words feeling wrong on your lips.
Liv sighed, “I know how it sounds… but we need Vegas to go away. After your guys’ appearance at the Met Gala, brands have been calling Jake and Sarah about potential deals featuring you two. You and Jenna sell.” 
You don’t answer, electing to look away to ignore their probing eyes. 
“There’s talk that they want to exclude you from the Dune 2 press run,” Jake admitted after a beat, his heavy-set eyes staring at you unapologetically. 
A knife to the gut is equivalent to how you feel. “What?”
Jake nodded, propping one hand on his desk to hold him up as leaned on it. “I’ve been going back and forth with the producers – reassuring them that you’re not what the press have saying. But like we said, we’re in damage control. SNL, Coachella, the Met Gala, those were good attempts at covering things up to get good press, but it’s not enough.”
Glancing down at the document again, a part of you still hesitates to pick up the pen.
“Did you not hear what I just said?” Jake asked.
“I–I need some time, to think about it.” 
“What’s there to think about?” Liv asked, equally confused. “Jenna already signed it.”
“It’s another year, Liv.” You raised your head to meet her eyes, in shock. Ignoring her reassurances. It doesn’t matter if Jenna signed it. There’s no way you’re letting this go on any longer. “That’s a long time.”
Flicking a brow, she answered, “Yes, it’s a long time, but we need to do this. There’s no other way..” She glanced at Jake, standing beside her, sending him a look.
You shake your head.  Mind already made up the moment you saw just how much longer this needed to continue.
“Well, find another way. I’m not dragging Jenna into my mess any longer.”
“What?” Jake dropped his crossed arms, watching as you frantically stood from the seat. “You wanna throw away the last three months?”
“Yes.” You stood your ground, crossing your arms.
Liv rolled her eyes, uncrossing her legs as she stands. You track her confusedly before you realize she’s walking off to Jake’s alcohol collection.
“That was a gift, Olivia.” Jake chided, as he watched the woman pour a hefty shot of the brown liquid from an expensive-looking bottle. 
You roll your eyes at her dramatics. 
“Are we dealing with the same thing right now?” She hissed in pain, placing the shot glass on the table as she gestured to you.
You shake your head, regaining their attention. “I have a career — movies and events lined up. I can’t play someone’s girlfriend for a year on top of that.”
“Y/N, there’s no other way… we’ll find a way to make it work with both your schedules but right now, we need to capitalize on the all of the attention.”
You huffed, annoyed that they were ignoring you. “I don’t care. Find another way. I’m not signing this.” Then you smack a firm hand on the document before turning to walk out of the office.
This has gone on long enough. You refuse to drag Jenna down any more than you already have. She’s better off without you anyway.
***
“I’m coming, I’m coming! Can you wait?!”
With haste, you stumble on your flip-flops when they tangle on your feet as you walked toward your front gate. The buzzing kept ringing out in the dark, quiet air. You desperately wished you bought a house with see-through gates so you could tell off whoever was repeatedly banging on your buzzer.
You lived in a gated neighbourhood, so you weren’t too worried about a random stranger roaming around. You assumed it was just one of your neighbours ringing the bell. 
“What?” You yank the door open, stepping out. The street lamps on the sidewalk don’t do well to light the figure standing across from you. But even in the dark, you instantly recognize her smaller stature.
She stepped back as you close the door behind you, now standing on the sidewalk. Your house was situated on a cul-de-sac and rarely anyone roamed the streets at this time. 
“What are you doing here?”  You squint, walking closer. 
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Was her answer, words practically dripping in anger.
You stand straighter at her tone, brows knotting together. “What?”
“Who the hell do you think you are, trying to make decisions for me.” She bit back, face contorting in fury. Glancing down, you note her white-knuckled grip on a manila folder.
“We shouldn’t talk about this here.” You sighed, scanning the street. It was empty and quiet but you never know who was lurking around. 
Walking over to the gate, you held it open, “let’s talk inside.”
She stood her ground, feet firmly planted on the concrete. You can see the sharp edges from her jaw clenching even in the poorly-lit street.
“Jenna.” You said knowingly, titling your head to the side.
You hear her huff loudly before stomping past you and walking up the path to your front door. Choosing not to comment on the fact that she’s never been to your house but she’s walking like she has been. Following closely behind, you can’t help but let your eyes wander down, taking note of her outfit.
As always, no matter what she wore, it hung off her expertly, like it was made just for her. You were so distracted looking at her… outfit, that you failed to realize you made it to the front door. 
“Are you gonna open the door or what?’ She raised a brow, not commenting on how quickly you averted your eyes as soon as she turned around.
“Yeah…” You muttered, sliding past her to open the double doors. 
When you make it to the foyer, Jenna is already confronting you before the door even closes. “Sign the contract.”
“Demanding much?” You raised a brow, shutting the door.
“Sign the damn contract, Y/N.” She said firmly, leaving no room for argument.
“What are you doing, Jenna? This is your chance to get out of this.” You wave a hand, gesturing between you and her.
She laughed unamused, “Get out of this? If you think I can leave this PR relationship in the middle of rumours of your arrest and there’s a way I won’t be painted like the bad guy, then you’re really dumber than I thought.”
You clenched your jaw, not answering. 
“Sign the contract.” She repeated, taking your silence as a win.
“No.”
“Why not?” 
“I’m not dragging you into this mess.”
She laughed again, this time it was plainly mocking. “I’m already in this mess. I’m deep in it if you haven’t noticed. Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass every once in a while you’d realize everything we do is attached to each other, now. There isn’t anywhere I can go without being asked about you or our relationship. So no, I’m not letting you make this decision for me. ‘Cause I’m making it for us.”
You stared at her. The fury in her eyes and tension in her shoulders were noticeable even from where you stood; it didn’t aid in easing the mellowing guilt in your chest.
“It’s all from a business standpoint, don’t look into it.” She glared.
This time, you were certain you deserved that. 
Jenna walked up to you, pushing the manila folder against your chest aggressively. You meet her narrowed eyes staring up at you. “Sign it.”
Then she walked off, slamming the door shut behind her.
***
“How’s the missus?”
“How’s yours?” Tom joked back, handing over a steaming coffee cup. Graciously grabbing it with both hands, you eagerly sip on the bitter drink as the London native settles on the patio chair across you.
Although it was considered a warm day in London, there was a cool breeze that wafted through the air penetrating through your jacket. 
“Very funny.” You muttered, ignoring the heat rising up your neck.
“I’m just fuckin with ya.” He chuckled, cheeks crinkling in amusement. 
“She actually has day off from filming, right now.” You placed the paper cup on the table, fiddling with the cover. “So, at home.”
“Beetlejuice 2, right? Insane gig, you must be proud of her.” He smiled, gauging your reaction.
The smile that creeps up on your face is genuine, “Yeah, I am. They just started filming last week, I know she’s killing it.”
“Have you visited her on set?”
You blushed, not even considering that a possibility. “No uh– not yet.”
“Either way, it’s great. I’m happy for you guys.” He said sincerely, but he sees through you. “But, what’s with the long face?”
You sighed, leaning back. Taking a moment to glance around at the quiet street, it was still early morning and the hustle of the Brit actor’s town was still non-existent.
You’ve known Tom for a long time, meeting him during your stint in the MCU. He’s become a brother of sorts, as you two navigated the Marvel fame throughout all those years. As soon as you landed in England, he was the first person you texted.
“It’s complicated– with Jenna.”
“How so?” He flicked a brow, sipping on his drink.
That prompted a long retelling of how you met the other actress (definitely breaching your contract, but hey, you’ll send over an NDA) the events of SNL, Coachella, the Met, and recently, how you’ve been forced to follow her to London as she films Beetlejuice 2 to support her as she films the follow-up to the iconic horror-classic.
“Wow…” His brows raised in shock, mouth hanging wide open. 
You raise an expectant brow. “Well? What should I do?”
“You asking me?” He pointed to himself and if he wasn’t one of your closest friends and Hollywood’s biggest faces, you’d punched him straight.
You huffed, brows knitting together. “Yes, I’m asking you. You and Z are the epitome of a healthy relationship. Tell me what to do.”
Tom rubbed his stubbled jaw, relaxing in his seat as he thought of what to say. “It’s not that easy. Z and I actually want to make it work.”
“What does that mean?” You sat up straighter, a bit defensive.
“Mate, throughout that whole story, you kept talking about this relationship like it was the worst thing in the world. Making up excuses for your actions as to why you can’t open up to Jenna— running away. You guys haven’t talked about anything. She doesn’t know about Vegas, or how you felt about Coachella… You also have yet to apologize for how you disappeared for hours and then acted like an asshole in New York. You just followed her to London, expecting to live under one roof like everything’s alright. It’s a bomb waiting to explode.”
You… couldn’t say anything to that.
He bit back a laugh at your wide-eyed reaction, “Listen, I’m no expert on relationships – I’m still trying to find my way. But one thing I’ve learned, is that when two people want to make it work they will, but that only happens with honest communication. She doesn’t even know how you feel about her… maybe start there.”
“What if it’s too late? What if too much has happened for us to fix things?” You questioned, meeting his kind eyes and allowing him to see the vulnerability in yours.
“Then you start over, build from the ground up.”
You knew his relationship has also seen its fair share of rocky moments. Noting his slew of ex-girlfriends before eventually finding his way back to the Euphoria actress. That made you feel a bit better about your situation.
“Let me ask you this,” He piques up, leaning his elbows on the table, fingers cupping his chin, “what are you so scared of?”
You already know your answer. “I don't want to break her heart.”
He hums, pondering your response, “It sounds like you don’t want her to break yours, mate.”
This time, you’re the one humming as a response, unsure of what to say because he’s right. There’s never been anyone you’ve allowed to get close enough to even break your heart. 
The thought that someone could take your heart and stomp on it whenever they wanted is terrifying concept.
“Look,” he speaks up when you don’t answer, “it sounds like you really care about Jenna. I’ve seen pictures of you two, even if you say it’s just for the cameras. I’ve never seen you look so smitten. Talk to her, you never know what could happen if you stop getting in your own way.”
You flushed, choosing not to comment on his words. “Ho-how you’d see the pictures?”
“You two are everywhere and Z sent me that picture of the two of you with her niece. Very cute,” He winked cheekily.
You rolled your eyes. “Alright, I get it. I’ll talk to her.”
“Finally, Link owes me a drink.” He settled back into his seat, sipping on his drink.
You rolled your eyes, shooting the Brit a glare. “You two are annoying.”
But he just chuckled, trying to hide it with a sip of coffee before speaking up again. “Hey, once you get settled here in London, why don’t you come to Monaco with me for the F1 Grand Prix?”
Your gaped at the offer, “You serious?”
“Yeah, it’ll do you some good. Forget about Vegas, the press and Jenna, for a bit?” He leaned in, raising his brows at the proposition, a grin smacked on his teeth. “Me, you, a couple of friends and some cars. What’d ya say?”
You’d take a moment to think over your options but you were already sold.
“I’m in.” You grinned.
***
It’s been three days since you landed in London, following Jenna across the Atlantic Ocean as she filmed Beetlejuice 2. You're still trying to adjust to the time zone difference but that’s really the least of your worries because it’s been terribly awkward living under the same roof as Jenna.
You were seriously considering paying for a hotel during your time here but maybe spending thousands of dollars, or pounds… on a hotel room every night in London for a month straight isn’t the best business decision.
Clearly Jake and Sarah agreed because when you called Jake he said and I quote ‘there’s no other way for you to live anywhere other than with Jenna’ — yeah right.
At least she’s speaking to you — which is a step. Jenna had to fly over to the UK a week earlier and in that time it seems the tensions between you have simmered down. But, her responses are restrained, overly polite, like she didn’t know how to talk to you anymore.
You ignored how your heart clenched at her snipped, cold responses.
“Hi,” She greeted, as soon as you made it down the hallway then living room. Eyes tracking your every move as you shuffled to the kitchen, placing a paper bag atop the counter.
“Hey, how was your day off?” You greeted, glancing up at her momentarily.
“It was alright, I just walked around; got to know the neighbourhood. What about you? You were gone by the time I woke up...” Jenna asked, hating how you averted your gaze from her so quickly these days.
“I met up with a friend over at Kingston.” You replied, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water. 
“Tom Holland?”
Turning, surprised she knew that but she answered before you could even ask. “I saw some pictures on Instagram.”
You purse your lips, nodding; not really surprised the paparazzi discovered your outing with the Brit actor. The press never sleeps, even when you’re in another continent.  “Oh, I see… well, he says hello, by the way.”
Jenna perked up surprised. “He did?”
You nodded but said nothing else. 
“You were gone for a while, though.” She added.
“We also grabbed dinner.” You’d usually make an annoyed quip about the sudden interrogation but at this point, you were just glad she’s talking to you.
“Did you have fun?” She asked. You don’t miss the slow, drawled tone that accompanied the question like she was unsure if she should keep the conversation afloat or let it fizzle out.
“Yes, I did actually.” You find yourself saying. A day away from the tenseness in this apartment was a nice change.
Jenna wanted to interject and ask why you looked peeved in the photos and videos she saw. She’s familiar with the tightly wound brows and flared nostrils that you create when you’ve gone off on a rant. 
She couldn’t help but wonder what you two were talking about. Instead, she kept her mouth shut and nodded. “That’s nice...”
Sighing under your breath, you try not to make a reaction and set off an argument with the other actress but the awkward responses were getting old and it’s only your third day here. There’s no way you can handle walking on eggshells around her for another minute.
Shufflling closer to the couch where Jenna sat; gaze still tracking you. You send her a timid smile, placing a paper cup atop the table across from her.
A peace offering, of sorts.
“The coffee shop I was at this morning is known for their hot chocolate, so I got you one on the way back.”
She blinked, evidently surprised at the gesture. You take her silence as a chance to sit on the armchair just across.
“Call it a truce?” You added, sending a sheepish smile. 
Other than the episode of Breaking Bad playing in the background, it’s dead silent in the apartment.
You didn’t comment on how she rewatching an episode that the two of you had already seen.
Jenna stayed mute, just watching you but reached out for the hot chocolate on the coffee table then leaned back on the couch, pulling her legs up to her chest. 
You considered it as an olive branch.
“I’m sorry for how I acted in New York — I know I worried you.” You gauged her reaction but she averted her gaze to the coffee table, on the cup she was fiddling with — anywhere but your own eyes. “You’re right, I am an asshole and I am so, so sorry Jenna. How can I make it up to you?”
Your question finally has her meeting your eyes, voice cold. “You can’t.”
You sighed, “come on, Jen. There has to be something.”
“You can’t because I’m not ready to forgive you yet.” She reiterated and you slumped back against the cushion, defeated.
“Okay…” You accepted. With a slow nod, you stood up about to walk off to your bedroom and lock yourself inside for the remainder of the night.
Maybe you can try again tomorrow.
Jenna huffed, “where are you going?”
Spinning around, confused; you pointed to the closed door down the hall, “my room? I’m giving you space.”
She stands up, agitation etched on her face and placed the paper cup on the wooden table with force. “No, Y/N, that’s not what I want.”
You flick a brow up, still bemused at her sudden hostility. “So, then what do you want, Jenna?”
Probably like her, you were growing tired of the constant fighting and miscommunication that seems to occur every time a serious talk needed to happen.
Her forehead created lines as she raised both brows, “to talk! I want you to talk to me. Open up to me — I never know what you’re actually thinking. You say I’m leading you on but do you even realize that you're doing the same to me?!”
She finished off with a sharp breath and widened eyes like she didn’t expect to reveal all of that.
You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to remember the countless advice you’ve been receiving from everyone. Reminding yourself of the unpleasantness that took home in your chest from being away and fighting with the other actress. You didn’t enjoy receiving the cold shoulder from her.
“That’s not what I was trying to do, I swear.” You tried to say calmly despite your heart hammering widly in your chest; fight or flight instincts begging for you to flee.
She studied you with a cautious gaze, you don’t blame her for not believing you. “I like you, a lot – more than I ever expected.”
Your confession has her brows raising in surprise. Not expecting you to say that. You take her stunned silence as a chance to keep talking.
 “I think we both can say that the way we came into each other’s life was less than… conventional.” You chuckled to fill the tense silence, “I’m not exactly sure when or where, but along the way that I started to fall for you.”
You sit back down on the armchair prompting Jenna to perch on the couch, across from you. The space in between you and the other actress feels like a million miles away. Feeling like your nerves are shot from her indecipherable look, alone.
“I really care about you, Jenna and you’re right. I haven’t been honest with you, about anything but especially over Vegas and that’s not fair… so I guess I should start there.”
Jenna can’t even hide her surprise that you’re actually opening up. Never mind confessing how you feel about her. Instead, she keeps her mouth shut and allows you to speak.
“Vegas was just a bad decision. I think I was overwhelmed— I had a busy year last year and nothing was letting up. I begged this… friend that I had to skip town, go to Vegas and fuck shit up. Well, we did. When the cops got to the strip club, I was passed out drunk and Damon—uh the friend, was doing coke beside me. Uh, I'm not really sure what happened next but they took me to jail and next thing I knew I was waking up to someone telling me I’d been bailed out… Jake said they tried to pick us both up for drug charges but when they realized it wasn’t mine, they charged me with a drunken disorderly, instead.”
Somewhere along the way, your gaze dropped in shame, unable to match Jenna’s intense stare. You felt mortified as you recounted the tales of your criminal escapade. It’s not a night you choose to relive or retell for a reason, and definitely not a story that you want Jenna knowing. 
But she’s right, she is as deep in this mess as you are. She deserves to know the whole story if you two had to keep this PR stunt going for another year. And if this relationship had any real chance of surviving.
“I heard about it… when it first happened. Sarah was the one to tell me about the coke, that’s why I called you a drug user when we first met…” Jenna admitted, “she said it wasn’t yours but then that headline claimed it was dropped before the Met and you didn’t say anything—“
“I know, I know and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to say something.” You hesitated. You’ve never done well at being confronted with the repercussions of your bad decisions, much less having to explain them. “I was scared—“
Your voice cracked, cursing inwardly you fought through the unpleasant thickness in your throat. That makes Jenna meet your eyes, watching as you blinked away the tears beginning to cloud your vision.
Her gaze softens… never seeing you so vulnerable. Continuing to observe you for a few seconds before giving in, “come here.”
You look up at her extended hand and how she patted the open space next to her. Your legs work against you, already standing to walk over and sit.
When you do, she’s turning her whole body to find your eyes. This time her body language is open and inviting rather than the reserved, tense stature you’ve grown accustomed to.
“Sorry…” You wiped the corner of your eyes.
She shakes her head, “don’t be.”
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to meet her kind eyes. She waits for you to patiently speak.
“I was scared.” You repeated.
“I was scared of my feelings for you. That week at your parents' house… was the first time I felt welcomed in a long time. It’s just been me and Link and L.A. for so long, I-I forgot what it was like to have a village around you. I’m sorry if your family sees me differently now.” 
You felt a pang of shame wash over you. But Jenna’s shaking her head, scooting closer — knees touching. “They don’t. My dad and sisters are a little mad but they actually pushed me to talk to you — even when I was mad. They know how the media loves to twist things, they’ve seen it with me, so they try to not pay attention to it.”
She doesn’t know how you did it but you have somehow won her overprotective family over. 
Jenna’s week away from you was needed yet miserable at the same time. After your drunken rant, Jenna was the one who found herself running away. Knowing that this time, she was the one who couldn’t be around you. 
Your words hurt, for lack of a better explanation. The way you spewed them so easily, so surely, was a memory that she replayed over and over again while she was giving you the cold shoulder.
It almost made her give in… to cut the tie with you. Give you what you want — be left alone. But then she remembers her conversation with Hailee, with her mom, with her sisters, with everybody who’s been around you.
It’s comical how everyone can see it but you two.
As if it were written in the stars, a divine intervention seems to always save you two just before the brink of no return. When Jenna found out you were being forced to live with her in London for a month while she films Beetlejuice 2 and you — well she doesn’t know what work you’re doing here yet because she can’t get herself to say more than two words to you — she didn’t know if she should be happy or dreading it.
But then you landed and it’s been a tense weekend since your arrival. You and her seem to share the sentiment of not knowing how to act or speak around the other. Jenna started leaning on dreading it the longer the awkward conversations occurred.
But now you’re here, opening up.
“Are you sure?” You asked a bit croaky; throat a bit tight.
You stare into the other actress’ dark orbs and for the first time ever, it feels like you can finally read her. Hesitantly, she reached out to grasp your hand, firmly clasping it. “I’m sure.”
Clenching your jaw, you try to keep the clouding in your vision at a minimum. Inhaling a sharp stuttered breath, you nodded, “g-good.”
“I’m sorry for how I’ve handled everything since meeting you. It was a lot… dealing with the hate, the arrest and then suddenly realizing how I feel about you. So I ran — like I always do, and that makes me an asshole ‘cause I hurt you. I can deal with everyone being angry with me, I'm used to it. But I can’t stand it coming from you… So you can be mad, but I won’t stop trying to make it up to you.”
Jenna sees nothing but honesty in your fierce, unblinking gaze. It has her heart thudding rudely in her rib cage. She blinked, trying to control her wavering voice, “You’re right… you never talked about Vegas until the last minute and that wasn’t fair of you. But I also never asked you about it either, even though I knew some of the story. I thought we’d do this PR stunt and then go on with our lives….”
You sniffled, eyes feeling scratchy as you listened to her side. You couldn’t keep the stray tear that ran down your cheek at bay. Looking down, you missed Jenna’s softening eyes.
Moving to wipe away the tear, embarrassment ran through you instantly. You tried to pull away from Jenna’s grasp to wipe it but she grabbed it back, tightening her grip. Then she bring her free hand up, swiping the wetness away with a gentle touch that you didn’t feel deserving of.
She squeezed your hand, as she feels you freeze at her ministrations. Your cheek burns against her soft palm. “But, then you met my family and spent time with us and… suddenly you weren’t so bad. Y/N, I like you too.”
This felt like a breakthrough or a light at the very end of a long, dark tunnel in your relationship. 
“So do I.” You repeated timidly, allowing your cheek to rest against her steady hand. Granting the grounding touch despite your racing nerves.
“I’m sorry about what I said in New York,” she swipes her thumb across your cheek, averting her eyes to glance at her actions. You watch her as she does so. 
“You're not an asshole. You’re actually one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met… when you want to be.” Her eyes flicker back to you, a hint of a smile playing on her lips as she gauges your reaction. You couldn’t help the laugh that escapes; easing the slight tension that’s built in the room. “I was just so angry about being left out that I decided to lash out at you. I’m sorry too, I didn’t mean any of it.”
“I forgive you.” You decided to be brave and placed a reassuring hand on her knee. Jenna watches your eyes, not saying anything. Only removing her hand from your cheek to brush some hair away from your sight. Then she drops her palm to rest atop your still-conjoined hands.
“I really, really like you.” She confesses just above a whisper.
“So do I.” You chimed in quickly. She sends you an amused smile before clearing her throat. That’s when you realized it, “but I’m sensing a but...”
You watch as her grin contorts sadly, as she sighed heavily, “it’s not the right time.”
Feeling a pang of disappointment, you nodded nevertheless, averting your eyes. “Oh.”
If somehow there was space between the two of you, there certainly isn’t any, now, as she moved closer, feeling like skin pressing against one another is the only thing that can ground the younger actress. 
“I feel like we went from hating each other to being thrown in New York – SNL.” Jenna tilts her head down, hoping to meet your gaze again, it proves fruitful when she grabs your glance. “Us.. in that dressing room, I know you felt it too.”
Breathing out carefully, you confessed. “I did.”
Jenna sent you a pleased smile, “Then you left for Coachella and I was mad at you again… I even made your driver take you to my parents just so I could see you again cause even when I was mad –  I couldn’t stop thinking about almost kissing you.”
Your heart thumped as she confessed everything.
“My mom set us up with the single bed thing, though.” Jenna laughed as joined. The thought of her family secretly rooting for you two had your stomach in a twist. “The way you were with my family that week… I don’t know. I started seeing you differently and I couldn’t help but kiss you before your performance…”
“I wasn’t complaining.” You shook your head.
“Shut up.” She smacked your arm, making you smile. “We skipped so many steps and just jumped into the relationship part.”
“Yeah… we did.” 
“I want to make this work but I think—“
“I got a lot of shit to figure out.” You chuckled, cutting her off.
“We got a lot of shit to figure out.” She corrected. “And in between filming Beetlejuice–”
“I understand, Jen.” You squeezed her hand.
“I need some time, to figure all of this out because I wanna do it right – with you.” Her voice drops to a whisper. You try to disregard how her gaze fell lower, finding your lips. 
Mentally wishing the other actress can’t hear how loudly your heart is thumping.
“I’ll be here waiting.” 
It wasn’t the conclusion you expected but it felt like a step in the right decision. She’s right, there is a lot that you two need to figure out. Separately and together. Her eyes snap back to you, looking relieved, like it was exactly what she needed to hear.
“I’m not saying I’m not open to never, possibly– you know.” Jenna blushed, as she stumbled over her words. “But I’d like us to be friends first, get to know each other before we pursue that. I-Is that okay?”
You felt bolder at her confession, finally knowing how she feels about you. Bringing your entwined hands up, you place a delicate kiss on her the top of her hands. “That’s okay, I’ll be here when you’re ready for me.”
“You’re already breaking the rules…” She jokes but her tone sounded wispy as she stared down at the way your lips ghosted over her hand. 
You flick a brow, “we have rules?”
She sends you a pointed look, calling your name flatly.
Rolling your eyes, you lean back, dropping her hands. “Right, sorry… friends definitely don’t do that.”
“You’re an idiot.” You didn’t know an insult could sound better than any piece of music you’ve ever listened to. She hasn’t called you that since Coachella. You think, the term of endearment is starting to grow on you, having missed her reciprocated banter more than anything.
“Yeah… I am.” You respond, fondly memorizing every speckle in her kind, dark orbs staring back into yours. It sends a shiver down your spine.
How could you ever think of letting her go?
***
it only took eight fucking chapters but I did say slow burn…😭
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***
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m-ayo-o · 3 months
Text
O U I J A
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you meet a demon of lust !
will you survive this deadly game of dares ?
18+ : sexual content starring: 21+ university student Megumi FUSHIGURO x younger [18+] inexperienced afab reader (nerdy, science type) a sweet junior student has a crush on her intimidating senior, but is too shy to act on it :/ you're only pushed closer thanks to a strange encounter with a powerful entity. its demands are scary, but megumi is there to keep u safe cw: i write megumi taller - over 6 ft. groping (demon → reader) violence (demon → megumi) explicit sexual acts: the demon forces you, but consent is established wc: 10k @nobody289x thank u so much for your wonderful megumi thoughts + proofreading + everything, u the best :3
note ⋆˚。 this was meant to be for 666 follows... thank u !! <3
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Upperclassman, third year student Megumi Fushiguro. He studies ancient history, specialising in the emergence of rare cursed techniques in the Meiji Period, with a minor in theology. His tongue is sharp, but his dress sense is sharper.
You've seen him around the university campus- training, with his friends, sometimes helping junior students. But it's safe to say you know a little too much about a man you've never actually spoken to. It's not like you don't want to. He's just so... intimidating. His intelligence is one thing, but the way he glares makes your blood run cold.
Every time you see him, you just freeze up and turn on your heels, presuming he's so far out of your league he wouldn't give you a chance. You know it's pessimistic, but it fuels your nightmares to think about being rejected by him. Even for a simple conversation. You can just imagine his face scrunching up with a disgruntled laugh, looking down at you with those dark, unforgiving eyes, telling you not to waste his time.
Unbeknownst to you, your presumptions were going to be proven wrong.
Given some time, and the terribly flustering coincidence that he started assisting in one of your labs- due to owing your professor a favour?- you get closer.
He approaches you in class, handing out the task notes for the day and checking you have all the right equipment ready. You can't believe how much taller he looks up close.
"Y-yes, I have everything I need. Thank you."
You curse yourself for still being so nervous around him. It's been weeks since he started helping your professor. It seems that they already knew each other, despite working in separate departments.
~
You're finishing up after a particularly challenging practical assignment when you hear your annoying professor singing your name, reminding you that you're on clean up duty this week.
Ugh.
You groan and sigh, but it doesn't make the mess go away. So you start collecting all the beakers and test tubes, trying to balance them carefully on the way to the sink, when you notice him.
He's at the sink already, his back turned to you, the water running with his sleeves rolled up. You set the equipment down and start helping him. It's quiet- the sounds of clinking glass and splashing water fill the room- and he passes you item after item, your fingers grazing over his while you glance to the side and dry them up.
"Thank you"
~
After today, you find yourself volunteering to clean up after class very willingly. You've gotten yourselves into a little silent routine; collecting the equipment- he washes, you dry (to save your fingers from getting all shriveled and pruney).
You have to admit that there's a certain kindness about him you hadn't noticed before. It's in his hands- how he holds the glass with such care- and in the softness of his voice. And you finally see him smile after going on an embarrassing ramble about why you're enjoying your course so much and what you'd like to do in the future. You assume he's smiling out of amusement- perhaps he's going to ridicule you.
"I- I'm sorry. That was, uh, too much information."
"Don't apologise. You're just... passionate. It's nice."
He encourages you with yet another small but sure smile, and your heart nearly melts on the spot. The way his features soften is just so endearing.
I was so wrong about him. Nobody with a smile like that could be mean. Or rude. Maybe I should just ask him out? At least he'd turn me down politely.
And you can't believe you're here, with him, starting to open up after his considerate questions- which you return, getting little insights into his mysterious life. You didn't realise he was already working while keeping up his studies, with additional martial arts training, and now assisting in your labs despite being in a different department entirely- his schedule is packed. With every sentence he speaks you seem to respect him a little more, and you slowly realise that he doesn't bite.
He catches you off guard, casually offering to help with your stats course after a one off comment that you were struggling.
So he comes over the same evening, where you awkwardly introduce him to your housemates, then show him to your room, where he sits on your bed.
You dig out your dreaded stats folder and sift through your test papers, showing him the scores and explaining how you were unhappy with them.
"But your grades are still..." he arches an eyebrow, scanning the papers, "above average."
You've been aspiring to get a near perfect score in all of your classes, desperate to attain a first class degree and potentially progress into a research role, and there's something about that inner perfectionist that speaks to him. So he settles in and gets comfortable on your bed, watching you work, then eventually gets out his phone when he realises he's distracting you.
And when you're done he sits on the edge of your bed, getting closer and closer till you're just staring. He helps and corrects you so softly. You keep staring... at his dexterous hands, the way they move and grip the pencil, how his knuckles flex, the way his blue veins show through his pale skin. Then up his muscular arms, studying the masculine angle of his jaw, the feminine curve of his pure black lashes. Then his eyes; you're captivated by the deep, navy colour, their shape- so elegant and sharp. And you wonder if his always clean-shaven face is soft, whether he uses product in his hair... and what it would feel like to run your fingers through it.
"[name]?"
How long have I been staring?
"I've finished marking it now."
~
Over the weeks of being Megumi's student, you realise that your grade is getting very close to where you want it to be, and you start thinking...
If I get one more paper over 90% he is going to stop tutoring me. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to fabricate some incorrect answers... would it?
So you start making mistakes on purpose. You know it's cowardly and misleading, but you can't stop. At the same time, you can't admit how much you've been enjoying your study sessions- just having him to yourself, getting his attention, his praise.
But when you do something wrong... it makes your heart pound.
He taps a finger on your paper, over the question number, giving you a glare before elaborating.
"Come on, you know this."
You act dumb. He leans over to correct it for you.
"Hang on, let me-"
You can smell his cologne. You can see his collar bones where his shirt dips away.
"Do it like this- yeah, good-"
Good girl.
He wishes he had the guts to say it. He'd love to see your reaction. But he just watches you continue, completing the calculations by yourself.
But after making a few too many mistakes, he starts to cotton on.
"You answered a question nearly identical to this one last week. You did it perfectly."
You fidget about, reorganising your stationary while he flicks through your work.
"See?"
He holds up two of your papers. And he's right- of course he's right. This one was way too obvious. Your eyes shift around the room nervously, looking everywhere but at the papers, until you settle on his eyes.
"You... you're not doing this on purpose, are you? You know that would be wasting my time, right?"
You can't deny it. You don't want to lie to him anymore.
"You are?"
You look down at your lap and nod.
"You're a smart girl. Why didn't you just ask me to stay?"
You can't answer. Your stomach has relocated to your chest and your tongue is tied in knots. It's all twisted up, around words you wish you could say.
I'm afraid you don't feel the same way. I couldn't ask you to stay because I don't want you to leave.
He can see your eyes going wide. He knows he's put you on the spot (rightfully so). But he sets down your papers, nonetheless, giving you a slightly exasperated look.
"We can just hang out, ok? I don't have to come here for a reason."
He puts your papers back on your desk and you pack them away sheepishly, watching him sink to the carpeted floor and lean up against your bed.
"Come on. You wanna watch a scary movie or something?"
He's already seen the posters around your room.
"Sure."
And so started your late night meet ups with Megumi, under no false pretenses of studying, sitting on your bedroom floor with pillows and blankets... then moving up to your bed... then hugging when he leaves. You don't know when that started, but it feels right.
You get comfortable with one another. You invite him in as if he's just another friend.
Yeah, a friend. A friend who makes your heart race. A friend who makes you blush. You have no other 'friend' like him.
You have no other friend who turns to you in the middle of The Ring- when you have to look away from the screen because there is a girl crawling out of the TV- with a smile on his face.
He's getting closer. His lips... are so close.
"This movie is dumb."
You shiver a little, feeling his breath fan you.
I want to kiss her... so bad. Would she let me?
You have no other friend who gets you so hot... just from looking at you.
He sees the hesitation in your eyes so he backs off and you have to cool the situation down a little. You're already bored of the movie, so you have a great idea.
"Can I show you something?"
After finding it in the summer, you've been too scared to investigate the strange artefact by yourself. Maybe he could help you.
"It's under the bed."
~
"What are you doing," he pulls it out, his eyes scanning over the markings on the dark wood, "with this?"
"I found it-" you shift about on the chair, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under his now intense gaze. You don't know what this object is, but you can sense something dark when you touch it, or even look at it.
"Found it at my parent's... in the basement."
"You know what it is?"
You shake your head.
"It's a Ouija board."
He explains what such things can be used for.
"If you're successful, you could end up contacting a spirit. You want to try?"
Your heart beats a bit faster, feeling excited as you keep asking questions until you're starting to set your room up to attempt to use the board. 
With candles lit, lights dimmed and taking your place on the carpet opposite Megumi, you cast your nerves aside and put your hand on the wooden arrow with his.
"So uh, what are we supposed to say?"
"You just have to ask a question."
It can't be that simple.
"But are there any... rules?" You can't help the shakiness of your voice now, while he sits looking at you, raising his eyebrow.
"Too scared?" He scoffs, "Ok, I'll start."
"Are there any spirits," he looks around the room- he knows there's no curses here, at least, "or dead, residing in this building?"
There's a long pause. You watch the candlelight flicker over his pale face, illuminating his dark eyes.
"Any ghosts?"
He keeps asking, while you sit tight, holding your breath.
He looks back at you now, apparently taking amusement in how you're shifting about nervously.
"Demons?"
There's a loud bang from outside that seems coincidental, but no movement on the board.
Still, you both keep your fingers pressed on the arrow.
"Why don't you ask?" He glances down at your smaller hands, "Maybe a spirit would respond to... someone like you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Someone innocent," he smirks, making your stomach twist up.
"Megumi I-" you're about to defend yourself, but the blush creeping up your cheeks is not helping in the slightest.
So you open your mouth and ask the still, dark room if there's anybody there.
There's a silence that swallows you both up, you feel your mouth go dry, and you look back at the board to see the arrow starting to shake.
Your fingers are dragged over the board, the arrow sliding to mark-
"YES"
You weren't expecting it to actually work.
"Who?" Megumi asks with confidence.
Again, the arrow trembles around. This time, moving to the letters...
L - U - S - T
"A spirit...of lust?" Even he has to admit this is unusual.
You swallow, watching him speak to the entity freely.
"YES"
"Ok, and how did you- die?"
Silence. No movement on the board.
"Do you have any regrets?"
The arrow starts shaking again, this time uncontrollably and without direction. The board starts to quake, lifting off the carpeted floor, and you feel the temperature of the room dropping drastically.
"Megumi, wait- what if it... doesn't want to answer- those questions?"
You seem to have got the gist, as the board starts to settle down.
"Right," Megumi's eyes glance up at yours, "so tell me [name], what should we ask?"
"Ah..." you fidget around for a second, eyes flitting about the board, then to a small flame of a candle as you ponder.
"Is there anything... you enjoyed, while you were alive?"
You hold your breath again, watching the arrow spring to life.
S
It drags over the board, slowly.
E
You want to look away, but you just can't.
X
Shit. Why would you ask a self proclaimed spirit of lust that question?
Megumi clearly notices the embarrassed tint on your cheeks, but doesn't seem dissuaded from the conversation himself.
"Hah, checks out. Who did you fuck?"
His words come out surprisingly crass, making you intake a little breath.
And the spirit didn't seem to like his question either. The room gets a little darker now, colder still, making those terrible goosebumps prickle on your neck.
The board starts tilting around again and the candles flicker violently, then suddenly die out.
"M-Megumi-!"
"Just, hang on- let me flip the board over. We can stop."
He goes to move his hand from the arrow, but it suddenly slides to:
"NO"
"Shit."
Even you know this is bad. You're trapped.
You start to panic, looking between Megumi and the board, trying to decipher what on earth you can do, and you feel something cold on your back.
"A-ah-"
"What is it?"
It travels down your spine and you feel a firm squeeze on your waist.
"Megumi- I, I don't like this- please-!"
"What's happening, tell me?"
You get another grabbing sensation, this time on your ass.
"It's touching me-!"
He can tell you're not lying from the way your voice is shaking.
"Ok, ok," he tries to keep his cool, but internally he's losing it. If this thing hurts you... there will be hell to pay, whether it's dead or not.
"Come here. Just sit in front of me."
You nod and quickly move into the space between his crossed legs with your hands still on the arrow and your back pressed to his chest.
"Don't fucking touch her."
He sounds suddenly aggressive- you can't deny how it makes you feel protected.
"Thank you," you murmur and take one hand off the arrow to brush away a tear you hadn't realised was spilling down your cheek.
"It's ok, just sit still and let me figure out how to finish this."
One of his hands leaves the board to wrap around the front of your shoulders. How he can feel you trembling is worrying him, so he pulls you in closer.
"I'm sorry, I wish I never... found this thing," you sniffle a little as he tries to comfort you.
"It's ok."
His eyes study the room, how everything is becoming still and gloomy and filled with such an electric tension.
"It's not your f-"
His breath is caught in his lungs, feeling a sudden pressure over his mouth.
"MMhh-MM-"
You twist your body back to look, while you both struggle to keep your fingers connected to the arrow- the only rule you knew coming into this that removing your hands could result in severe consequences.
But you feel the situation has escalated enough for you to take the risk, so you pull your hands away and up to his face, your thumb helplessly pressing on his lips to try and open them.
You tug and panic, then suddenly realise he's not breathing through his nose either. His eyes are terribly wide. He looks scared.
"Fuck! Stop it! Stop, just let him go! Please, I'll do anything!"
And with those last words, the spirit lets go and Megumi collapses, gasping and coughing as you lean back to give him some space.
He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and reaches a hand out to yours.
"I don't know what's going to happen next." His skin has never looked paler, his voice never more serious. "Just please don't let go."
So you nod and thread your fingers together, sitting side by side, and return to the board.
You feel a cool drop of sweat running down your spine when you see the arrow moving once more.
A - N - Y - T - H - I - N - G ?
We have to do what it says now.
This thing could really hurt us.
You look at each other and back to the board, glad that you're still alive, and you nod.
T - O - U - C - H
"What?" He responds quickly, hoping to fix this situation as soon as possible.
The arrow swivels on the board, pointing directly at you. You're already holding hands, so you assume the spirit wants a little more from you both.
You bring a hand to your face. You could see this coming- you honestly want him to touch you. Of course you do- how he makes you feel so nervous isn't just down to his damn intellect. He's gorgeous and you can't deny you want his hands on you.
But like this?
You sigh and turn to face him, trying desperately to keep calm so you can work this out.
"W-we don't have to-"
You swear it's the first time you've heard his voice shake like this.
"We could just- burn the board, we just need to, to-"
His head suddenly whips to the side and he lets out a shout.
"Fuck!"
"Oh my god!"
He turns back to face you with a split lip and a little trickle of blood running down his chin.
"It's ok, it's-"
Before he can finish you're already wiping his lip with the sleeve of your dress.
"This is getting serious now..." you murmur and finish cleaning him up, smoothing your hand over his cheek, comforting him whilst hoping to appease the spirit. He pushes into your hand affectionately, much like a cat, which brings a small smile to your face despite the bleak situation.
"Hm," you slide your hand up into his hair, seemingly forgetting about the deadly game you're caught in for a second, "you really don't use product?"
He lets a little breathy laugh escape his nose, looking quite flattered now your hands are stroking his black strands. You both start to sink in and enjoy the moment, until your attention is caught by a rattling noise.
M - O - R - E
He sighs, casting a frown at the board.
He's annoyed that you were interrupted. It makes him realise just how much he's enjoying you touching him. Regardless of the spirit's creepy demands, he really doesn't want you to stop.
"Just- stroke my neck, is that ok?" He suggests with a less confident tone.
"Yeah" you nod and hesitantly bring your hand lower, feeling the fuzzy shorter hair at the back of his head, then make contact with his skin. His neck is elegant, muscular and slim, just how the rest of his body appears. And your thumb starts to trace up and down his throat, feeling the hard peak of his adam's apple, then dips back down near his collar bones.
You feel content for a moment, then you realise Megumi's expression is shifting.
"What is it?" Your voice is soft and low. You don't have to speak loudly now you're sitting so close, face to face.
"My hand-"
He looks down to his left hand that was resting in his lap, which is now twitching and struggling up towards you.
"I'm not, I'm not moving it. I can't- ah, wait, you can't do this!"
He shouts and presses his eyes closed, afraid of where his hand is going to end up.
He makes contact with your warm skin.
"It's okay."
He peeks his eyes open to find his palm resting on your shoulder, where your dress exposes your body.
It did order him to touch you, after all.
"How is this ok?"
He looks a bit upset now, looking down at his lap again. It feels different now he has his hand on you.
"Because..." you're feeling nervous about admitting this, especially right now, but you want to encourage him so you can make it out of this, and it really is true that-
"it's ok because I want you to touch me."
You feel the room warming up again, some of the tension begins to fade and a single candle, out of the five you had placed around the room, flickers back to life.
You can see him clearer now, in the faint, warm glow, and he raises his head to give you a long, deep stare.
You wonder what he's thinking.
"That's... good," he looks endlessly relieved, with a hint of a smile returning to his lips, "because I want to touch you too."
So with your permission, he starts moving his thumb, just rubbing gently. You've started to truly realise your difference in size now he's touching you... his hand covers your whole shoulder.
He pushes your dress down a fraction, touching the top of your arm, then back up, tracing over your collar bones, over the dip below your neck and up your throat.
Everything about her is just so delicate.
He hesitates for a second, his eyes flicking up and down your face, and his thumb finds your chin. He strokes your jaw, up to your cheek, then rubs a circle over your lower lip.
You have a sudden urge to pucker your lips into a little kiss, but he moves away, taking your chin between his index and thumb.
"Your fingers are..." your gaze flits down to his hand, then up to his eyes again, "so long."
The comment was meant to be innocent, but the way he raises his eyebrows at you, looking down at your lips, is getting you notably flustered.
You shake your head and he laughs, then smooths his hand over your jaw to take a slightly firmer grip, and looks you right in the eyes.
"You really are sweet."
He can tell his compliment stunned you- you try to look away, but he moves his hand to the back of your neck where he holds you tighter. He wants to make you look like this all the time.
"And pretty."
He pulls you in gently, bringing you to kneel right in front of his crossed legs.
You swear he's inching closer, starting to tilt his head to the side when you hear a sudden tap tap tap and you remember you're not alone.
You give each other a little hesitant look, as if you didn't want to stop, then turn to face the board again to see the spirit's next letters.
U - N - D - R - E - S - S
Shit- Megumi's going to lose it in a second- couldn't we kiss first?
Regardless, the demon is demanding it in this order. So you nod and give him that wide eyed look that could bring him to his knees.
Before he realises what's happening your fingers are already pulling up the hem of your dress.
"W-we should hurry."
He hears the fear in your voice. He wants to make it go away.
So he quickly strips off his shirt and watches you pull the black material of your dress over your head, exposing the cutest underwear he's ever seen. And your body... he tries so desperately to look away to give you some privacy, but it would be a shame to look anywhere else.
He lets a long breath escape his mouth, trying to cool himself down.
"You look like an angel."
Fuck- so stupid!
To his relief, you giggle and edge closer to him with a little shiver.
"I'm... cold."
"Here," he shuffles back to find the side of your bed, propping himself up against it and sitting with his legs spread, "wanna sit on me again?"
But the way he looks now, with all his muscles exposed, the soft lighting illuminating each dip and ridge, is making you feel nervous all over again.
"Come on, let's stay warm, ok?"
You nod and climb into his welcoming embrace, perching on his thigh that you hope won't go dead anytime soon, while his arms circle round your body.
Needless to say, with your bodies pressing together like this, you're both getting pretty flustered.
"I'm sorry," you hear him mumble, where his lips are pressed into your hair, "I shouldn't have touched the damn board. This is all my fault."
You personally don't feel too sorry now you're in his arms, but you return the sentiment and push your head under his neck.
The spirit lets you sit quietly for a minute, then brings the board to life with its next instruction.
K - I - S - S
You feel Megumi fidget a bit, then he takes one of your small hands in his.
"Ok," you look up to see him give you a smile, then he presses the softest, most sensual kisses over your fingers, kissing each one individually. He closes his eyes, bringing his lips to your knuckles, then the back of your hand. Although the bleeding has stopped from the hit he took earlier, his lower lip is coming up in a puffy bruise.
"Ah-" you let out a sigh, totally by accident. You've never experienced anything so... romantic. But in reality, you thought he'd be like this.
"Megumi, are you starting to like this game?"
"It's... ok," he returns a flirty expression, his dark lashes dipping when he makes direct eye contact, "I'm just glad, I'm playing it with you."
The board interrupts you again, demanding your attention as it swivels to face you on its own accord, ensuring you can still read its message.
L - I - P - S
"Oh" you let out a little noise, biting your lip a little too late.
"Did you like that suggestion?"
His voice makes you nervous, but the way he touches you calms you again.
There is no rush in his movements. He's not forcing you. He caresses your jaw then takes your chin between his index and thumb, tilting your face up to his.
I can't believe I have to kiss her with this damn split on my lip.
"I'm sorry... about this."
"It's okay."
Let me... kiss it better.
The kiss is soft and slow- he focuses on your lower lip first, then your upper, giving you the most gentle pecks.
He pulls away, sucking gently.
You look stunned, and so pretty, as if he's just put a spell on you.
"Was that," his hand moves to cup your cheek, "ok?"
"It was... nice," you nod and look into his mysterious eyes, wondering what he's going to say next. Perhaps he's thought of a plan for you to exit the game and ditch this creepy spirit.
But it seems that his rational, logical mind is getting sidetracked.
"You want some more?"
"Uh," you dip your head a little, feeling a sudden blush cover your cheeks, "yes."
"Up here then, pretty girl," he tilts your chin and claims your lips again.
This time he takes you for longer, holding your hands. His fingers thread with yours and he pulls you round to face him, so your legs are spread over his body. He still kisses you softly, starting to cautiously suck at your lower lip, leaving the faint coppery taste of blood lingering there.
He feels how you're reacting to him, letting go of his hands to touch his hair again, where you stroke and tousle and push closer, till your chest is flush with his.
And now he can feel your warmth, and the way your thighs are spreading wider over him, he starts opening his mouth.
"Ngh-"
A little vocalisation spills from his throat. He suckles at your lip more fervently, guiding you to mimic his movements as you part your lips, following his lead.
As soon as you reciprocate, you feel his hands on your body, gently holding your waist. He tilts his head further up to you and strokes your bottom lip with his tongue.
"Ah-"
You let out a quiet sigh into his mouth, getting a feeling of relief and arousal when your tongues slip over each other.
You settle into the intimate, pleasurable feeling of his tongue sliding in your mouth and it suddenly dawns on you that you're french kissing Megumi Fushiguro. You feel your heart jumping in your chest- you almost jump and open your eyes. But his hands, one rubbing gentle circles near your hip, the other slipping up your spine to find the back of your neck, ease your nerves.
Now you find a rhythm of sucking and tonguing each other, your hips start moving on their own. It feels so natural.
But you're feeling quite embarrassed about the damp patch that's pooling between your legs. You just keep kissing him and hope that he can't feel you leaking over him through the thin material of your thong.
He gives your lip a particularly hard suck, making you whimper almost inaudibly before he pulls away.
His dark eyes shift over your body for a moment, taking you in, wearing that cute bra and those panties that, to be honest, may as well not be there.
He returns his gaze to your eyes. It makes you shiver when he breathes over your lips, "Can I touch you?"
You give him an easy nod. Thanks to him, you're so relaxed now, perching on his lap like a doll. So he runs his fingers from your waist right to the centre of your panties.
He starts rubbing you through the material, in circles to start with, then up and down and pushing in very gently, until you just can't take it and you have to bring your lips to his once again.
You feel him smile, kissing you back with his fingers dipping past the material to smear your silky juices over your clit.
"Wet," he slides up and down, "oh you're really wet."
He sounds excited. He wants to feel more.
"Fuck- let me finger you, please?"
This is going well outside the scope of the game you're ensnared in, but neither of you could really care. As long as you're safe and following the natural cadence of each other's bodies.
"Mhm," you nod and squeeze his shoulders tighter, feeling his fingertips start to spread you.
"Can I… go inside?"
He stares at your lips, then your eyes.
"Yes- yess,"
"Wanna make you feel good."
He mutters and sinks two fingers in, up to the first joint, getting his hand in your panties. He pauses there and slots in and out, watching a dizzy look appear on your face while you feel the soft pads of his fingers teasing you open.
"That's tight-" he tries desperately to push out thoughts of how you'd feel around his dick.
He pushes in some more, slowly working you open, while your head starts to dip down and you press little kisses on his neck.
"No, no," his other hand tugs at the back of your hair gently, "look at me while I'm fingering you, ok?"
"Ngh huh"
"Good," he presses another kiss to your lips, "good girl."
With your eyes starting to get all hazy and filled with lust, he can tell you're loving this so much, so he takes you up to his knuckles and you moan.
It's loud, and now he can hear you, he knows you're gonna make him crazy tonight.
But he's so gentle with you, for now, and he starts fucking you slow with his middle and ring fingers.
He sinks in and out with deep, long strokes, curling his fingers right inside you, suddenly reaching that sensitive spot you can barely touch by yourself.
"Nhh- ah~!"
"Oh, is this it- right here?"
His voice has gone deep and husky now, with his lips brushing yours as he speaks.
"Mmmm- mhm-"
You nod and watch that pretty smirk form on his lips again.
"You want me to touch you there some more?"
"Y-yea, yes-" you nod and he kisses you again, so delicately compared to his lewd movements in your core.
"So you won't mind…" he strokes that spot again, keeping his fingers pressed there firmly, "if I do this?"
He pushes harder, forcing a whimper from your lips.
"N-no," you shake your head.
"No, you don't mind? Or no, you don't want me to?"
"I- I don't mind-"
He's so pleased with your reactions that he treats you to that deep and skilled finger fucking until you're getting so wet that the most embarrassing squelching noises start leaving your pussy.
You try to bury your face in his chest while you cling onto his shoulders, but he can't stand that for a second.
"Ah ah," he nudges your head up again, connecting your lips once more, "what're you being so shy for, hm?"
"The- the sound…" it makes you cringe so bad.
"Hm, you're funny, sounds hot to me…"
He gives you a deeper kiss now, sliding his tongue in with his fingers slipping through you, his thumb starting to circle your clit.
"You know I'm just as turned on as you, right?"
He asks, pushing his hips up into you so you can feel the length of his cock.
"Oh- oh my god" you're shocked to feel how hard he is. How big he is.
"So don't be shy, ok?"
"Uh- uh huh" you manage weakly, and let him finger you how he likes it; with your eyes on him, his lips on yours, and your juice all over his hand.
You're barely cognizant of anything else happening around you at this point, as he has captured your full and undivided attention. But you notice the room getting warmer- the nasty biting chill is fading.
You take a little look to the side, noticing another candle has been relit. It feels so sensual and calm now with the soft light. And as your pretty head tilts like that, you feel Megumi leaning in and pressing his lips to your neck.
"You shouldn't have done that," he mutters against your skin. He's not sure how much longer he can keep this up, being so soft with you- especially when you present him with the slim muscles of your neck so willingly.
The angles and dips in your skin look ethereally beautiful, and as a man who loves to explore pleasure with his mouth as well as his hands, he can't help but kiss you there.
In this new, soft spot he has found on your throat, he starts tonguing and sucking. It starts off as gentle kissing, but when he starts going harder he has to tell himself;
Slow down, Megumi. Slow down. I can't stop, I can't stop it-
"Please let me," he rushes to get his words out, whispered against your skin, "let me mark you."
Nobody has ever put it quite like that before. The way he sounds is doing something terrible to you, something that you can't control. 
"You mean-hh- a love bite?"
"Mhmm" he hums lowly and closes his eyes. You can feel his long lashes kissing your skin.
You never knew this game would take this kind of a turn. You've never experienced anything so sensual.
"Ye-ah, you can, mm"
"Mmmh" he groans and you immediately feel his teeth. 
"Ah, ah!"
You're shocked by the sharp sting of his canines, but the pleasure that comes along with it, especially with his fingers knuckle deep in you, is overwhelming.
"Too much?"
"No, no- more, please-"
"Hmm" he hums and closes his eyes, letting the feelings take over.
The feeling of your soft and supple skin when he sucks and bites, knowing he's going to leave a beautiful red mark that will eventually fade to purple, and knowing you're hurting in the most incredible way... hearing those noises from your throat- whimpers that tell him you're loving this as much as he is- it makes him want to swallow you whole.
I want to cover her neck. I want to lick and bite her till she tells me it's enough. Even then... could I stop? Fuck, I want to taste her.
He grapples his body under control, slowing his motions, as you both notice the room is getting hot.
He pops his lips from your neck and you look around, seeing more candles are lit. It seems the spirit may be quite pleased now.
But in all honesty, the game may as well be non-existent at this point, with the way you're both getting so carried away.
Carried away with each other.
He kisses your lips again, pecking gently and sliding his soaked fingers out to work over the little bud of your clit, and he suddenly gets a tugging sensation on his leg.
"Hm?" what now.
He pulls away to squint at the board, peering around your body.
He reads it aloud for you.
"L, i, c, k."
You giggle at the embarrassed look on his face.
"Where?" He rolls his eyes and asks.
"P, u, s, s- okay I think you get it-"
The heat on your cheeks is unbearable, especially when Megumi opens his mouth to say his next words.
"I was going to anyway... if you wanted me to."
You trade places and he passes you a pillow, so you can sit comfortably against the bed while he gets on his knees. He helps you slip your bra off, telling you how beautiful you are while sinking down... lower.
"Can I touch your legs?"
"Mhm," you nod, watching him instantly bring his hands to your ankles. He pushes all the way up to your thighs, feeling their soft roundness in his firm grip.
"Mm-" you can't help the little noises that leave your throat when he squeezes you so tightly.
So he does it again, working his way up, till he finds the hem of your saturated panties, giving them a little tug.
You start helping him to push them down before he has a chance to open his mouth again, and you watch his eyes light up when he sees you... completely naked. He tosses your thong over his shoulder and returns his lazy stare to the puffy folds of your pussy.
He takes his thumb to your middle, slowly spreading you as his mouth starts to hang ajar.
"Megumi..." you look down at where he's touching you, "it's not just about the game. I-" you hesitate and bite your lip.
He drags his eyes up to focus on yours once more.
"I actually... want this. I want you."
He sighs with a relieved smile, his thumb still tracing through you.
"I know," of course, the way you’ve been reacting has told him nothing less. But it's so reassuring to hear it out loud, not to mention the way your sweet words stroke his ego.
"I want you too, don't worry."
You let out a sigh, feeling a little more relaxed, then feel his thumb trace over the raised bud of your clit.
"Ah-Megumi-"
"You don't have to say anything- just, know that this isn't a game for me."
You shake your head urgently.
"Me either, really- ahh~"
You sink back on the pillow now, easing into the pleasure of his gentle tapping, followed by swirling and circling. You have to admit, most guys around your age (university students) have been no less than underwhelming when it comes to... pleasure giving. Clueless, even.
You know he's a couple of years older, but surely he's racked up some serious experience to get this good.
"H-how many people... have you slept with?"
Your sudden question takes him off guard.
"Not as many as you'd think," he replies with a subtle but cocky smirk, "now relax."
He sinks down further, kneeling in between your legs almost like he's worshipping you, and connects his soft lips to your folds. He teases your labia expertly- you've never even thought to touch yourself there. Then his wet tongue slides up and down, through you, every movement so slow and sensual while he keeps his eyes on you to make sure you're okay.
And you are. He sees your eyes pop open with shock and sheer pleasure when he sucks on your clit and he nearly lets out a laugh. Meanwhile, you're coming to the realisation that you aren't going to last very long at all.
How cute. Nobody's done this to her before.
And he's thrilled that he's the first to twist his tongue around your clit and work you up so close that your thighs start trembling in his hands. But he stops and slides his tongue down and up, teasingly slow. You're obviously confused at what he's doing.
You can't tell if he's doing it on purpose or not- as if he'd suddenly forget how to eat pussy- and he's finding it all very amusing.
Oh, this is too good. She's never been edged before. Wonder if she's even done it to herself.
So he has his fun with your clit for a while, until you get so pink in the face with impatience that he just lets off a little chuckle.
"Fuck- you're so cute."
She has no fucking idea what she's doing to me right now. She's so sensitive, I need to go easy on her. But I can't... I need to taste her, I need to stick my tongue inside her so badly.
The blood has flooded away from his brain so quickly he can barely think, making his dick swell so full it almost hurts. He can't ignore his urges for a second longer so plunges his tongue into you suddenly making you gasp, your hands balling into tight fists.
He notices you going rigid with the intensity of his tonguing.
"Relax. If you want to grab onto something, put your hands in my hair."
He takes one hand away from your leg and reaches for one of your tight fists.
"Come here," he opens your hand up and threads your fingers into his hair, and you sigh at the contact. It feels good. You bring your other hand up to his head and you can't help but start tugging. He encourages you with soft groans and before you know it you're grabbing harshly at his strands, letting off that pent up arousal from how good he's tongue fucking you, and it's distracting you so much that you forget to hold back your moans so much. And when he hears you, god, now you've got it coming.
He tongues you deep and hard, suddenly pulls out and swipes your clit- and his favourite part, watching your first ever orgasm through receiving oral- you whimper embarrassingly loud and he sucks every ounce of pleasure from your core.
Oh god, look at her. I'm so fucking lucky.  
You're breathing hard and bringing a hand to your flushed face, watching him pull away slowly, licking his lips and looking like he wants to do it all over again.
How embarrassing!? I came so quick.
"Did you-?" he knows, but he wants to hear you say it.
"Yes-" you give him a little glare and bite your lip.
"Fuck-" she really wants this.
"You just- you were touching me... for ages" you whine, making him chuckle and sit up on his knees.
"Ok, ok, I didn't say anything!" He laughs at you, making your face turn a new shade of red when you hear such a beautiful sound, until you're interrupted by the board tapping again.
It seems less urgent now, less pressing, as if it's not going to snap and hurt you at any moment.
But its next instruction leaves Megumi reeling. You see him scowl at the board, his black eyebrows furrowing before bringing a hand to his face.
"What is it?"
You peer over at the board. It seems to repeat itself for your eyes.
S - U - C - K
You let out a little nervous laugh, but you have a plan.
"Just- come here," you murmur- he seems embarrassed now.
You want to use Megumi's technique from earlier- how he kissed your hand rather than your lips.
"Give me your... fingers."
Your voice is quiet, but he hears you and brings his hand to yours, where you pull him closer in between your legs, till his knees are either side of your waist and he's nearly sitting on your lap.
It's just to buy you some time, really, before the spirit inevitably interrupts you again. And he seems pleased with your idea, watching you give his fingers a few gentle kisses before taking them inside your mouth.
He holds back a groan, feeling you start to suck, licking with your warm tongue and sliding your pretty lips over him. Your movements aren't meant to be overly sexual. You're just moving in the same way you were earlier, when you were making out. You close your eyes now and let out a little hum.
He wants you to obey the demon. He really does.
But now he's on the receiving end, he understands how you've felt... with such commands, telling him to touch you and pleasure you.
It's different now.
You see that look of concern build on his face. He looks so conflicted.
"Mm," you pop his fingers out, "Megumi- don't look so worried. The same goes for you."
He bites his lip with quite a pitiful look.
I can't force her to do this. I'd rather take another beating from that spirit.
"I want to," you mutter, turning his hand over to study his palm, while kissing and licking the pads of his fingers so cutely. Your shyness is fading away and you're feeling more comfortable- from how he treated you, and now seeing his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose light up the prettiest shade of pink.
"I want to..."
You don't want the spirit to interrupt you again, but you swear you've never said anything so dirty.
"suck you off."
"Uh-"
The sound from Megumi's mouth was half... hesitation, half something else.
He knows it was arousal.
His eyes flit about the room, noticing another candle relight itself.
"I-, uh..."
I want you, too.
I want your lips.
I want your mouth.
I want your tongue.
"Please let me?"
You've never done this before.
Your heart is pounding, but you'd do anything to make him feel more at ease right now... more comfortable with this situation.
"Y-yeah, um, do you want-"
Why am I so fucking nervous? Shit. When was the last time I felt like this? She's too beautiful to be doing something like this...
"Sit here." You tap the edge of your mattress, and he gets up to perch there, with you kneeling under him.
"You- yea- uhh- ok, ok-"
Your hands pressing his thighs open are a sure sign. He's starting to accept it now- starting to realise how much you want this.
"There's no rush- ok," one of his hands wraps around your wrist, before he starts to unzip his black jeans. The strain on his cock is slowly released- it's been pressing so uncomfortably since the second he had his hands on you. He reaches the button and pops it open, with you tugging eagerly at his belt loops.
"Ok, just-" he sits up and lets you get his jeans past his ass.
Now you can see the dark, wet stain on his black boxers. And how fucking tight they are.
"Megumi, you're-"
So hard.
So big.
"How-"
is he going to fit in my mouth?
You were feeling so confident...
He sees your wide eyes and takes one hand to palm the back of your neck. It's so obvious to him now.
She's never done this before.
"It's ok- just take it slow."
He moves his hand to cup your jaw, where his thumb presses over your lip.
"I'm very patient."
I can pretend to be patient. For her.
You edge closer, tentatively pressing your lips to the hard swell in his shorts.
He's so warm here. It feels wet.
You tug at his waistband now.
She looks so pretty. 
He allows you to pull down his shorts…and close your lips over-
"Mm-"
I want to fuck her mouth.
I want to fuck her throat.
I want to cum on her lips.
"That's it-"
Am I doing it right?
Can he feel my teeth?
I want to make him feel good. 
His expression tells you that it doesn't feel bad at least. So you keep going, now experimenting with your tongue- you slide it over his swollen pink tip, up and down the middle. 
Then you feel his hand on the back of your neck, gently pulling you closer. 
"Yeah, j-just open- oh-"
The fat swell of his tip is fully in your mouth now, and your lips are being guided further down.
"Good- so good-"
Now suck, suck it, just like you did with my fingers, please. 
"Mmh– fuck!"
You have no idea what you're doing, so you keep looking up at him for reassurance. 
He nods stiffly with his lips pressed shut, his hands now balled into tight fists around your sheets in a desperate attempt to tame himself and those strong urges...
I want to grab her neck.
I want her to choke on me.
I can't do it. Not to her.
He keeps his hips still and lets you do it at your own pace.
You bob your head up and down slowly, hearing him let out little sighs.
"Mm, keep- keep doing that-"
"Mhm-"
If she looks at me like that one more time I'm going to cum.
He brushes a stray hair out of your face, looking at your wide eyes... and even wider mouth, spread so beautifully over his dick.
"C-can you use your tongue for me?"
"Nng-"
You push your tongue along the underside of his shaft, sucking and licking and getting him all wet with your saliva.
"Th-that's it-"
She's gonna make me cum like this. I can't cum in her pretty mouth… not over her lips… or her face. 
"F-fuck–"
He tries to push out those terrible thoughts… of your body covered in marks, with his cum dripping down your chin. However hesitant he was about this, now you're doing it he never wants it to end. But he has to- he can't do it. Not like this.
"Sstop- stop!!"
"Ngh- sorry- d-did it feel bad??"
"N-no- I was about to…"
"You don't want to-?"
"No! Well, yes, but just… not in your… mouth."
Fuck. He can tell his cheeks are bright red.
"Then where…?"
She's so innocent. Does she know what she sounds like? Can she hear her own voice like I can? 
He looks you up and down, then starts to stand up, kicking off his pants and shorts completely. Sinking down to his knees, he gets up close and ushers you back, crawling forward and pressing you down onto the carpet.
Your back hits the wooden board and you nudge it out of the wayso you can lie flat, surrounded by the candles you lit earlier. Megumi lifts the board and places it outside the soft ring of light.
Turning back to you, he gets on top of your body, with your legs surrounding his waist.
"I want to have sex with you."
"It- it's ok- the board didn't t– mmff–"
He kisses you hard. 
"The spirit is gone."
You can feel it now. The heavy tension in the air has cleared and it doesn't feel like there's anyone watching you anymore.
"It's just me and you."
You let a nervous breath pass your lips.
If it's gone, wouldn't he want to stop now?
But without the spirit, everything feels warmer- his body feels warm over yours, and there's an incredible intimacy that surrounds you both.
You've been touching each other all evening, but this is different. Now your bodies are both completely bare, and you're alone, you're feeling more nervous than ever. Your hands lay at your sides, feeling the fibres of the carpet as your palms get clammy and hot. Your mouth feels dry and you don't know where to look. His body just gets your stomach in knots and his eyes… there's such an intense look there, as if he can see your thoughts.
At least, he can tell you're nervous.
"You don't get it, do you?"
It's almost as if he's scolding you. You keep your mouth shut, eyes wide and on his, looking confused but terribly pretty.
"It's not about the game. I want you…"
How are you supposed to tell him this is your first time??
"Megumi– I, I–"
I want you too.
I want to have sex with you.
"I've never done this before!!"
"It's okay, don't be scared. I can be gentle, if you want."
It's kind of mortifying that he's comforting you like this, but he's enjoying it a little too much.
I don't mind that you're a virgin. I want to show you what it's supposed to feel like.
"You should do it... how you like it."
You're embarrassed to say stuff like this but you really don't want him to be disappointed. It's not as if you have any clue what you're doing, so you'd prefer if he took the lead.
Oh, no. There's no chance you're getting it my way.
He can't stop the thoughts of your slender wrists bound behind your back with your ass slapped pink.
No, no, no.
He shakes his head and lets out a breathy laugh.
"You have no idea what you're asking for, do you?"
"No but- I, I just want you... to feel good."
He starts to open his mouth again, but you seal his lips with a kiss so sweet and tender it makes his heart melt.
"I'll take it slow, I promise, just tell me if it's too much okay?"
"Yeah"
~
Your lips are kiss swollen, parted and trembling, tears threatening to spill from your glassy eyes, but you draw in a deep breath and...
"Give me your hand, yeah hold me here. Is that good?"
...he's inside you.
Why can't I say anything?
Your mind has gone blank… the words are all gone.
"Are you okay?"
"Ye-ah–"
It's not just words you're struggling for.
It's your breath.
Now, little moans are choking up and you take your hand that's been clasping tightly at the back of his neck since the moment he sunk into you and you press it across your mouth. 
It's so embarrassing. Why am I making these sounds?
But they're being pushed out. You can't help it. With every one of his slow yet firm thrusts you feel your back arching off the carpet and your throat getting tighter. The heat rising in your abdomen is creating such an intense pressure you're sure you're going to explode any second. 
"Don't be shy," his cool fingers wrap around your wrist and he tugs gently, "please."
"Hah-ah-" your mouth is uncovered but you wish it wasn't.
A new pink flush floods your cheeks and you go to bury your head in his neck, but he doesn't let you.
"No, let me see you."
He stares into your irises intently. You blink back at him and try to focus on what to say. You have to say something… anything.
"W-hy am I…?" you make a weak gesture, just a glance, and he knows you're feeling conscious about the sounds you're making. 
"It's natural, I promise."
"But– mm– I can't control it– isn't that… weird?"
I could make you moan louder if I wanted.
He looks you up and down, biting his lip. You wonder what he's thinking.
"No, it's totally normal for girls to… moan-" he gives your lips a look of seduction that could make you faint, then your eyes get the same treatment, "during sex with me, anyway."
He keeps going and pins your hands above your head, interlocking his fingers with yours, making sure you don't try to cover your mouth or restrict yourself in any way.
He wants to see you. He wants to hear you. He wants all of you.
"Ngh- w-ait–" 
He's getting deeper… bigger?
Your head hits the carpet and he dives for your neck.
"Fuck– you're so pretty here."
He kisses you tenderly, but his movements are getting… harsh. The way he's grinding into your core is making you feel weak. Your mouth hangs open now– you need to fucking breathe.
You let out a few more whimpers– he feels the vibrations through your throat and he nearly loses his mind.
"Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Uh– uh huh"
The feeling is… unmistakable. You've never done this before, but you know what's coming. You trap your lip between your teeth and your eyebrows screw up, as if you're in pain, but what you're feeling is so far from that...
"Does it hurt?"
No, no, no, I'm just about to–
"Nnhh– it– it's–"
Too hard.
Too much... 
Too late-
"Fuck– oh fuck–" you watch his eyes lose focus on yours, for the first time.
"You're fucking squeezing me– sso– tight–" he groans- it's such a deep and full sound, right from his chest.
Your body hums and you let him take you through it. He keeps thrusting, controlling the flow of your pleasure, until he has to slow himself down. He's so thankful he has self discipline on his side, or he's pretty sure you'd be getting pregnant tonight.
"Gonna– fuuuckk…" 
He slips his dick out when you're done and presses down hard against your stomach, where he rubs himself and spurts hot, white cum up your body. 
He came so much… all he can do is moan and move his body slower and slower, sliding his tip through the liquid on your stomach. His moaning soon turns into soft giggles– you join him, in the ecstatic post high of love making– and he presses his now flushed face into your neck. 
"S-sorry I made such a mess…" he half whispers. 
He finally lets go of your hands and sits up, allowing you to catch your breath and come down for a moment, before he helps you up and gets you all clean. Luckily, there's a bathroom right next to your room, so he runs the water hot and fills the tub.
"Is it warm enough? Good, let me help."
No, he doesn't do this with everyone he's slept with. Why is he doing it with you? He doesn’t know. Why is he climbing in the bath with you and caressing the marks on your body like he didn't just put them there himself? He doesn't have the answers, but he does know he's staying with you all night. And in the morning he'll walk you to campus. He won't forget anything that happened with you last night. He'll remember every detail and they'll play through his head all day– he'll recall them so vividly that the tips of his ears will be constantly pink throughout the day. His friends will comment that he looks particularly distant, but he'll deny it and hope they don't notice how he's totally smitten, daydreaming of you.
He manages to keep up this weak act until he sees you again. That's when all his senses just fly away and he wants to hold you in the middle of your lab. He wants to unbutton that oversized white coat and just strip it off you– he's almost annoyed that he can't see your figure, as if he's entitled to it.
But that would probably make his situation worse. It would only make that yearning, soft feeling in his chest grow– and it does. With the days and months passing, he only chases it… chases you. Until he can't take it anymore and only wants to be by your side, suddenly but assertively asking you to be his. And the way you look at him makes him panic for a few seconds– you're just so shocked. Perhaps he was too urgent? Too forceful?
His words kind of came out a little aggressive. Perhaps a little desperate. But he couldn't help it. 
And the way your body is pinned under his on your bed with your pupils blown wide and your mouth gasping makes him want to do terrible things to you. But not without this. Not without you agreeing.
"Yes…"
You don't know what it entails "to be his" but you get the feeling he means… he wants you to be his girlfriend. 
Megumi Fushiguro's girlfriend? Now, that doesn't sound too bad.
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tysm for reading, lmk if u like longer stuff like this, i hope to write more :p
megumi | m.list
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