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therealbeachfox · 2 months

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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

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We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

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So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

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Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

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We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

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They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

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There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

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It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

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When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

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beesinspades · 5 months

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i'm sorry i've been so busy between appointments and going home to do groceries for my dad who's still sick and the cat i'm catsitting harassing me I haven't been able to do much progress at all on the next chapter 😭 it's well underway (I'm 2/3 done with the draft i'd say) but yeah :((((

#creechur fic #will my dad who's whining 24/7 learn anything from this and wear a mask in crowded spaces and public transport? no #and here i wanted to finish the draft today :(#i'm free tomorrow so hopefully i can write a bit! if the goddamn cat stops trying to rip my legs and feet to pieces #i'm busy again from wednesday to saturday though. ugh #at least i've been catching up on reading vashwood fics so that's nice

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lunasilvis · 1 year

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Any recommendations on what to do in New York City (and surroundings)?

#I have a 4-night stay there and the things I like: nature - culture - quiet - book/comics/fantasy/geek stores - weird and curious things -#- 70s NYC punk era - museums - being out of the crowd but still in safe and solo female travel-friendly spaces :-)#I should shape my trip further: on Saturday I plan to go to Catskills natural park via Woodstock #but the days following I have not much planned yet (probably Central Park + seeing the bridges and stuff)#personal #NYC tips #NYC recommendations #travel

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alphabetboyluvr · 2 months

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the curious lifespan of migrating monarchs - jjk

THE CURIOUS LIFESPAN OF MIGRATING MONARCHS (& other aurelian affairs)

pairing: streamer!jk x international student!female oc (s2l)

warnings: strangers to lovers, clubbing, foul language, alcohol, vaping lol, jungkook is kinda famous, the oc is oblivious, the oc is also a foreign student who has very recently arrived in Korea!! (pls note - while i've been in korean uni dorms, i've never been in yonsei dorms specifically so don't shout at me if it isn't supeeeerr accurate), jaykay is speaking in eng for like 90% of this!!, i've also never watched a gaming streamer and had to do so for research lmao so there's a lot of guesswork going awwwn <3, the oc has tattoos, they bond over this, cute nicknames (tokki and nabi <3), one bed trope?? kinda, jaykay lives w/ yoongi and tae (they are streamers too (and dj?? (tae is a bit unhinged))), jungkook wears calvins!, a singular appearance of yoongi in his boxers!!, tipsy hookup, fingering, protected sex (woo!), desk sex, oral (m receiving), girliepop swallows <3, brief mentions of jungkook's starry eyes, lots of kisses, bunny ears, (1) mention of cross-fit

wordcount: 13011

note from holly: this was a commission done for the lovely Michelle over on my kofi page!! i don't open commissions often, but when I do I'm very lucky that the requests are so much fun. this actually ended up being way longer than it was supposed to be lol and is also available on wattpad!! also fun facts for you - I imagine the boys apartment (and jks room!) to be same as jk + jimins place in BD, just a little bigger lmao

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

CLUB SUNDOWN WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 02:24

Time ceases to exist after the sun goes down in Seoul. It could be two, or it could be five. The only thing that really clues you in on the actual time is the DJ schedule that lights up behind the decks: 02:00-03:00, Blu-Tae.

It's some guy you've never heard of. Looks no older than you. Probably a student, just like the rest of the crowd.

His hair is as blue as his namesake, which does make you smile, and his choices aren't bad either (even if somewhat questionable). You've never heard a jazz remix of Darude's Sandstorm before, and you doubt you ever will again.

Club Sundown is just as rogue as the rest of the city after the sun goes down. Hidden in the basement—like all the best places in Seoul are—the small room is packed to the absolute brim.

Who cares for views and sunsets offered by rooftop bars when you could lose yourself in the debauchery of an eternal midnight, instead?

Drinks are spilt on strangers, and dances have lost the grandeur of old-fashioned waltzes. It's not like you could dance properly, even if you wanted to. There's just simply no space.

Like Alice, you're down the rabbit hole—and oh, how you prefer it to being in the real world. In the shadows, you can be anyone you like.

If you were sober, you'd know this is also the case for daily life. You're in a new country with no ties to your former self. Who you are is who you choose to be.

But the shadows aren't all that dark. The red lights of the club bleed into the cracks, painting everyone in the same subtle hue of danger.

They shine a little light on the identifiers of you; the thin black lines of your patchwork tattoos. Trailing up your arm, they're memories of your past selves, and an indicator of who you hope to become.

"Down this," you say to your dormmate, Rae, handing back over the drink you've just ordered from the bar. "Cloakroom, then dance."

Still carrying your winter coats, you'd wanted to check the place out before committing to it. Entry is free, but the cloakroom is the same price as a drink. It would only be worth putting your coats away if you knew you wanted to stay—and given the fact the DJ was playing O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei as you entered, you know it's a no-brainer. While his stage name might make you roll your eyes a little, Blu-Tae certainly does cater to your tastes. When you're drunk, and music vibrates through you, it's empyrean. No place you'd rather be.

"Oh, Jesus," Rae gags as she sips the drink you've just handed her. Despite her disgust, she's laughing. Head to toe in black, dark hair loose around her shoulders, she's been your ride-or-die since you arrived in Seoul. Both international students in the same dorm, there's no one you'd rather get up to no good with. "Vodka?!"

You beam at her like you're from the heavens above, wrongfully relegated to the depths of sin. Pretend like you love vodka. It's totally not like you panicked when you saw the menu was all in Korean.

Vodka-coke is a universally understood delicacy—the easiest thing for you to order without making a tit of yourself or butchering the pronunciation. When the bartender ignored your botched attempt at ordering in Korean and answered in fluent English, you'd wanted to melt into the floor. So embarrassing.

You're here, like most foreign students, for a language course. Semester is yet to start, and as much as you've studied and practised hard, it's always different when putting it into practice.

"I'm sorry," you laugh. "It's fine—you can order next time!"

But Rae has the exact same predicament as you. If anything, your language skills are better than hers, so you really have no hope. It's vodka-cokes for the evening, or maybe highballs. Once your tipsy brain manages to compute hangul cocktail names, you'll be golden, but that won't be for another few weeks, yet.

You'll look back at this time of your life fondly, realising how simple it all was, even if it feels incredibly overwhelming right now.

Funnily enough, hope is exactly what you have: for the semester ahead, for this new life you're forging, for the opportunities that may come your way.

In fact, by the time you're on your third vodka coke, you've managed to convince yourself you actually like it. You also can't taste it, thanks to the bartender freepouring a 60-40 ratio of vodka to coke in the first drink. Your tastebuds were wiped out pretty much instantly.

Coats in the cloakroom, you're glad to be wearing thin layers. The room is stuffy; your skin sweaty. While meeting new friends had been the goal, you keep to yourself. Dance like nobody is watching. Hold Rae's hands to stay close and ward off weirdos. Quickly realise that clubs back home are slightly different. Pay it no mind. Ignore the intrusions of hands on waists, because men, disappointingly, are no different.

Or at least most of them aren't.

But most of them don't look like the man in the corner booth, laughing with his friends.

Though he is tall, he's eclipsed by his demeanour. Shoulders broad, he's in a dark T-shirt and pair of jeans. Nothing special. Nothing that warrants such a perplexed stare from you - but he's familiar. You can't place him, but he's got the kind of face you swear you've seen before.

Rae doesn't notice the change in your poise, nor how you're desperately trying to work out where you know him from. Perhaps you've seen him around your university? It's only been a couple of weeks, but people are steadily moving in. Maybe he works at the convenience store you constantly find yourself in? Or mans the front desk of the noraebang you and Rae visit pretty much every other evening?

Impossible, you think. If you'd seen him before, you wouldn't have forgotten him, or the way he constantly toys with his lip rings. Plural. There are signs up around the place stating bar rules. NO SMOKING is rule number three. You've seen his friends pass him over a vape a handful of times. Anyone else, and you'd think it was cringe. Embarrassing.

But in the midst of his laughter settling, and a fresh toke being inhaled, his eyes flicker towards yours.

Perhaps it's just because you're drunk, but you don't avert your gaze. Show no shame. The smile on his lips sinks into a smirk as he exhales. An acknowledgement. A 'hello, trouble'.

Again, any other man, you'd find the vape smoke repugnant. Nasty. Now? Watching the way he flicks his tongue against his lip rings?

You wanna know how it tastes.

Black ink weaves an intricate outline of who he is up his arms. Where he's been. Who he's been. A map, if you will, of his soul.

Much like your own tattoos, he's got thick black lines, and little else. Simple, you assume. A man of convenience. Efficiency.

You wonder if he does everything in life with the precision to match his tattoos, and as your lips wrap around the straw of your vodka-coke, you decide you'd quite like to find out.

Interrupted by Rae pulling you deeper into the crowd, your night is spent in and out of shadows. Attempt subtlety. Try not to make your occasional glances to the corner booth noticeable, just checking if his eyes are still on you. More often than not, they aren't—but sometimes they are, and that's enough to fuel your little flirt.

It's not until the sign behind the DJ booth changes from 03:00-04:00, GLOSS into some other guy that you notice your staring contest opponent has slipped into the shadows himself. The booth is void of both him and his friends. Gone.

"GLOSS has a set at another club," Rae all but yells in your ear, and even then, you barely hear her. "All the hotties left when he did. Let's go."

"Where to?!" You laugh, empty cup in hand. Admittedly, the new guy who's stepped into the DJ booth is just not doing it for you. Blu-Tae was just the right amount of unhinged with classics, whereas GLOSS was definitely cooler, but still fun. Had the club yelling curse words over trap remixes just for the fun of it. This new guy, whose name you don't care to remember, takes himself too seriously, you think.

"It's, like, two blocks down," she yells back, tugging on your wrist to drag you to the stairwell that leads you back up to the streets of Seoul. The hustle and bustle of people trying to go in different directions in the tight place forces you apart, but you figure you'll catch up with her, or that she'll be waiting at the top.

You don't know the roads well enough yet to make it to whichever club it's at alone, and quickly realise when you nearly tumble into the side of a waiting taxi that you're far drunker than expected. Knew the bartender was freepouring, but didn't realise just how free those pours really were.

"Woah, easy trouble," a deep voice sounds from behind you as you're steadied to a more stable position.

"I'm good, I'm good!" You insist, shaking off the hands of your 'saviour'. Have no interest in being a damsel in distress, or some sober guy trying to take advantage of you.

Looking down to check your laces are tied properly, you check over your shoulder to make sure the guy isn't creepily waiting for a thank you that he can turn into an intrusive game of 21 questions—'are you open-minded?' or 'do you live alone?'—but when you glance in his direction, you regret it. Notice the tattoos immediately. Recognise the eyes. Want to die.

"Oh."

"Oh," he says back with a smile, imitating you. Suddenly, the confidence you'd had earlier when looking at him from afar dissolves into nothingness, just like the alcohol in your bloodstream. You feel rather sober, but your body would definitely disagree. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, suddenly a little stuck for words, desperately trying to play things cool. "Are you okay?"

The pouting of his lips as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek only serves to make you internally cringe. Men who look like him have no business being on streets like this. Should be in a museum. Strung up on the walls with the other masterpieces. Admired by everyone who looks his way.

In a way you don't yet realise, he is.

Though he's not in galleries, he's often burning into people's laptop screens. Is the background of a fair few thousand lock screens. Indeed, he is admired by everyone who looks his way, just not in the traditional sense.

"I'm not the one who just fell into a car," he reminds you, as if you could forget your embarrassment so quickly.

"Was just seeing if you'd catch me," you bullshit, the confidence you usually have returning tenfold. Was just a momentary blip. He's just a man, after all.

"Oh?" He chirps, decidedly curious. "So you fell for me?"

"Stumbled."

"Semantics."

His fluency, and the fact he just said 'semantics' so casually in conversation, clues you in on the fact he might be a language student, too.

Could be useful study partners for each other, you think, then mentally berate yourself for already masterminding ways to see him again.

"So, where you going?" He asks, not caring to downplay his curiosity. The bartenders were free-pouring his drinks just as severely as they poured yours. The only difference is that his were on the house—'cause you were right. He does have a recognisable face. "Should probably go with you. Make sure you don't fall into the road."

"Stumble," you insist, a little pleased with the boldness of his suggestion, but not wanting to blindly agree. "My friend," you say glancing around, only to find yourself completely alone. "She wanted to go catch the next GLOSS set. So, I guess that's where we're going."

"Just down the road," he says, knowing the schedule like the back of his hand. Bounces from club to club supporting his friends, just like they would for him. If he wanted, he could get a slot up there, too. He doesn't care for it. "I'll walk with you, if you want? My friends are heading there anyway."

It's not a bad offer.

In fact, it's probably the best offer you'll get all night.

"C'mon," he nods his head to the side, encouraging you to follow him. Checks his phone for the time. "Starts in five."

If there's one thing you've indulged in since moving to Seoul, it's how safe you always feel. Security cameras are on every corner, and you've walked home countless times without any issues, even late into the night. While the place isn't perfect, it's far safer than your home country.

Still, you're not a complete idiot.

"It's not wise to follow strange men down dark alleys," you tell him.

He holds out his hand. Waits for you to shake it. Cocks a brow when you hesitate, so introduces himself.

"Jungkook. Nice to meet you. Now, can we please hurry up? I promised I'd be there."

Narrowing your eyes, you don't shake his hand. Arms folded over your chest, there is ice to your exterior, and given how warm his eyes are, you doubt it'll last for very long. May as well keep up this hard-to-get act while you still can.

Walking on past him, you call back, "Alright then. Lead the way."

In the domed mirror meant for reversing cars at the end of a tight alley, you see him laugh. "Wrong way, idiot."

Pausing, you scrunch your face up. Don't turn to face him for at least a second or so—but when you do, you're surprised to see him walking towards you. Hooking his arm around your waist, he carries on walking in the 'wrong' direction, taking you with him.

"Was just fucking with you," he grins. Nods towards a sign by another basement entrance, listing both Blu-Tae and GLOSS.

By the door, Rae is looking around like a mother duck who's just lost some of her ducklings when crossing the road. Breathes a sigh of relief when she spots you.

"C'mon," she grins, then realises who you're with. Says nothing of it, 'cause she doesn't want to be weird, but she recognises him, too. Decides she's just had a little too much to drink. There's no way it's him. Holds out her hand for you.

Reaching out for her, you're let go from Jungkook's grip, ready to get lost in the lights once more.

HAEJANG24 WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 05:53

Seoul is a city for the nocturnal. The restaurants and bars are open until the last men are standing. Given how much you've had to drink, you're surprised you still are.

Rae had dipped an hour or so ago. Had hit it off with Mr Blu-Tae himself. Seduced him with the suggestion that their couple name would be Blu-Rae. He'd said they should go to a DVD-bang. Would be fitting. See what Blu-rays were on file.

Naturally, you'd looked on with mild disgust and also admiration for how quickly she'd worked her magic. Everyone knows what goes down in DVD-bangs. Small private rooms, often with projector screens and the world's least comfortable futons, they're somewhere you hope to never end up—but also can't wait to hear all the details the next morning when Rae comes to your room for a debrief.

You'd been left under the surveillance of Jungkook.

"Look after her," Rae had instructed, then narrowed her eyes. "Or I'll destroy your reputation with a single twitter thread, Tokki."

It's a threat he's taken seriously. Knows how the internet works, and even though he's never done anything worthy of a cancellation, he also doesn't intend on starting now. The fact you seem to have no idea who he is during the daylight hours intrigues him. It's a rarity on streets like these.

Even when a few people asked for pictures with him on your walk to the hangover soup place, you didn't clock it as weird. Figured they were friends passing by, wanting to document their chance run-in. Just another memory of the night. The way Jungkook had greeted them was full of warmth, and kindness. Why wouldn't you assume they were mates?

You were also still incredibly drunk at the time, so didn't think to question it. Was keen for food, and Jungkook had insisted on hangover soup, and so that's where you are. Dishes nearly empty, far more of it eaten by him than you, you're laughing about nothing and everything all at once.

"Right," Jungkook declares, deciding he cannot hold in a question that's been tickling at his brain for the entire meal. "What the fuck is that?"

Coat left in the cloakroom, long forgotten about, your tattoos are on full display for him, just like his are for you. Up your arm they trail; a patchwork of teeny tiny identifiers. Latin phrases around skulls, birth flowers of the people you hold close, butterflies and stars. There's an ode to your favourite musician and your favourite Shakespeare quote, too. The fabric of you etched into your skin. There's no reinventing yourself, even half the world away from home.

You know precisely which tattoo Jungkook is asking about. You've asked yourself the same question a few times.

"Fuck off," you laugh.

While most of your tattoos are gorgeous, there's one that was done by a rogue artist on a girlie holiday a few years ago. What was supposed to be a seashell now looks like... well, nothing really. It's just a blob, thanks to the artist being absolutely terrible. The only solace you find in it is that your two best friends have an equally awful permanent reminder of that holiday on their bodies, too.

"It doesn't look how it's supposed to," you explain with a little pout. "I got royally screwed over."

He cocks a brow. You still haven't told him what it is. He isn't gonna ask you twice.

With a grumble, you feebly admit, "A shell."

And then he's laughing. Really laughing. Laughing so hard you think he might piss himself—which you'd actually prefer, because then he could be the embarrassed one, instead.

"I'm calling you Shelly from now on," he says with a broad smile. Has had his fair share of tattoo blunders, and knows you must've developed an affection towards how shitty it is. Would have gotten it covered up, otherwise. "That's incredible."

"You're calling me so such thing," you assure him, but you also can't help but laugh.

"I am," he tells you, then really solidifies it. "Shelly."

"Fuck off," you whine, doubling down. Scanning his arms, you try and pick out anything you can use against him, too. "If I'm Shelly, then you're Mike."

"Mike?!" He protests.

"Yeah," you insist, pointing towards the microphone on his forearm. "Mike."

"You are not calling me Mike. Do I look like a Mike?!"

"Do I look like a Shelly?!"

You've got a point. It's not the name he would have first associated with you - but it is cute, he thinks. Cute how mortified you seem. Cute how you can't help but smile.

After a little bit of back and forth, it's decided that neither of you look like your namesakes.

"Y'know, we kinda have matching tattoos," he says, holding out his arm for you to study. "Or at least, the placements."

And sure enough, below his elbow lives the outline of a bunny sitting on a crescent moon. Holding your own arm out next to his, below your elbow is a butterfly. Above it, is a teeny tiny moon.

Like Jungkook's moon, it's a crescent. Was supposed to symbolise new beginnings. You wonder what his means, but don't ask. Instead, you marvel at the coincidence of it all.

He presses his index finger against the butterfly on the inside of your forearm. The echoing chatter of the restaurant fades softly into nothingness as he says, "Nabi."

You nod. Even if you have spoken with him in English this entire time, it's nice to hear him speak in his mother tongue, no matter how minimal - so you reciprocate. Press your index finger against his bunny. Smile. Say, "Tokki."

It further confirms to Jungkook that you have no idea who he is. Has been a while since he's met a girl in a circumstance like this where that's the case. Likes the anonymity of it all. Is hiding his identity from you, and yet hasn't felt such vulnerability for years.

"Daltokki, right?" You continue, not wanting the silence to linger for too long. "The rabbit in the moon?"

You're not wrong, but you're also not entirely right.

"Yeah," he smiles regardless. "That's it."

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 07:12

"Shhh," Jungkook quietly laughs.

His hand is over your mouth and the other is on your hip as he guides you into his apartment. With your back to his chest, you've both been giggling for the entire ride to his place.

He had insisted that he should walk you home, and was surprised by the offense you seemed to have taken by this. You then told him that he absolutely could not seduce you, and that it was very gender-role-conforming for him to think that you were incapable of getting home by yourself.

"Maybe I should be the one to make sure you get home safely," you had said with a false sense of concern, which had made him laugh quite considerably.

In all reality, you didn't mind him offering to get you home. You just hadn't tidied your room. Didn't really expect to be taking a boy back to your place, much less one that looks like him.

Together, you'd caught the early morning bus over to Itaewon instead of a taxi, 'cause you're still on a student budget and Jungkook wasn't quite ready to blow his cover just yet.

You've been teasing him—questioning his status as a potential International Super Spy—ever since he took your hand and guided you into one of the flashiest apartment complexes you've ever been in. There was security. Doormen. A passcode for the elevator—not to mention that he was heading up to the seventh floor once you were in it. Might not sound like much, but when there are only seven floors to the entire building, it makes it the penthouse by default.

"It's not a penthouse," he'd insisted. "Plus, I live with friends. Only pay a third of the rent."

But a third of his rent is more money than you'll probably see in three months of post-grad work. You're drunk, but you're not stupid. You also know that the rental market here differs significantly from your home country. Monthly rent is cheap, but the deposits are extortionate. Sure, he'll get it back when he leaves, but to have the initial money needed for a place like this? He's not a regular student, if one at all, that much is sure.

"Not sure who's home," Jungkook whispers as you both kick your shoes off in the entryway. Given the looks of the other shoes, it's clear that this is a guys-only living situation. You're proven right when he continues, "Betcha Tae's still in that damn DVD-bang, but Yoongi might be back."

"Yoongi?" You question.

"GLOSS," Jungkook says, remembering how oblivious you are to who he is. Reaching down to grab your shoes, he isn't gonna leave them by the door. Will take them to his room. Doesn't want the boys asking questions, if they are in. Knows they'll just use it as an excuse to publicly roast him whenever they're next online together.

Given that a stream is scheduled for Sunday night, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

Their current choice of wind-up, which the viewers have been eating up, is the joke that Jungkook is a virgin. He's not, but he never knows how to defend himself without sounding like a tool, so always gets a little awkward. A lot of their viewers love it. Join in on the joke. Some take it seriously. He doesn't care.

Next month, Taehyung will do something dumb, and he'll become the favourite joke for a while. Maybe Yoongi. But for now, it's Jungkook.

None of them take it to heart. They're just a group of friends who share their gaming hangouts online, and accidentally made it to the top of the ranks.

They aren't particularly good at gaming, but that's part of the charm. Crescent Collective is how they're known: Blu-Tae, GLOSS and Tokki.

After a bet went wrong, and they all lost, they ended up with moon tattoos and their respective 'symbols'. Jungkook's is a rabbit, Tae's is a blu-ray DVD disk (because he really is committed to the bit), and Yoongi's is stars to symbolise the shine of fresh gloss. Jungkook's makes the most sense. Yoongi's is pretty decent. Taehyung's is just... Well, it's very him.

Sliding open the door into the main living area, Jungkook has to cover your mouth again when you gasp at the sheer size of the place.

"I thought butterflies were supposed to be silent?" He teases. "Quiet for me, Nabi."

His place is bigger than your family home, you think. Hushing you again, he's laughing—and then he's cursing at the sight of a half-naked Yoongi by the kitchen counter.

In his boxers, with half a clementine slice hanging from his lips, he's just as shocked to see Jungkook with you. Gets over it pretty quickly.

"Don't mind me," he says, chewing down on the fruit with a smirk. Looks towards you. "Apologies for the lack of clothes."

With your shoes hooked on his fingers, Jungkook's other large hand is still over your mouth. You're not sure you can form any words as it is, but you do notice the crescent moon and stars on Yoongi's ribs.

"Not a word to Tae," is all Jungkook says. Knows that he'll be in for a world of teasing tomorrow if he gets wind of it. "I mean it."

Holding his hands up, Yoongi's still smirking, but he is backing away into a room just off the kitchen. "My lips are sealed."

Watching as he closes the door, you wonder how much truth is in his words. Jungkook knows it's absolute bullshit. Chooses not to dwell on it. Loosens his grip on you and heads towards his own room. Turns back to check you're following him, and can't help but smile when he knows that you are.

Tossing your shoes just inside the door, Jungkook is quick to pick up a pair of jeans he'd left on the floor, before chucking them over his desk chair. He tweaks his bedding. Straightens it out. Looks a little shy as he turns to face you.

"Made it home safe," he says quietly, as you close the door behind you.

You nod. Keep a little distance. Say, "It's dangerous to sleep after drinking. Make sure you build a tower of pillows in the middle of your bed so you don't roll onto your back."

Both of you are far more sober than you were earlier. There's no need to worry about anything like that.

And yet he nods, now. Says, "You're probably right. You can always stay, though. Just to check I don't die in my sleep, or whatever."

"It'd be the responsible thing to do," you nod, wondering if he can tell just how fast your heart is beating. "But I don't have any pyjamas."

Jungkook swallows. The way he looks at you now is entirely different to how he'd looked at you in the club. Back then, he'd been bold. Flirtatious.

Now, he seems vulnerable. Needy.

"I sleep in my underwear," he tells you, unsure if you'll actually be sleeping. While he likes the idea of fucking you, part of him doesn't want to. Fears it'll ruin the magic of the unknown. The way he throbs at the mere thought of it would suggest that his hopes outweigh his fears. "I don't mind, if you don't."

The clothes Jungkook's wearing are baggy. You've seen nothing of his figure.

Reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs on the fabric of his T-shirt. Pulls it over his head and discards it in one swift movement. The sound of it crumpling on the floor is abrasive in how it makes you feel. Raw. Unrefined. You suppose it's just a natural consequence of seeing the toned muscles of his chest. How his waist defies what you thought was possible for masculine builds, and how broad his chest is. The indent of his collarbones, and the lines of his pelvis that draw your eyes downwards.

A pair of Calvins peek just above the waistband of his jeans, and a silver chain rests around his neck. Light from the city filters in, and LED lights around his impressive computer set-up paint him in a hue of violet.

"No," you manage to reply, which is a miracle, you think. "I don't mind."

And then you reciprocate. Reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Seeing him swallow back his nerves, or maybe his desires, makes you feel far bolder than you should.

"It's really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans," you tell him.

He nods. Agrees. Threads the button of his trousers through its loop. Doesn't take them off yet. Waits for you to do the same. Keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours. Doesn't let his gaze wander, no matter how much he has to fight all his instincts not to fully take you in. Is still pretending like he doesn't want you in the most indecent of ways.

The room you're in right now is known worldwide.

People set it as their zoom backgrounds. It's on Pinterest. There are YouTube videos attempting to recreate the set-up. If he were to power up his computer—which, in all fairness, is only on standby—and go live, there'd be a thousand viewers within minutes. Doesn't matter what he plays, or who he's with. He doesn't give it much thought anymore. Is just life.

Sometimes, he regrets not being a faceless streamer, but he also knows that it's part of the appeal. Connection, and the fantasy that comes with this almost dystopian, parasocial idea of it.

After all, the meeting of his eyes with yours across a busy club led you to this point. Human connection in the simplest of ways, that he thinks could culminate in the most complex of ways, too.

"Okay," he says. "So take them off."

"You want me to?" You ask just to tease a little bit, and when a smile flickers onto his seemingly nervous lips, you're glad you did.

"You think we'd be here right now if I didn't?" He says with a tweak of his brows.

"You've got a point."

With that, you push your jeans down and reveal the matching set of black underwear you're in. It's nothing special. In fact, it's not really a set, but it's close enough that it'd fool anyone who didn't know.

Jungkook, in this moment, is indeed a beautiful fool.

There's a lopsided grin on his face as he lets his eyes rake down your body. Is shameless as he indulges in you. Nods, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"It's cold," you tell him, urging him along a little bit.

"Shit," he says without much thought. "Sorry. Was just... Yeah. Shit."

It's both endearing and wholly confusing how Jungkook flips from confident to cute. A man of duality. It makes you giggle, and then you're the one biting down on your bottom lip. Are both a little bashful. A little shy.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep," you remind him before it goes any further.

Looking at him now, knowing you want him in the worst of ways, it's testing all of your willpower not to just cut to the chase.

Thing is, you liked his company tonight. Want it again. Want to give him a reason to seek you out once more. Want him thinking about you in clubs, and looking for you in crowded bars. Pining. Yearning. Needy.

"It's already gone seven," he tells you, walking towards his bed. Knocks his head to the side. Silently tells you to follow suit. "Will probably only get a couple hours in."

"Better than nothing. Plus, you're actually really irritating," you bullshit as you get into bed with him. Are adamant you won't fuck him, but you do let him pull you in closer.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins.

"Mhmm," you nod, pretending as if you aren't looking at his lips. "You'll be less annoying when you're asleep."

"I'm never gonna sleep again," he assures you. "Will annoy you forever."

"I know where the front door is," you say as you stroke a few of his loose, wavy hairs back behind his ears. They fall freely almost right away, but it just gives you another excuse to play with it "I can just leave. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep. Pointless if you're awake."

"So I have to be asleep for you to stay?"

"Mhmm," you hum.

He immediately loosens his grip on you and flops into an overdramatic sleeping position. Fake snores. Gets you giggling. Can't hide his smile, either. Laughs through the god-awful noises he's making.

But it is late, and you're both tired. As much as he'd like to stay awake with you, the pull of sleep is just too tempting now that you're beneath his sheets. It's not like he doesn't wanna fuck you. His semi is very much present, but neither of you mention it.

"Y'know what's sad about butterflies?" Jungkook mumbles after the laughter dies down. He carefully begins to trace the lines of your tattoo, eyes entirely focused on the tip of his finger.

You purr a response before you fully vocalise one. "Tell me."

He glances up at you only very momentarily. Looks back down. Is quiet when he says, "How quickly they die. Spend over half their lifespan growing into these beautiful creatures, and then they have, what—A week? Two? Three, tops—and then they're gone. It's like the cherry blossoms in spring. Beautiful, and then—" He clicks his fingers. "—gone."

Stroking back some loose strands of his hair, you wonder if he's thinking about you. About this chance encounter. Beautiful, then gone.

"Just means you have to appreciate them while they're still around," you say softly. "Cherish them, because you know you only have them for a moment."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. The reflection of his LED lights makes it seem like butterflies are floating around in his deep, dark eyes, too.

There are stories he could tell you of ancient folklore; about human souls taking the form of butterflies. Of justice, and peace, and spirits. Of back in time, when tigers still smoked. He could tell you of his favourite butterflies. Of the black butterflies that are as large as his hands in the summer. Of the huge display in a museum downtown that would transfix him as a child.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against the lines of your butterfly tattoo.

The rate at which your heart is beating multiplies. Like a swarm of butterflies chasing through your veins, you've no control over the way you're feeling. He's brought your artwork to life; set the souls inside of your butterfly free, only for it to be apparent that the souls belonged to the both of you, anyway.

You know that this is one of those moments; a butterfly passing on by through your lives. Here, and then gone. Beautiful, but fleeting.

There's a shyness to Jungkook now, as he rolls onto his back. A reluctance to get things wrong. He doesn't look at you, just nibbles on his bottom lip and pretends as if the empty white ceiling ahead of him is the most interesting thing he's seen all night.

It's not.

You are.

You, and those eyes that make him feel like the butterfly on your arm is tickling at his tummy. He finds himself jealous when he faces you again and begins tracing the thin lines of your butterfly once more. Wants to embed himself into you like the ink that's carved out a home in your skin.

"Sorry," he mumbles, seemingly regretful of the tender kiss he'd pressed against your arm just a short moment ago. "Don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," you reply without much thought. Like him, you're letting the way you feel dictate the words you say. Care not for playing coy. "I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jungkook wants to stop his mouth from letting his desires escape. The issue is, he drank a little too much tonight and his lips are a little too loose. Too bad. Can't help himself from asking, "Can I do it again?"

You're just as bad.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Please."

The way his lashes splay against his cheeks as he presses another kiss to your arm is nothing short of celestial. Like that damn moon on his arm, he's got a beauty about him that's hard to capture in words. Ethereal feels too fantastical, but gorgeous feels too dense. He resides in a realm somewhere between the two. Somewhere you'd like to stay forever.

Forever, sadly, only lasts a few hours. You've brunch plans with new friends you can't bail on yet for fear of running a friendship before it's even begun.

You see yourself out. Jungkook's still asleep. Not quite 10AM, you've a dozen missed calls from Rae, and a cold can of coke waiting for you in your fridge. Funnily enough, though, you don't really feel hungover. Must have gotten it all out of your system the night before.

It's only fitting, when you think about Jungkook on the subway home, and how soberingly drunk the idea of him makes you feel.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:39

Brunch had, predictably, been a yawn-fest.

The people were perfectly nice, but you spent the entire time thinking about Jungkook; how you'd left him in a pretty slumber, the LEDs behind his computer still glowing, with not even so much as a note to say thank you.

It's not like he had any paper on his desk, and you weren't about to start rummaging around his room. You also didn't want to wake him. Part of it was because you knew you'd be saying goodbye, and the concept of that was one that you didn't like all that much.

And so your subway ride back to your dorm had been spent searching his name. He didn't take long to find.

From the club's Instagram, you found GLOSS and quickly discovered that there was far more to both him and Blu-Tae than just being DJs. Their follower counts were wild. Numbers you know you'll never see on your own account. Verification check marks accented their display names.

Who are you? You'd thought to yourself, incredibly perplexed by it all.

Jungkook was littered all over their pages, and yet it still took a while for you to click through to his account. You're not sure why, but think that perhaps the unknown was a nice place to reside within. Safer.

CR3SC3NT_T0KK1 was his username—and curiously, Tokki was also his display name. Brows furrowed, you'd almost dropped your phone when you saw his follower count. It eclipsed both of his friends.

Filled with gaming set-ups, merch drops, and general life dumps, it was pretty clear that whoever Jungkook had made himself out to be the night before was not who he was in real life.

Equal parts offended and intrigued, you were only more confused when you saw that Rae was already following him—but not following Taehyung.

"What?" she'd beamed when you'd asked her about it after you'd arrived home from brunch, a scoop of hangover ice cream being waved around in the air with her flamboyant gestures. "He's, like, one of the biggest streamers in the country—and if I want to keep Tae obsessed with me, we need as many connections as possible. Jungkook's a frog to me, baby, not a prince. Don't you worry your little cotton socks. I'm not after him."

"I wouldn't care if you were," you'd blatantly lied in response, and then you'd giggled together at how ridiculous you were both being over boys you didn't really know.

Hovering over the bright purple 'JOIN STREAM' button later that evening, part of you holds back. Think it'd be weird. Strange. That he'd somehow know it was you.

Dipping your mouse, you tick the checkbox to join as an anonymous viewer. Take a breath. Think fuck it. Watch with bated breath as the loading wheel turns—and then he's there.

Jeon Jungkook has the kind of beauty that transcends shitty quality streams. Smiling as he jokes with one of his friends through a headset with a pair of black bunny ears affixed to the top of them, you hear a voice you almost recognise. Notice the friend he's streaming with in the top corner. Realise you do know him, too.

Hair as blue as the trees are green, Tae has just as much boyish charm as Jungkook, but also an incredibly large hickey that seems to match the ones on Rae's neck.

"Nah, can we get an L in the chat for Kook," he's teasing. Sure enough, the chat begins to explode with the letter, and Jungkook looks so pretty when he protests.

"It's not an L!"

"It is!" Tae insists. "Should have seen him, guys. Was following this girl around like a lovesick puppy—"

"No, I wasn't!"

"And she didn't even give him her number. Not even her name!"

"That's not true!" Jungkook whines. He switches between Korean and English with ease, sometimes just single words, other times whole sentences. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

"Cause you don't have one!"

"No, because you'll all make my life a living hell," Jungkook laughs—and then notices a bright blue comment lighting up in the chat. His eyes widen. "Fuck."

GLOSS: Was calling her Nabi when he got home last night Almost shit his pants when he saw me

"Yoongi, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Jungkook growls—only for the chat to start spamming butterfly emojis. Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair, the still paused video game long forgotten about, now. Thousands of people are in their chat, and even more are watching the stream.

"Guys, get it trending," Taehyung goads. "Tweet, I dunno, bunny and butterfly emojis."

"Don't do that!"

"Hashtag find Jungkook's butterfly."

"Do NOT do that!"

"I'm like a modern-day cupid," Taehyung beams.

"I'm shaving your eyebrows, too."

Closing the stream, you sit for a moment, mouth ajar, unable to process what on earth you've just witnessed. Part of you feels as if it must have an incredibly vivid daydream; a projection of your heart's desire.

And you know you shouldn't, but when you get home from running errands the following day, you join the stream again. Blush when you notice the chat is still teasing Jungkook.

"I'm gonna block you all," he threatens them with a grin, which only encourages them to send even more butterfly emojis.

The next day is no different, nor the day after that.

He is, though. Has been letting it all play on his mind. Doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to streaming.

"What if she didn't even like me, guys," he whines to the chat. "And sees this and is like... mortified. I think I'd punch myself in the face if she ever saw any of this."

You toy with the idea of sending a comment into the chat. Something that only he'd realise was you. Thing is, you feel bad for intruding. As if you shouldn't be prying. As if you're eavesdropping on him chatting with friends, and not on the stream he's broadcasting live around the world.

Typing out a message, you deliberate your choice.

Punch urself in the face pls, tokki x the message reads.

Simple. Effective. To the point.

But everyone calls him that, you stupidly realise, now.

And so you change the name to 'Mike'.

Before you can even really realise what you've done, you've pressed send.

The message flitters into the chat feed. He's about to resume his game. Doesn't notice it at first.

Gives the chat one final glance, and then his eyes widen. He sits up taller. Straighter. "Mike?"

You close the lid of your laptop immediately.

"Fuck."

THE STREETS WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE FRIDAY 23:51

"Tae is on in five," Rae squeals, dragging you down the road at lightning speed.

You'd spent far too long at dinner, and also had far too much to drink with your food, so have been forced to make an undignified sprint to the club in an attempt to make it in before the place reaches capacity.

There's already a queue. You can see it from a mile away.

Realistically, Rae could have gotten Taehyung to add her to the guest list. He'd offered. She didn't wanna look needy, so had played it coy about her plans for the evening.

After a single beer and soju, she'd decided that the idea of him hooking up with anyone but her simply wouldn't do.

"Shit," she sighs in defeat, looking at the queue. The direction you've come from means that you reach the entrance before you reach the queue, but even then, you can tell it goes around the block. "Are there no other clubs these people can go to?!"

There are—but this club is rammed tonight for the same reason Club Sundown was rammed the week before. People want to see the Crescent Collective.

You didn't realise it at the time, but you'd bypassed the queue of the second club last weekend because Jungkook had been with you.

And as if by a stroke of luck, or perhaps a twist of fate, the same tattooed hand that had held you as you slept last weekend is now putting out a cigarette just a few steps away.

Eyes landing on yours, he looks away again, almost immediately. Feels embarrassed. Stupid. For the way you left him, and also for the way he knows you must know who he is, now.

Behind a red rope, he's away from the general crowd. It's sort of obnoxious, you think—but also know Jungkook is anything but.

"They're with me," Jungkook says to the bouncer, not really looking at you, but nodding in your general direction. Is deliberately keeping a little distance. Instead, he says to Rae, "Tae wouldn't want you waiting in line."

Nodding, the security guard makes way for you, stamping the backs of your hands with UV-activated ink as you walk past.

"Thank you!" Rae beams.

"No worries," Jungkook smiles right back. "He's about to start. Was just getting air. You're lucky you arrived when you did."

"Angel," she praises. "I'll get you a drink while we're in there."

You know her well enough now to know that she absolutely will not, but you don't say anything. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest as you walk, suddenly feeling all awkward in Jungkook's presence.

"Nabi," he curtly greets you as you head down the stairs.

"Tokki," you greet him back just as formally. Consider calling him 'Mike' instead, but you chicken out.

Face scrunching up, Jungkook tries his best not to cringe at himself. Doesn't know if you're addressing him by his tattoo moniker, or just calling him Tokki because you know it's his identifier online.

"How have you been?" He asks, not wanting to let it simmer.

"Alright," you say, aware of how awkward this all feels, as you descend the stairs and into the club. The music is getting louder, and soon you won't be able to hear him talk unless you're in each other's ears. "And you?"

"Alright."

Just as quickly as he appeared, Jungkook is lost to the crowd.

He doesn't care to stick around if he's just going to be hung out to dry by you again. He tells himself that he only made sure you got in to keep Rae happy for Taehyung's sake—yet as he rejoins his friends in their booth, he finds himself desperately seeking you out again.

It takes him a while, but he eventually spots you by the bar in conversation with Rae. He can't make out what you're saying, but notices how your eyes are flickering around the room. Seems as if you're hunting for something.

Deep down, even if he pretends like he doesn't, he hopes it's for him.

Pulled away from your search by the bartender passing over drinks to the pair of you, Jungkook feels bad. Knows the drinks are pricey in this place. Also knows, from the conversations you've already had, that you're on a tight budget. Had said that once the semester starts, you'll stop going to parties. Are seemingly unaware of the fact the parties never stop in this city. You'll learn.

When your eyes finally land on his a little while later, you're surprised by his intense gaze—intrigued by his lack of shame for being caught out. He doesn't look away or appear embarrassed. If anything, it's quite the opposite.

Girls are vying for his attention all around him, yet you receive all of it. Half the room away, hundreds of people create a sea between you both. Jungkook thinks he'd swim through it, no matter how choppy the water, if it meant he could have you right now.

You're the one who left, though.

It's up to you to come back.

Part of you doesn't want to, but then you see another girl making advances, and Rae's horror over other girls trying it on with Taehyung seems to have rubbed off on you. The idea of it makes your skin crawl. You're drunk, and a little reactive, but Jungkook likes playing with fire.

As you work your way through the crowd towards him, he tries his best not to grin. Finds himself vindicated in his desire to be close to you, 'cause it seems like you want it, too.

Sliding in between Jungkook and the girl, you turn and apologise.

"Just need to borrow him for a second," you smile, clutching at his shirt and pulling him away from the booth before she even has a chance to protest.

With an ever-so-satisfied smirk, Jungkook shrugs towards the other girl, and lets you drag him wherever you want. He's putty in your hands, a little tipsy and desperately in need of attention from you.

For the past week, he's played scenario over scenario over scenario in his head about this moment, and now that it's happening, he's glad he let you seek him out. Is so pleased that you actively want him just as much as he wants you.

In the middle of the crowd, you're hidden from prying eyes. It's too dark to notice any discerning features of the people around you, yet somehow, Jungkook seems like a vibrant golden light to you. Impossible to miss. Unable to ignore.

You wanna talk. Ask him about who the fuck he is. Explain that you didn't mean to leave so heartlessly.

Taehyung's set is so overwhelmingly loud, though. Can barely even hear yourself think.

As soon as he'd spotted Rae in the crowd, Taehyung had sent the bar coordinator to go and get her. She's sitting pretty up in the DJ booth, incredibly pleased with herself. Notices you and Jungkook almost immediately. Knows it'll be on Twitter in the next few hours, especially if that damn butterfly tattoo of yours is noticed.

Bunnies and butterflies have been trending for days.

Jungkook speaks, but you can't hear him.

"Huh?" You ask, getting on your tippy toes, but it's fruitless. Even as his hand drops to your waist to steady you and keep you in place, you can barely make out his words. "I can't hear you!"

He can't hear jack shit, either. Frowns. Looks around. Spots Yoongi by the booth and gestures towards the side of the room. When Yoongi nods back, it's Jungkook who drags you through the crowd, now. Just beyond the DJ booth is a little black door that Yoongi meets you by. Taps in the code. Nods in your direction.

"A pleasure," he says with a knowing smirk. Miraculously, you can hear him, but ultimately, it's because you're not in the direct line of the speakers now.

You don't get a chance to respond before Jungkook gets you into what can only described as a dark hole as quickly as he can. Romance, you think to yourself, but you also are very aware of the fact Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand, even when he's searching for the light switch. It takes him a second, but he manages to recall the approximate location quickly enough.

Dingy yellow light floods into the room. Small and boxy, it's a 3-in-1 storage room, bathroom, and dressing room for 'talent'. It's why Yoongi had the code, but you can't imagine anyone with any shred of self-respect actually using this place. The walls are the same grey tiles as the floor, and the light bulb hangs from a wire without a shade. The tap on the sink drips, and you're pretty sure there's a leak in the far corner by the mirror.

None of that matters, though. All you can focus on is the man in front of you. Though not soundproof, the room does offer a far more muted version of Taehyung's set. More importantly, it provides you with privacy.

It's been a week since you last saw him, face to face.

Though you have, admittedly, seen him what feels like a million times on low-quality streams from his bedroom.

Realistically, it's been about three times, but you think about it almost constantly.

"You left," is all he says, a little pout on his lips.

It's cute, you think, that he is so outwardly offended by such an act. You would have thought that a man of his position would have a habit of leaving, himself. Then again, you didn't know of his status when you left him in bed that morning.

"And you didn't die," you reply with a teasing smile, trying not to make it sound so severe. "You were fine without me."

"I'm not joking," he says, even if he can't help but smile at the recollection of how stupid the conversation before bed had been. "You left. It was rude."

"I had brunch plans," you tell him, reaching your hands out for his. He wants to resist. Fails. Lets you pull him closer. Incredibly close, in fact. So close that you begin to notice all sorts of things. His freckles. A small scar on his cheek. A tiny fleck of glitter on his skin, no doubt from one of the girls who had been desperate for his attention earlier. "You'd only had a few hours sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Could have left a note," he says, still pouty but far quieter. You can smell the Jack on his breath. Have always hated the taste, but think you could grow to like it. "Your number. Something, at least."

"I could've," you admit, edging even closer. Closing the gap. Nudging your nose against his. But then you smile. Pull back. Tease, "And you could have warned me that I'd become a trending topic on Twitter."

Just like that, Jungkook's pout snaps into the prettiest smile. His face scrunches up, lines creasing on his nose. Beneath his closed eyes reside the sweetest little puffs. He's got the kind of face that is impossible not to like.

"Ah," he cringes.

"Yeah," you laugh at the stupidity of it all. What did he expect? That you wouldn't find out? "Ah."

"In my defence," he holds his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "You called me Tokki. How was I to know you didn't know?"

"Oh, give over," you laugh, as he reaches for your hands once again. Pulls you closer. "You know I didn't know."

Truthfully, he does know this, but it was nice to be unknown for a little while. Nice to not second guess your intentions. Even now, knowing that you know, he feels like none of it matters.

"Look," he begins, toying with the hem of your cropped shirt. Lets his fingertips graze your bare skin. Tries his best not to think about what you look like half-naked. Fails. "I only came out tonight 'cause I hoped I'd see you. I don't care about staying out till ass-o'clock, again."

"Think I've only just caught up on sleep," you hum, angling your chin up and giving him the perfect opportunity to make a move that goes beyond flirtatious touches.

"Exactly," he smiles, letting his hand squeeze the side of your waist. Pulls you closer. "And I've not drunk half as much tonight, but I think I could do with you making sure I don't die, again."

"Yeah?"

Nodding as he nudges his nose against yours, Jungkook is all smiles. Lets his lips line up against your pout.

"Yeah," he mumbles—then lets the word get lost in your lips.

Sinking into what it feels like to kiss you, Jungkook can't help but feel satisfaction. Has finally caught the damn butterfly he's been after all week.

He's played a lot of games. Won a lot of battles.

And yet victory has never tasted so sweet.

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 02:07

You retrace your steps. Get a taxi to his place, 'cause there's no point pretending like he can't afford it. Not anymore.

You're not giggling like you were the first time you were in his elevator, but it's kind of impossible to do so when your back is to the wall and Jungkook's tongue is in your mouth.

Your hands roam his body—waist, ass. If you can squeeze it, you will. Just makes him deepen the kisses. If his large hands weren't cupping your jaw, keeping you close, they'd be doing the exact same thing as yours.

The ding of the elevator pulls you apart just for a second, and then you're the one pulling him down to the corridor to his place.

He doesn't open the door. Just kisses you again.

Finally understands what it means to get butterflies, 'cause he's got you, now, and he never wants to lose it.

Hooking his hands beneath your ass, he hoists you up. Gets your legs wrapped around him. Could go in, but where's the fun in that? There's a slight danger of getting caught. He knows the hallway security cameras will definitely pick this up. The threat that it could get leaked online, and the simple fact that he couldn't give a shit if it does, is kind of hot.

"I'm not fucking you out here," you tell him through a hushed giggle, when he rests his forehead against yours.

"Woah," he jokes. "Who said anything about fucking?"

"I can literally feel your boner, Jungkook."

"Touché."

He doesn't even attempt to downplay it. He puts you down. Gets you through the threshold of his apartment. Shoes off by the door, there's no need to be quiet. Yoongi and Taehyung are still out, and will be for hours. He could take his time if he really wanted.

But what he wants is you. Doesn't waste time. Gets you in his room. Kinda feels like you never left. Jungkook still wishes you hadn't, but doesn't mind the idea of you making it up to him now.

"So," you hum, trailing your fingertips across his desk. "This is where the magic happens?"

He smiles a little bashfully, head dropping for a moment before his eyes are on yours again. "Yeah. You could say that."

Now that you're back in his space, it's a little embarrassing just how many clues there were. A headset rests on the desk—black, robust, with his signature bunny ears secured on top—and a mic is hooked up by the monitor. The webcam doesn't look special, but the keyboard subtly glows in his darkened room. Violet, like the LEDs behind his screen.

A laptop covered in vinyl stickers is closed next to the set-up. He uses it when he's not streaming on his desktop. At least three of the stickers are of the Crescent Collective's logo.

Turning to fully face him, you rest your palms behind yourself and perch on the edge of the desk.

He gets a little kick out of seeing you so flippantly disregard the domain in which he dominates. Gives him a point to prove. Gets him closing the space between you, hands on your waist, dipping to your ass to leverage further back on his desk. Knows it's sturdy, 'cause he built it himself, but has never tested out quite how strong it really is. Thinks now's as good a time as any to find out.

Your legs wrap around his body with no thought, just the innate understanding that you want him in a way you're sure thousands of people have only dreamt of: in his room, on his desk, that damn 'Go Live' button just a few short clicks away.

Reaching beside you, there's a smirk on your lips as you retrieve his headset. Put it on him. Say, "The ears are cute, Tokki."

He rolls his eyes. Is fighting a smile, and currently losing. He's seen some lewd shit during his time on the internet and is well aware of the fanart that includes the ears and little else. Always found it kinda funny, before.

Now? He's so hard it almost hurts, and he thinks he could grow to like it.

As your arms drape over his shoulders, he takes them off. Puts them on you, instead. Adjusts the sizing. Gets them just right for you. Is attentive, like that. Pulls his head back a little, and then realises what a problem you're gonna be for him.

It's not so much the addition of animal ears that's getting him insatiable, but seeing you adorned with a crown that is so inherently his that does it.

Jungkook's no saint. He's had his fair share of one-nighters. A couple hours of fun never to be spoken of again. Since the group of them signed to their management agency, they've been repeatedly told how important it is to get NDA's signed. Something about it always feels so icky to Jungkook. Cruel, almost. Has only had a couple hook-ups since then, both with flings he's known for a good couple of years, with no fear of them spilling the beans on how prettily he whines when he cums.

You're the first new girl in a long time. He knows he should really pause things before you cut to the chase—but then your hand is trailing down his thick forearm, delicately stroking his rabbit moon with a curious smile. Decides he doesn't care.

"The ears are cute," he replies. Teasingly adds, "Nabi."

The position of your arms over his shoulders ensures the tattoos he'd traced the week before are fully displayed for him. As his eyes drop to your butterfly, you're curiously smitten by the way his lips move to press a kiss against it again.

"Suit me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, eyes flickering back up to yours. "Should also get you a pair of butterfly wings, or something."

"I'd make you wear them," you tell him with a cheeky glint in your eye. "Turn you into a butterfly, yourself. Your girlies in the chat would love that."

Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd let you. Not for the girlies in the chat, but for you.

Ghosting his lips against yours, he's waiting for you to press down. Is letting you take the lead.

Your kisses are sweet. Tepid. Reserved.

You're feeling; his hands on your waist, the pressure of his lip rings, the presence of his nose.

And then he's feeling; your bare skin as his large hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, the way your legs wrap around him, the vibration of a small groan against his lips.

The skirt you're in is bunched around your hips, and the positioning is just right for you to feel how hard he is against your underwear. It's a little undignified, you'll admit, but you're impatient, so you take control. Reposition his hand between your legs. Encourage him to take things further.

"Yeah?" He checks.

Nodding into a needy kiss, you mumble, "Please."

It might've been a while, but Jungkook's muscle memory is enviable. He's the best player on the team for that very reason.

As he hooks your underwear to the side, he's pleased to be greeted with indications of your arousal. Smirks into the kisses he's giving you, as his fingertips graze against your clit. Trails his lips to your neck. Wants to hear the way you gasp as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you.

"Fuck," you sigh at the welcome intrusion. Nod, as he curls his finger almost immediately. He's got a lot to thank those damn video games for, that's for sure.

Softly moaning, just how he hoped you would, there's an arch to your back as he picks up a pace. The need to perform, almost.

Head tipping back as Jungkook fucks another finger into you, you're unable to think too cognitively. Can only think about the way he feels. The smell of his hair as he presses kisses against your neck, and how prominent his collarbones are as your nails trail up his toned torso.

"Feels so good," you tell him. Move the hand of yours that's been resting on his shoulder to his hair. Tug on it a little. Elicit the prettiest of whines from him.

There's something to be said for making a man—especially one of such strength, stature, status—so weak. Gets you all giggly. Jungkook can feel the satisfaction ripple through your entire body, and it just makes him groan against your neck even more.

"You're so wet," he praises, pulling back to study your face as he plays with you. Lets his thumb stroke up against your clit ever so gently. Revels in the way you get a little shaky. Twitchy. With those damn bunny ears, you really are like a little rabbit. Jungkook finally understands why the fan artists choose to draw him in such a way. It is hot. "You're making me so fuckin' hard."

And then you're giggling again.

"Is it a joke to you, huh?" He smirks. Looks down at your pussy, all swollen and sopping wet for him, in the hazy violet light of his room. Knows that his throbbing cock is gonna stuff you so fuckin' full that laughing won't be an option. Is desperate for it. "How badly I want you is just a big joke to you, huh, bunny?"

The way he groups you in with his moniker is too damn hot.

"Dunno," you rasp, desperately trying to hold off the orgasm that's building inside you. "Fuck me and find out."

Reaching for the button of his trousers, you're quick as you wrestle his jeans down over his ass. Don't bother pushing them down entirely. Just enough to get his boxers exposed, and in turn, his thick cock. Hard and engorged, his desperation for you is evident. A small patch of precum seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He curses as your thumb strokes against it.

"Condom?" You ask, knowing you've got none on you.

"Hold that thought," he says, regretfully pulling away from you.

Watching on as he pushes down his jeans, and strips himself of his shirt, you're at a loss for words. You've seen him like this before, but it's so much hotter knowing that he's gonna be fucking himself into you as soon as he possibly can.

Jungkook could very easily lead you to his bed. Get you comfy. Reach to his bedside cabinet for a condom. Fuck you how he likes—doggy-style, minimal face-to-face contact—and be done with it all very quickly.

Instead, he says, "Stay here."

Doing as you're told, you watch on as he walks to the cabinet, and retrieves a condom. Admire his back, and his broad shoulders. The valley of his spine, and the hard work he's put into crafting his physique. Smirk to yourself as he dips into his boxers. Strokes himself. Once, twice. Tears the packet open with his teeth, just like you were always taught not to do, and rolls the latex down his thick shaft.

"What?" he smirks as he walks back, realising your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

You say nothing. Smile. Hold your hands out for Jungkook to take, just so you can pull him back even quicker.

Lips pressing into yours as he closes the gap, Jungkook is all smiles. Rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, gathering up your arousal all over his tip. Lines himself up with your entrance. Waits for you to give him the go-ahead.

Hand on his ass, you pull him closer. Edge the crown of his cock into you. Whimper. Beg. "Please."

Sinking into you with a laboured grunt, he's surprised with how much tighter you are around his cock than you were with his fingers. Wet and warm, there's an undeniable pleasure that sparks through his body as he gets familiar with the way you feel.

Slowly, his hips begin to pick up a pace. As his tongue strokes into your mouth, there's no dignity to the way he's taking you. The increased pace means heightened moans, and it's not just you—it's him, too.

"Shit, yeah," he grits. "So fuckin' tight, aren't you?"

Whining, you nod into his kisses. Are at his entire disposal as he grips your waist, proving exactly why Tokki is the perfect nickname for him.

As much as he likes the ears, he's a little worried that he might fuck you so hard they fall off. Doesn't wanna break them, and definitely doesn't wanna think about the story the boys would make up when they go live tomorrow to tease him—but also really wants to fuck you harder.

Which is funny, cause the way he tugs them off with such desperation and tosses them down, you'd be forgiven for thinking he couldn't care less about breaking them. Doesn't give you a chance to say anything, 'cause his big hands are cradling your face, bringing you in for desperate kisses once more.

There's a lewdness to the sounds you make together, but Jungkook knows that if he was an entirely different kind of streamer, you'd make bank together. Wonders about the way it would look on camera. Worries. Pauses.

"You good?" You check a little breathlessly as he reaches behind you, just to tug the wire to his webcam from the plus.

"Yeah," he nods, still fiddling around behind you. Smiles in the hedonistic haze as your lips find a new home on his neck. Strokes your hair gently, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quietly says, "Just making sure there's no way in hell I accidentally start streaming."

You hum, all purry and pliant. "People would pay good money to see it."

While he agrees, and has had the same thought process, he doesn't care. "You saying I should be charging you for this?"

"Oh, no," you say all very sweetly. "You should be paying me."

"I'll pay you with orgasms," he promises, knowing that it's a rare currency for one-night strands.

You smirk. Pat the top of his head. "Sure you will."

If there's one thing Jungkook loves, it's a challenge.

Pulling back, he turns you around. Gets you bent over his desk with zero opposition from you. Rubs himself against your soaked cunt, then asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smirk, and then settle into a sigh as he pushes into you. The feeling of fullness from Jungkook is one that's hard to compare. So thick, and fat, and heavy, his cock really is just as impressive as he is.

With one hand hooked at the crease of your thigh, the other holds the top of your shoulder. Gets you pushed down onto his cock as far as you possibly can be. There's a slight reflection in his streaming plaque beside the monitor, and you're pleased to see just how intensely focused he is on you, brows furrowed, pretty pink lips resting ajar. The silver of his lip rings and chain catch in the light, and you find you can't look at him for too long. He's too hot.

But then he's reaching down for your clit as he fucks into you. Has your legs shaking. The waves of a familiar sensation begin to lap against the shores of your pleasure.

"Fuck," you whine. "Feels good. Keep it like that."

Jungkook knows better than to ignore your requests. Does as he's told, the pressure of his fingers on your clit only deepening. Rubbing calculated circles against you, he knows just how to work you up. Gets you whining. Mewling. Moaning.

"Gonna cum, aren't you?" he smirks, as his own high builds.

"Fuck—"

"C'mon," he husks, feeling your walls tighten around him. He doesn't stop his relentless chase. Will win your orgasms fair and square. Continues pounding into you. Pace fast, strokes deep, he's everything you could ever want and more—and then he's slowing. Keeping you plugged, nice and deep, but focusing on the way he's toying with your clit. "You know you wanna cream for me. All over my cock, pretty Nabi. C'mon—"

"I'm close," you all but whimper. "So—fuck. So close."

"Yeah, you are," he tells you—and then your legs are shaking, pussy tightly clamping around his cock, one hand tense against his desk while the other grabs at his wrist. Uncontrollable, is the way you whine for him. It's so needy—so desperate and pathetic—that it's almost a sob. Jungkook doesn't ease up. In fact, his hips gain a little pace again as your orgasm shatters around you both. He's breathless, but manages to choke out, "Flithy fuckin' cunt. Feels so fuckin' good. Fuck."

The frail limpness of your body as the orgasm smokes away is cute. Jungkook loves it. You're so weak for him. He fucks into you still, chasing his own high, and your whines only get louder. It's overwhelming, but you never want to lose the feeling.

It doesn't take much. Just a minute or so of your tight cunt, and Jungkook is pulling out. Even though he doesn't ask you to, you get to your knees as he tears the condom off.

"In my mouth," you beg, and who is he to reject such an offer?

Jerking himself to completion, Jungkook is all pretty and pathetic when he cums, too. Looks at you with eyes so starry you'd been forgiven for thinking he was a descendant of the constellations.

He milks the final few spurts of himself onto your wet tongue, and curses when you press dainty kisses to his tip. Stroking your tongue against him, you don't want to waste a drop. Look up at him and find that his eyes are resting shut from the pleasure of it all.

Silence surrounds you both, just your beating hearts and laboured breaths filling to the room. He helps you up. Holds you tight. Hugs you for a little while, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," you giggle - and then he's smiling, too. Feels vindicated by his irrational thoughts about you over the last few days. He pays no mind to the fact you're still technically dressed, and he's basically naked.

As he sorts himself out, you perch back up on his desk and languidly swing your legs. Enjoy the thought of memories plaguing him whenever he tried to play his little games over the next few days.

"You wanna grab a shower?" he offers. "Food, too? Dunno about you, but I'm fuckin' starving."

"Same," you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. "I'll go wash up, you sort food? Are places still open for delivery?"

Checking his phone for the time, Jungkook is surprised that it's closer to midnight than it is to his morning alarm. Only a handful of places will offer delivery at this time, but that's enough.

"Works for me," he says with a yawn, then opens what you had assumed was the closet door. Reveals an en-suite and knocks his head to the side. "Get your shower. Gimmie a shout if you need anything."

Tiles large and grey, it's the perfect counterpart to his bedroom. A little dark, but it's only because Jungkook hates using the big light. Always flicks the small light switches instead. There's a window overlooking the city, and even though you're only seven floors up, the hills of Yongsan-gu mean that he's got a view you could only dream of.

You're about to start the shower up when he calls through. "Is pizza good?"

"Pizza's good," you call back with a smile. Look yourself in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you ended up in the bathroom of arguably the most famous person you've ever met. Decide it's better not to question it.

The shower begins to cascade down, even if your sins are washed way, you know you won't be able to forget the feeling of Jungkook so easily.

Truth be told, you won't even try.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:13

"L in the chat," booms the voice of Taehyung through your laptop speakers. His trademark grin rests on his face as he teases Jungkook.

You've only just opened the stream. Instantly, you focus on the prettily lopsided smirk of Jungkook's lips. You've learned it's an almost permanent fixture on his boyish face. Shaking his head, he's adjusting his headset. Making it a little looser so that it'll fit him properly.

No one is questioning it.

What they are questioning, is where the fuck that pretty purple bruise on his neck has come from.

"Cross-fit," Jungkook just shrugs, knowing that it's the colloquial term for suspicious bruises after some idol used the same excuse. Blatant horseshit. Jungkook doesn't care.

"I've never done cross-fit, but I know you're bullshitting," Taehyung snorts.

The chat seems to agree with him.

"Thought I was a virgin?" Jungkook states a little cheekily, making reference to Taehyung's usual banter. "How else would I get one?"

Taehyung knows better than the retort. Knows that Jungkook could very easily slip something about Rae into the conversation.

Virgin? You type through a message on a private discord chat with Jungkook. He'd set it up the day before. Has already sent you, like, a thousand messages. Is what can only be described as obsessed—but it's mutual. Could have fooled me.

As his eyes glance down to his laptop screen, he fails to hide his smile. Had opened your chat on there, cause he didn't wanna accidentally broadcast the messages onto his stream. Despite this, he doesn't care that there are nearly 10,000 people in his stream merely minutes into it. Is far more interested in his chat thread with you. Replies immediately.

Stop distracting meI'm working</3

Giggling as the message pings through to you, there's a giddy quality to the way Jungkook makes you feel.

He'd spent the day in bed with you after your night together. Had wanted you to stay when he started streaming that evening. Said he'd only be an hour or so, and was incredibly pouty when you did leave.

It had just been him on last night's stream—headset off 'cause he didn't wanna adjust it back yet, hoodie on to hide his neck. The other boys were nursing hangovers, so he could do what he liked.

What he did do had you incredibly curious. Was just chatting. Talking to the comment section. Sleepily reeling off facts he'd recently learned about butterflies. Debating over their lifespan.

You're not naive to the fact that Jungkook does this streaming stuff as a profession, and are aware that the more people talking about his stream on other platforms, the more viewers he'll get.

Made sense for him to add fuel to the butterfly-related fire by talking about them.

Had sent you a message earlier that evening to ask what kind of butterfly you had on your skin.

A Monarch, you'd told him.

"See, the thing is," Jungkook had rambled to his viewers a little later on. "Most butterflies have super short lifespans—Monarch's included."

Eyes all starry, lights in his bedroom purple as per usual, he'd looked cosy. You wished you'd have stayed.

"But there's a specific kind. Migrating Monarchs. They're the last of their generation—the final butterflies of the year," he marvelled at the magic of it all.

His facts were a little hazy, but he knew enough. Had been down a you-shaped rabbit hole all afternoon.

"And they migrate, right? Move away from home—somewhere warmer—and then it just extends their lifespan. 180 days. Not 30. That's six months. Six months. It's a long time. It's not fleeting. Not in the slightest."

It's also, curiously, exactly how long you're scheduled to stay in Korea for.

"I dunno," Jungkook had just sighed, a little forlorn, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his thumb against the hard plastic ears of his headset, then focused on the camera again. Wondered if you were watching.

He simply shrugged. Said, "Counts for something, though, right?"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #streamer!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader

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wrongplacerighttime · 20 days

Text

bartender!harry x you

your favorite bartender names a drink for you, and you're almost convinced its the end of the world, until your heart leads you back to him.

featuring: soft!harry, an apology, and a cat named Sylvester.

tw: 18+!!, mentions drinking, angst, lots and lots of fluff, soft smut, small itty bitty breeding kink if u squint really hard.

wc: 5k

marigold

A typical Saturday night for you looked like this:

One too many whiskey shots, karaoke with your friends, and passed out on the way home in the uber someone ordered.

This Saturday wasn’t any different so far.

You had just gotten off the stage, out of breath from singing Strawberry Wine a little too loudly with your friends. You wove your way through crowds of sweaty bodies and made your way to the bar in the back.

And there he was. Your favorite person on earth.

The bartender.

It wasn’t because he was the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life, or the fact that he listened to you whenever you were spiraling wistfully through your drunken thoughts.

It mostly just came down to the fact that he made really good drinks.

Harry knew exactly how you liked your whiskey, at what point in the night you’d want a margarita to cool off with (usually after the karaoke), and he knew when to cut you off before you regretted it the next morning.

So when you stumbled over to the bar looking for his signature smirk, he was already sliding the glass across the lacquered surface, placing a lime on the rim once you settled yourself on the barstool across from him. He went back to washing glasses, biceps flexing and relaxing between motions under the sleeves of his black tee as you sip on your drink.

He watches you out of the corner of his eye, keeping you within earshot while some prick named Garret flirts with you. It almost hurt his feelings when he didn’t hear you rejecting his embarrassingly cheesy advances. He knew he could treat you better than any other asshole in this place, so it always surprised him when you would leave with one of them. He just wanted you to be safe, and he knew that the men that frequented his bar weren’t some of the finest to grace your presence. He would try his hand at flirting with you, tell you how nice you looked, and use his pick up lines that worked with so many others.

But they never worked on you...or so he thought.

You were an enigma to him, a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

“Leave me alone, Garret. I’m not leaving with you tonight.” He heard you mumble, however, Garret was persistent. He glances over out of the corner of his eye and sees that Garret has you cornered in your seat, his arm around the back of your chair and the other steadied on the bar as he leaned into you. You were trying to create space, but he was practically pushing you up against the wall and Harry didn’t like that. He threw the towel over his shoulder and turned to face the situation.

“Garret, she said she wasn’t leaving with you. I suggest you get lost, unless you want to be barred from my establishment.” He says calmly, but firm. He leans his weight into his own arms placed on the bar, muscles flexing and veins popping, cocking an eyebrow upwards as he watches Garret intently. Harry's eyes never leave Garret as his flick between the two of you. He mumbles expletives under his breath before pushing from the bar and stumbling away. Harry hears you breathe out a sigh you had been holding in and when his eyes meet yours you smile.

“Thanks. He’s relentless.” You pause. “Sometimes I go home with him so he’ll just leave me alone.” You confess and he’s never heard you say anything like this before, he's not even sure you understood what you implied. Instead of replying immediately, he listens. Listens to you ramble about Garret and every other guy that attempts to win you over with their drunken pick up lines. He was scrubbing a glass, lost in his thoughts, thinking how it would look to have you upstairs in his apartment, dancing around the kitchen with each other when you clear your throat, plucking him from his daydreams.

“I asked you a question, Har.” You giggle as you sip through the straw in your glass.

“Sorry, flower. I was a little distracted.” He peeks over, smirking. “What did you ask?” “I asked if there was anyone special in your life.” Curiosity getting the better of you, because he always listens to what you have to say and you're tired of talking about yourself. He'd never talked about a girlfriend before and you're not sure how someone as beautiful as him could be single.

“If you count my cat, Sylvester. Otherwise, no.” He informs you and you widen your eyes.

“You have a cat?” Your words slur together in disbelief and he nods.

“Does that surprise you?” He asks with a chuckle.

“Just don’t strike me as the cat type.” You pause, thoughts swirling through your head. “I want to meet him.”

“I promise you don’t. He’s a terrorist.” He jokes, laughing between his words. “I found him outside under the dumpster when he was just a baby…I haven’t known peace for a single day since.” He says in a serious tone and it makes you laugh. He brings down bottles of liquor and mixes and juices from the shelf above his head and mixes up concoctions, tasting them before pouring them out. To you, it seems like a waste. You let him go on for a while longer before you decide to interrupt.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“Just been working on a new signature to add to the menu. Can’t get the ratio quite right though.” He mutters and you watch as his hands move expertly around the bottles, mixing exact ratios without having to measure them out.

You chat for a while longer, enjoying his company until your friends find you and they’re ready to leave. You tell him goodbye and he watches you until you disappear out the door, wishing he had the guts to tell you how he feels outright instead of dancing around the topic, and how he only has eyes for you every time you come in here.

You’re the sole reason why he works on Saturdays.

He’ll never forget the first time he saw you at his bar. He was upstairs in his apartment reading when he looked at the clock and noticed it was nearing closing time, an hour or so left until the straggling patrons would be forced out and he knew that last-call had already been announced. He went down to see if the bartender working needed help with anything before he turned in for the night, and when he stepped in he saw you laughing with your friends at a high top table.

It was over for him then.

He hung around for the next hour, nursing a draft in a glass he poured himself and fighting the sleep begging to take over his body. Your group wasn’t paying attention when all the lights came on, brightening the dimmed room, you didn’t notice you were the last ones here and if he was waiting for an excuse to talk to you…that was it. He made his way to you, weaving through chairs and tables and when you looked at him, finally, he almost lost the words he wanted to say. Stuttering over them, he felt embarrassed as you smiled at him and you and your friends hopped from your stools and left, but not before he mustered the courage to ask you if you were coming back anytime soon and you nodded, informing him that you and your friends had been coming every Saturday for a few months now, his bar quickly had become their favorite spot. He felt guilty that he hadn’t paid attention before, but he made sure he was the one behind the bar every Saturday since then.

Now, here you were. Walking out laughing with your friends, like you did every Saturday, without a second look back at him…even though he willed it to happen every time.

Yet, he couldn’t wait until next week to do it over again.

Next Saturday comes and it’s unfamiliar territory for you this time. It was your turn to be the designated driver, you and your friends trying not to pay excessive amounts for rideshares anymore. While your friends make their way to a table, you detour to the bar and when your eyes meet Harry's, his hardened expression turns to something lighter as you approach. He’s smiling, a toothy grin that has you biting the inside of your cheek and looking at the floor.

Maybe it was the lighting…or maybe it was the idea of him. You had never really seen him while you were in a sober mindset and this was a different dynamic. He knew the drunk you, the one who was confident and not afraid of anything.

Truth be told, you were a little nervous to talk to him. He always pushed shots towards you when you walked in, and you were grateful for the confidence boost it gave you because otherwise you didn’t think you’d even approach him.

But it’s hard to remind yourself that you don’t need to be nervous, it’s just Harry.

“There’s my flower.” He greets you with the nickname he penned for you after a few weeks of chatting and getting to know you. He pushes the shot towards you but you shake your head as you hop up onto the bar stool and he cocks an eyebrow at you, confused at your refusal. “Are you sick? Do I need to take you to the ER?” He jokes and you laugh.

“No, actually. I’m just taking on the role of designated driver tonight.” You rest your chin in your hand and sigh. He replaces the whiskey with a glass of ice water feigning hesitation, mouthing a “sorry” as he moves down the bar to take other orders.

He’s busy for a while so you sit and watch him sling drinks and pour drafts. He’s comfortable, he’s confident, and you feel a sense of longing for him, willing him to come back over and talk with you…and you wonder why you’d never accepted his advances before. It could be that you were scared, not thinking he was serious and that he was just being a friendly bartender. You were always drunk and the alcohol clouded your judgment slightly.

But you always knew when he was flirting. He would clear your tab, and you would walk out paying literally nothing more often than not. He wouldn’t even let you tip him because he refused to take your money and he insisted that he made enough.

As if he could read your mind, he came back over and was breathing heavily out of breath from trying to keep up, the amount of people in the bar nearing capacity. Still, he smiles at you and as he’s catching his composure he grabs bottles from the shelf above him.

“Remember that drink I was making last week?” He asks and you search your memory to pinpoint the moment he was talking about. You faintly recall him mixing drinks and tasting them before dumping them down the drain, so you nod. “I think I finally got it right.” He says while pouring the concoction, placing it in your view once it was complete, then he perches an orange on the rim and slides it towards you.

“I said I wasn’t drinking.” You joke, knowing a sip won't be enough to have you feeling any effects, bringing the glass up to your nose and sniffing, the scent of citrus and schnapps filling your nostrils and when you sip, there’s a hint of something floral that you can’t quite place. It’s perfectly layered, the orange fading into yellow seamlessly like a sunrise left unblemished in a cloudless sky, shimmering just slightly in the low lit atmosphere.

And it’s so good.

“Do you like it?” He asks, waiting for your response and shifting his weight nervously. He needed it to be perfect for you…because it was for you. You nod, swallowing and meeting his eyes.

“It’s delicious. What are you calling it?” You ask and the corner of his mouth pulls up in a half grin.

“I think I’m going to call it a Marigold Sunrise.” He says, the volume of his voice almost getting lost in the chatter around you both and you could’ve sworn you misheard him.

“I’m sorry?” You almost choke, sputtering over your words. “Marigold?” “Yeah, actually. I remember one night you told me they were your favorite. I added the floral notes, I think that’s what it was missing. It's yours. I made it for you.”

Your head spins momentarily at his words. He remembered? You were sure that conversation happened over a year ago. You stare at him, blinking with a blank expression painted over your face. You don’t know how to react. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a drink.

Except your mind convinces you this makes things more complicated than they need to be. He’s just the bartender at the bar you frequent, this meant you were going to have to find somewhere else to go, because you couldn’t actually spend your time here anymore knowing he probably expects you to give him something in return.

But he’s not just a bartender. He’s Harry. The reason why you come here. The reason why your friends tease you incessantly on the way home every Saturday…because you’re always watching him when he isn’t looking, slotting yourself behind the bar with him in your doe-eyed daydreams. Daydreams you thought would never come to fruition.

“Harry, this is…too much.” The words tumble from your lips before you really think about them. His brows pull together, confusion lacing his eyes.

“What? I thought—” “Whatever you thought, save it. I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this.” Your tone is harsher than you wanted it to be. You push the glass away and gather your things, walking away from him without so much as a glance back. You find your friends, apologizing for ruining their fun but that you would take them somewhere else, wanting to be anywhere but here.

Harry stands behind the bar, dumbfounded and lost on what he did wrong. He watches you leave, holding the door for your friends. Your head moves slightly, and he can just make out the outline of your profile. He thinks you’re going to look back at him, come back and explain to him what he did to make you react this way.

But you don’t.

This time he doesn’t know if you’ll come back.

The street was quiet and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, blue hue taking over the dark of the night. The bar was dark except for the light left on behind the bar and the neon hanging on the walls. He might even already be in bed. After you left earlier, your friends requested a bar on the other side of town and you drove them there on autopilot, sitting at a table staring blankly at the wall, the sounds around you muffled from lack of focus on your part. When they were ready to leave, you got them home safely and aimlessly drove around with no destination in mind. You let your mind wander, and after you finally placed your feelings you found you had subconsciously made your way back to him, back to the bar. Like your heart was making your decision without you even realizing. Like it knew where you needed to be.

So you forced yourself out of the driver's seat and timidly made your way to the door. You didn’t know if he would be able to hear you, but you knocked on the glass of the front door anyway. You hug yourself around your torso, the chill of the night air making you shiver slightly. After a moment you’re about to give up, but you see him come around the corner and his eyes widen at the sight of you, his expression reading that he very much was not expecting you to show up at this time, or even at all. The bar closed at 3:00 AM and it was nearing 5 as you stood there waiting for him to open the door.

“Come in, it’s freezing out there.” He says as the barrier between you swings open, the bell above ringing in your ears. You step inside, finding reprieve in the warmth of the bar. You watch him in the afterglow of the neon. It feels out of place, being here in the early hours of the morning, neither of you having had any sleep yet and he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. You look towards the floor, fiddling with your fingers and you feel terrible that you’re keeping him from sleep, which you’re sure he’d rather be doing after the way you left him earlier.

“I’m sorry, I’m interrupting your rest. I should just go, I don’t know why I came.” You say sheepishly, gesturing a thumb towards the door and you almost turn around before he grabs your arm before you get the chance.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re here. I was almost asleep.” He yawns, stretching his arms over his head and you shake your head.

“This can wait, really. I’ll let you go back to—”

“Flower, I said it was okay. I want you here.” His eyes search yours for a moment before he looks away, towards the stairs that lead up to his apartment. “Do you want to come up? I’ll get you some water.” He nods his head behind him and you nod wordlessly, following him as he takes you to a peek inside of his personality. You stay silent as he grabs a glass from his cupboard and moves through the small kitchen. You allow your eyes to wander around his space, and it’s not anything like you were expecting. You would never think a bar owner lives here, and if you had to describe it, it would be something like a masculine dark academia with a modern twist throughout the interior. He sits the glass in front of you before leaning against the opposite counter and you feel your nerves bubble in your throat when you remember why you’re here.

“Harry…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run away like that earlier. I really am flattered that you made your new signature something for me.” You pause, collecting your thoughts for a second before speaking again. “I’ve just never had anyone make anything for me before, I’ve never had some grand gesture done for me.” You motion with your hands, ultimately letting them fall against your lap again. “I know it sounds silly, and that might not be grand to any normal person, but I got scared…” Trailing off, you look down at your hands in your lap. “I don’t even know why I got scared. I really like you, and I don’t want to scare you away.”

The silence is deafening, the clock ticking on the wall counting the seconds as dawn creeps into the sky. You think he isn’t going to say anything.

Then he clears his throat.

“You could never scare me away.” You force your eyes to meet his. He comes around the counter, closing the space between you slightly. He stands in front of you, searching your face for anything he can find, as if he’s memorizing every freckle, the dip of your nose, the pink of your lips, everything he never wants to forget. “I want you…all of you. Everything you’re afraid of. Every good, every bad, everything in between. I want it all.” He steps forward and takes your hands between his, bringing them to his lips and kissing over your palm once. Resting his cheek against it, you cup his face, tilting your head slightly and biting the inside of your lip to keep your emotions at bay.

You’re both silent for a beat, conveying feelings through subtle glances ghosting over each other's features. You’d never seen him this close before.

He’s right here.

And he’s yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper and you nod once, slightly sucking in a breath, preparing for him to surge forward. He shocks you when he doesn’t.

His touch is gentle, featherlight over your jawline and your exhale is shaky, nervous like you’ve never been kissed before.

Your mind wants to wander…wants to get lost down the memory lane of bad lovers and all the times your subconscious thought of him, how it manifested him in your dreams.

His lips brush over yours and pull you from your thoughts. His hand wraps around the back of your neck, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck and he pulls you closer. His tongue darting out to wet his lips before he presses them to yours…and you melt, sighing against him as you fist his shirt. He was hesitant, like he was testing your boundaries.

You wanted him to know you were all in.

He pulls away just far enough to meet your eyes and if he were being honest, he thinks you’ll run from him again.

You’re thinking how the kiss didn’t last nearly long enough.

“Kiss me again. Please.” You whisper, and he doesn’t hesitate, bringing his lips back to yours like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing. This kiss is more than the first.

More desire…more eagerness…more everything.

His hands find your hips and pull you closer to him, dancing lightly under the hem of your shirt and your skin burns under his touch as you part your thighs and he slots himself between them. Your arms link around the back of his neck, pulling him closer and arching against him. His hands splayed across your back, feeling his want for you growing between your bodies and it makes your belly flip. Your hands drop from his shoulders, running over the expanse of his biceps and mapping their way to his waistline, dipping below the band of his sweats and palming over the fabric of his briefs eliciting a groan that transfers from his mouth to yours. He pulls your wrists from his body and pulls away from your lips, looking at you with dark eyes and his chest rapidly rising and falling trying to catch his breath.

“We don’t have to—I don’t expect you to sleep with me. I hope you know that I’m not just doing this to get myself off.” He places your hands against his chest, holding them there. “I meant it when I said I want all of you.”

“I know. I want all of you, too.” You whisper and he smiles. “I just want to show you how much.” You fist his shirt again and pull him back down to you. “Please let me.” You mutter against his lips, pecking lightly and he nods. He tugs at your hand, pulling you to a stance from your place at the counter and he leads you into his room.

Once there, he pushes you gently onto the bed and climbs over you planting kisses over the sensitive skin in the crook of your neck pulling a whimper from your mouth and he travels lower. He pushes your shirt up and runs his nose along the skin of your stomach leaving goosebumps in its path before you pull it over your head and throw it across the room. He smiles against you, crawling up and finding your face while peppering small kisses over your cheeks and the tip of your nose. His forehead meets yours and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of having you like this, flower.” He mumbles and you hum, a dopey smile playing on your lips.

His fingers caper down your torso, finding the button of your jeans and flicking it open with a certain expertise. You help him push them off your waist while your lips meet his once more, the naturally sweet taste of his tongue like candy on yours is something you would crave for the rest of your life. He disrobes his own clothes, barely breaking from your lips to pull his shirt over his head and tossing it towards the same general area as yours.

He spreads you open with his fingers, trailing a digit through your arousal and you shudder at his gentle touch. He teases your aching hole, petting over it continuously, drawing a whine from your throat.

“Tell me what you want, angel.” His voice is low, gravelly in the back of his throat. “Already know, just need to hear you say it.”

“You. Just need to feel you.” The intonation in your voice is nothing short of begging, and he’s not wasting time. He doesn’t want to play, doesn’t want to tease any more than he already has—barely has. He’s just as impatient as you are, fisting his cock and pumping once…twice before he drags the tip through to collect you all over him.

The feel of the most intimate part of him against you sends fireworks bursting through your belly. He lines up, pushing himself in and you both release a sigh, something just felt like it was falling into place. Like it was always supposed to be this way.

He halts when he’s fully in, pausing briefly to let you adjust to the stretch. Your hands grip around his biceps, indenting the muscle beneath his skin and he sets his pace…slow and sensual. You can feel it all, a fire igniting in your heart at every grunt and every groan he doesn’t hold back from you. You let your hands wander down the length of his torso, wrapping around his back and leaving the shapes of crescents in his skin. The sensation forces him to drop his head into your chest, licking and kissing down the valley between your tits as you arch your back, wanting him impossibly closer than he already is.

His pace picks up, his hips meeting yours with more fervor than before. Your eyes flutter closed again and he supports his weight above you on one arm. His movements never falter as he wraps one hand around the back of your neck and forces your mouth on his, teeth clashing and his tongue slips in. He moans into your mouth, the sound so sinful that you clench around him.

“Fuck, if you keep squeezing me like that m’not gonna last.” He mutters with a shaky breath. You smirk, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and sucking lightly before letting the plump skin bounce back into place. He chuckles and you push his sweaty curls away from his forehead. You pull him down to you, your mouth just over his ear and you taste the saltiness on his skin as you lick a path up his neck and he swears under his breath.

“Want you to cum for me, Har. Please. Need to feel it. Need you to fill me.” You whine into his ear and he mutters something incoherent.

“Need you to first, flower.” He pants through gritted teeth. His thrusts become hurried. He’s hitting every spot that you need him to, pulling his cock all the way out to the tip before sliding back into you in a way that has you so close, your resolve dancing on the thinnest of tightropes. He brings his hand to his mouth, spitting on his fingers before slotting it between the two of you, petting slow circles over your clit, and you tumble over.

“I’m gonna cum.” You say, your voice fading into a whimper when you feel the familiar burst of pleasure dance down your spine straight to your core. Your walls flutter around him, willing for him to spill inside of you. The stimulation sends him falling from his own cliff, his hips stutter before you feel his cock twitching and the warmth of him painting you and he drops his forehead to your collarbone, riding out his high slowly.

The both of you lay there, catching breaths for a moment while you run your fingers through his hair and down his back and back up again. Your thighs were still wrapped around him, but you let them fall to the bed and he hums as he slides out, laying beside you and tangling his fingers with yours. You turn towards him and smile

Wordlessly, you revel in each other's presence. He traces your jawline with the back of his hand, you poke his cheek with your finger and he laughs. He stands, pulling you with him into the bathroom. He starts the shower, pulling you to his chest and kissing you lazily while the water heats up.

In the shower, he spoils you a bit, washing your hair for you while you lean into his touch, your back pressing against him as he works his fingers on your scalp deliciously. He takes special care of washing over your skin with sudsy soap and if you weren’t so tired you probably would’ve entertained him with round 2 in the shower. Instead, when he rinses you off he sends you on your way and informs you what drawer he keeps his shirts in while he cleans himself.

Clad in an old, washed-out band shirt, you flop onto his bed and under the covers, exhaustion quickly setting in. You hear the water shut off, but not before you feel the mattress sink from some other presence in the room. Your eyes open and see who must be Sylvester coming closer to you and you grin, extending your hand to him and he sniffs before nudging his head against your fingers. He makes a spot beside you, curling his tail around himself as Harry steps from the bathroom.

He dresses himself and joins you, a look of confusion passing over his face in the orange glow of the rising sun filtering in through the window. You mirror it back to him and he laughs.

“He doesn’t even do that with me.” He informs you, gesturing to Sylvester fast asleep by your legs and you smile tiredly. “Now you really can’t leave.” He whispers, planting a kiss to your forehead before finding his own comfort under the duvet.

And lucky for Sylvester, you didn’t plan on going anywhere.

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 days

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader

[2.7K] loosely based on the movie float, lifeguard!steve, a summer full of swim lessons. mentions of drowning, eventual smut 18+

SWIM LESSON SCHEDULE

LESSON #3

You didn’t have to wait seven whole days to see Steve again, and when you did, it wasn’t poolside.

This meant that between you both, there were a lot more clothes than normal, but you found out the hard way that that fact didn’t really make a difference to the effect he now had on you. There was a party at some rich kids house on the outskirts of town, someone called Sam that neither you nor Eddie knew all that well but Robin used to work with him at the Shake Shack and well-- if Robin was going somewhere, Steve followed, and if Steve was allowed through the door, that meant Eddie had a ticket in too.

If Eddie was there? High chance you were too.

It’s how you ended up in a neighbourhood that rivalled even Steve’s, each house sprawled out across green manicured lawns and the pools out the back were almost as large as the one you were learning in, a shiny red slide to boot. Three stories, arched windows, a winding driveway to a three door garage and when you entered behind Eddie, the crystal chandelier in the foyer was vibrating to the beat of the music.

Two guys you recognised from the trailer park grabbed Eddie as he pushed his way through the crowd, your fingers hooked in his as he dragged you behind him. They were ready with cash, bills rolled up and an eagerly impatient look in their already glassy eyes, so you waved the boy away and headed to the kitchen, a safe enough sanctuary as you skirted around the makeshift dance floor that had been created in the living room. It seemed that anyone over seventeen and anyone under thirty was at the party, the large space full to the brim with drunken strangers, people moving to the synths of INXS.

The pushed back furniture made it difficult to move around the gyrating bodies, Sam’s parent’s cream coloured carpet already stained and sticky with questionable substances. The lights had been switched off and someone had strung multicoloured Christmas lights around the curtain poles, around the second chandelier above the coffee table. There was a broken disco ball sitting in a wall sconce, pink and green and blue hitting off each mirrored tile, making everything glitter.

You saw Steve before you could make it to the kitchen, rainbows on his cheeks, a stripe of colours across his lips. He was talking to a girl - a pretty redhead who had a drink in one hand and Steve’s bicep in another. The sight of him made you feel as warm as a saturday morning, as if you were walking into water with his naked chest in front of you, his pink cheeks and sleep mussed hair just for your eyes only. It felt almost unfair to see him now, surrounded by others, touched by someone else. He looked just as pretty with a striped shirt on, his hair styled and curling around his ears and neck, one hand shoved into his jeans pocket as the other gripped a beer.

His gaze caught your own, a fleeting thing before recognition clicked at the sight of you and then Steve was moving, the redhead’s fingers catching at his sleeve before he was in front of you, her frown behind him.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” Steve was smiling, eyes drinking in the corners like he was genuinely happy to bump into you. He craned his neck and spotted Eddie, raising his beer in greeting. “You want a drink?”

“Uh, yeah.” You smiled back, heart in your throat because Steve was placing a familiar hand on the small of your back in order to steer you into the kitchen and Eddie was grinning, a full beam that made your cheeks warm. “A drink sounds good.”

You let Steve pour you a vodka and lemonade, and he fumbled an ice tray he found in the back of the freezer, the fizz spilling over the rim of the glass as he handed it to you with a grin. You watched him lick the soda from his fingers, his eyes on yours as he smiled still, his cheeks a little pink and it felt like you were back in middle school and the pretty, popular boy was giving you too much attention.

You weren’t sure why, but you lapped it up happily.

Taking a gulp, you hummed, happy that your drink didn’t burn on the way down and Steve stayed close, his hand gone from the small of your back but his shoulder bumped yours and you could smell his cologne, leftover sunscreen and hairspray.

“You ready for lesson three tomorrow or are you planning on getting black out?” Steve asked with raised brows. “I gotta tell you now, legally, I’m not covered for drownings due to hangovers.”

You rolled your eyes, lips lifting into a smile you tried to suppress because you had absolutely no intention of getting messy drunk in the vicinity of Steve Harrington, with or without the threat of swimming the day after.

“It depends,” you joked anyway, “what does lesson three include?”

Steve smirked, leaning close, hair falling across his forehead and you could see the freckles over his nose, the glint of the chain he wore flashing under the collar of his t-shirt. “M’not sure I should tell you now.” He was all charm, a cheekiness you normally didn’t get to see up close. “You might stand me up.”

You scoffed, a dismissive sound that barely covered your embarrassment because you were sure that your eyes were wide enough to show off how flustered you were. You took another long sip, lemonade and bubbles coating your tongue and you watched Steve stare at the way you licked the vodka from your lips.

“I wouldn’t stand you up,” you murmured, barely heard over the thud of the music.

The boy beamed, ecstatic. “You wouldn’t?”

“Not unless you were planning something drastic, you know, like swimming.”

A laugh burst from Steve’s chest, his eyes shining with an amusement you were proud of producing. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, spreading his feet wide enough that you were able to stand between them. Not too close, not too suggestive, just close enough to each other that girls glared at you and no one tried to interrupt.

“Swimming? In a pool?” Steve cocked his head to the side, one hand nursing his beer, the other reaching out to poke at your side. You squirmed, amazed at how such a friendly touch seemed just as intimate as his hands on your bare back, keeping you afloat. He frowned at you, all faux confusion that made him look unbearably cute. “Who the fuck would think of that?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unable to stop smiling. Come to think of it, your cheeks ached a little, your grin permanently etched onto your lips since you saw Steve, whether it was from being flustered or amused. Your cheeks felt hot, your chest light and you barely noticed anyone else in the room.

It’s why you jumped when two hands caught your shoulders, a diabolical cackle in your ear as you recognised the scent of smoke and old spice a little too late. Eddie smelled like childhood and home but now, standing in a strangers kitchen with Steve Harrington, you couldn’t have been less impressed with your friend’s appearance.

“Hey, there’s a good chance I can shift the last of this green if I hit up this party on Maple Street,” Eddie half yelled over the music, his arm draped over your shoulder in a too familiar way. You wanted to elbow him. “You comin’ with or—?”

He was glancing at Steve over your head, brows raised, suggestive and waiting on an answer from him rather than you. You swallowed hard, noticing how Steve had seemed just as disappointed as you at Eddie’s arrival but he shrugged, nonchalant. “I could walk you home later,” the beer in his hand glinted in the low light, his fingers tightening around it. He smiled, eyes soft, “I don’t mind.”

You wanted to say yes. Fuck, you wanted to say yes so bad and the word was costing your tongue, buzzing and excited, a fizzy candy explosion. But you took too long to look at the boy, tanned skin and messy hair, scruff on his jaw that he hadn’t bothered to shave that morning, the freckles on his cheeks and neck that made you want to touch them.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d kissed a boy, never mind one you really liked. And perhaps that wasn’t even on the cards, maybe Steve didn’t like you in that way at all - but the idea of being alone in the darkened room with strangers, people you didn’t know and people who wouldn’t care if you fell into each other - it suddenly seemed a little too much for one night.

“Um, it’s— it’s okay,” you told him regretfully. You hated the way his eyes seemed to lose a little warmth, his lips turning down before he righted himself. “I should probably just go with Eddie.”

“Pussy,” Eddie coughed, barely concealed and Steve stared at the ground, cheeks pink.

You really did elbow your friend then, the sharp point of your arm finding his rims and he kicked at the back of your heel, childlike in the way he scuffled to get you back in a way that really wasn’t subtle.

“Thank you, though,” you smiled at Steve, hopeful that he’d return the gesture. He did, although not as warm as before, not as confident as he’d been as he’d guided you to the kitchen with a wide hand on your back. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow, right?”

Steve sank the last of his drink, licking it from his lips before nodding. He was already back out of the kitchen and you tried not to look defeated. “Yeah, ‘course,” he told you. “See you in the morning.”

“Well,” Eddie watched Steve retreat, his hand slapping down on your slumped shoulder. “You fucked that, didn’t you?”

Steve was already in the pool when you arrived the next morning, still sleep mussed and frazzled from the way your alarm had blared too loud. Despite three weeks of early mornings, it was still a struggle to pull yourself from bed. But the promise of a warm day, pink-blue skies and Steve Harrington made it so much easier than you ever thought.

You paused at the loungers for longer than you needed, your toes curling at the thought of stripping off your shorts and shirt because the swimsuit underneath was newer and skimpier and cherry red. Steve was underwater, swimming effortlessly beneath the surface from the shallows to the depths you weren’t brave to venture to yet.

So you took the opportunity to pull off your t-shirt, a ratty old thing that used to be Eddie's and you cursed picking it up from your floor, hoping Steve wouldn’t get the wrong idea despite how many times you’d told him that Eddie was just your friend.

You let it fall to the sun warmed tiles just as Steve broke the surface, pushing his hair back with one hand as he grasped the edge of the pool with the other. He grinned when he saw you, a familiar and friendly thing that made your heart jump but his gaze darted to your chest, just for a second, just for a tiny moment, and you remembered to feel shy.

“New suit?” Steve asked, sounding casual, his brows raised as if it didn’t really matter what the answer was.

You wondered what he’d say if you told him you’d bought it with him in mind, what he’d say if he knew you’d stared at your half naked frame in your bedroom mirror for far too long, inspecting each curve, each bruise, all the old silver scars and stretch marks, stripes along your thighs that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. This suit dipped low in the back, as modest as it still was in the chest. Would he think your boobs were too small? Too big? Too flat? Uneven? Could he tell?

Would it matter?

It was a vibrant colour against your skin, the same red as the cherries you’d scooped in your smoothie before you’d left, a shade off of Steve’s lifeguard shorts. It seemed too bright now, too silly, but you nodded regardless and tried not to make a big deal out of it.

Steve leant on the pool edge, chin resting on his tanned forearms, water dripping from his wet hair, clinging to his too long lashes. He tilted his head, appraising, gaze gentle, never staring. “S’nice. Colour looks good on you.”

His words made it a lot easier for you to unbutton your shorts and slip the denim over your hips. Chin ducked, you couldn’t hold eye contact, not bold enough quite yet. But you let the shorts drop from your thighs, hitting the tiles and you kicked them under the sun lounger as you flicked off your sliders at the same time. The sun was already blazing, rising higher in the sky, turning the tangerine edges into a warm blue and the heat of it slipped over your skin like a blanket.

Feeling a little less naked than before, you walked to the shallows, Steve swimming the length of the pool to meet you. You stopped just shy of the stairs, lips pressed together and brow furrowed, contemplating. Steve stopped too, watchful as you considered your next move the boy positively beamed when you dropped down to sit at the edge of the water.

The surface lapped at Steve waist when he stood, not too deep but certainly not the gentle entrance you’d become accustomed to. You cringed as you slipped both feet into the cool water, hands curling around the edge of the pool until your knuckles burned.

“Yeah?” Steve coaxed, sounding impressed. Proud. “You’ve got it. You can just slide right in, you’ll touch the bottom.”

You knew you would. The logic was in front of you, just like the bottom of the pool was very much visible. Looking down, you could see Steve’s feet on the tiles, rippling into funny shapes and sizes, his bare legs, just as tanned as the rest of him and dusted with coarse hair. He was planted there firmly, no current or waves to knock him over, steady as ever.

He lay his hands on the top of the water, palms up. His gaze met your own, his smile warmer than the morning. “I’m right here.”

It was comforting, his words, his closeness, even if you didn’t take his hands, he kept them there, waiting. It was enough for you to lean forward, bum slipping off of the warm tiled edge and into the cool water. You gasped as always from the shock of the temperature difference, the water rippling around the tops of your ribs and it was enough to make your nipples pebble, glaringly obvious under the new, thinner material of your suit.

If Steve noticed, he didn’t dare look down.

He did take a step forward though, enough for his toes to touch yours and you could count the freckles on the bridge of his nose, could see the chlorine water that still made his lashes cling together in spikes. It was intimate enough to make you wonder if something like this would’ve happened the night before if you’d stayed. If you had let Eddie and the boy shaped comfort blanket that he was go, if you’d hung back with Steve and shared secrets and drinks under the multicoloured lights, if you’d let him walk you home under the glow of street lamps.

If he would’ve kissed you at your front door.

But then the gate clanked noisily against the chain link fence and there was a splash big enough to soak your chest and the side of your face - Steve’s too - both screwed up in shock.

Eddie appeared from the water - the deeper, indigo coloured end - shaking his sopping curls like a wet, disobedient dog, his tattooed chest bare and much paler than Steve’s. He grinned through his curls, oblivious to whatever he’d just interrupted, his arms spread wide.

“What’s up, fuckers?”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot

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378262 · 2 years

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im kinda sad, theres a cool ass drag show on friday but i dont have any safe people to go with so idk i wont be able to go :/ sucks, ive always wanted to see one and this is the first one in my town

#its a part of the pride week too #like on saturday i might be able to go w my sister but shes... not really a safe person for me anymore #being in a tight crowded space with many others with someone i cant trust is a no-go #to delete

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literaila · 2 months

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the brunch

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru does not get jealous, just so everyone knows

a/n: (that previous statement was a lie) the brainrot is real

last part | next part

year four.

it’s a bit unusual for the house to be this filled, especially this early in the morning.

chatter echoes throughout the space, loud exclamations, and secret whispers, all making up a terrible-sounding symphony.

megumi and tsumiki are playing some elaborate board game with onlookers on the coffee table, both of them smiling proudly.

satoru is trying to tidy up the many different plates and cups everyone's left lying around, laughing when shoko rolls her eyes at something he's just said.

and you're in the kitchen, talking with nanami like you haven't seen him in several years--it's been three weeks.

it's very strange for the four of you. to let anyone--not to mention a dozen people--intrude on your carefully planned out saturday mornings. to invite others into your world of burnt breakfasts and uncombed bedhead.

but here you all are, managing.

and you’d reminded satoru probably seventeen times—too many times, he thinks, with far too many knowing glances—that hosting was not something to be taken lightly (and that you weren’t going to help him ((both of you know that you are)).

but he doesn’t mind this.

the crowded house, or the many different phone calls he had to make about getting this party (which he swore wasn’t one) set up. the loud sounds or the inevitable cleanup he'll try to swindle his way out of.

it’s quite nice. actually, satoru is a little proud of his makeshift brunch, and the fact that everyone came, and everyone seems happy. he likes that he can barely hear his thoughts, that there's nothing important enough for him to think about anyway.

and honestly, with all of it going on, satoru should not be this discontented with the fact that you’re smiling at someone else.

he invited nanami because he knows that you miss him and that you’re too embarrassed to admit that. or too proud, maybe. too forgiving. and he knows that you wouldn’t have done it yourself, had he not gotten involved.

but still. should satoru really have to sit back and watch as you fawn over a man who wore a suit to casual brunch?

no, he should not, thank you.

"what's wrong with your face?" shoko asks him after the silence has drawn on for too long, sounding very uninterested.

satoru shakes his head, snapping out of his daze. "what?"

"you've got a weird look."

"no, i don't."

"it's like that time that you chugged the entire carton of expired milk someone left in the fridge."

"don't remind me," he says, trying to put on a theatrical wince, but he just ends up looking back at you, with a blank face.

there is no time for joking, or flamboyancy, or caring about anything else in the world.

shoko does the same, her eyes trailing where his are, watching as you tilt your head at nanami, laughing when he murmurs something.

in typical nanami fashion, his lips only twitch a little bit, but it's enough to tell that he's amused by whatever conversation you're having.

that he's got your full attention, and he gets to watch your eyes as they shift from one glance to another and--

shoko nods, looking back to satoru, who is trapped in his stare. chained down at the mere thought of you. "oh," she says, rolling her eyes.

satoru doesn't look away, but grunts in the form of a question.

"you're an idiot, you know that?"

he frowns. "what?"

her eyes are exasperated, and her smile is all-knowing. she has always alluded satoru, and his very short attention span. and he kind of hates her, at this moment, for distracting him.

"seriously," she scoffs at his perturbed face, "after a whole year of living basically in the same room, i thought that the two of you would finally get over it."

"who?" satoru asks, smiling confusedly. "get over what?"

"you. get over yourself. honestly, only you and y/n would raise two kids together and pretend like there's no intimacy in it."

"what?"' satoru repeats, dumbly.

"and, by the way," shoko tells him, sipping on her drink. "jealousy is not cute."

and then she walks away, like she's answered a single one of satoru's questions.

and he frowns, thinking about it.

because--no, there's no way she was talking about him--he shakes his head. where would she even have gotten that idea? there's--

no.

and it’s—it’s not jealousy. he laughs off that thought.

satoru gojo is the strongest. he's the one everyone looks to. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about.

and besides satoru knows that you don’t get enough time away from your discombobulated family. that your life revolves around them, and they around you.

and the two of you have talked—at length—about the fact that you’re both young, and neither of you should live the lifestyle of some middle-aged parents, with no way to connect with the people in your age group. the people that would’ve been your family, in some alternate universe.

satoru knows that you don’t carve out the things that you need without being asked to, that you get anxious about these types of occasions--he's watched it happen before, when you were forced into a corner at one exchange event the two of you shared, or when yaga took you all out to dinner, and you'd shrink yourself in your seat until someone noticed.

he's seen you try to make yourself smaller at the convenience of others, and as he's grown (he almost winces at the thought) satoru has sworn to himself that he'd keep you from any situation where that might be necessary.

so he shouldn’t--he doesn't--mind that you’re having a good time. he should be--is--happy with himself, for setting it up so you could, for planning it around you, and the kids. he should be preparing himself to gloat in your face about the fact that he thought of this, and he set it up all on his own.

god. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about.

but that doesn't change the fact that satoru can't really see beyond you, ten feet away from him, laughing at something that nanami said.

and maybe it's not the fact that you're talking to him, or that you're smiling at him like satoru wants to be smiled at, he thinks, but more that you don't act that way with him.

satoru is well aware of the grounds in your relationship, and he knows that you spend most of your days rolling your eyes at the obnoxious things that he says, trying to protect the children--and him--from the antics that you've all grown used to.

he's not jealous, but maybe he's a little bit annoyed that he hasn't seen you this easy, and light since you were still in school. since you were still younger than him, and still someone he could look down upon.

you cling to nanami like satoru clings to you, he realizes, sullenly. you smile and tease--if just the way your eyes crinkle means anything.

you grin at nanami like you're trying to irritate him. like you're the reckless one between the two.

and maybe it hurts satoru more just to know that you are the reckless one.

he'd lived with the two of you for three years. he'd experienced nanami's typical brooding--which, now, reminds him a lot of megumi, actually--and the way he'd think through everything. maybe a little bit too much, even.

satoru was always there to watch you giggle alongside the austere man, pull him out of whatever thought process was darkening the mood, and remind him that none of it was all that serious.

satoru knows--he knows--that you and him are similar. he knows that it's why he feels the way he does with you. that the way the two of you dance around your emotions, and say nothing that you truly mean is something to cherish, if also something to despise.

he's not jealous, but maybe it hurts satoru because he knows that you've never been able to truly not care, with him. that he takes up all of the ignorance one household can get, even without meaning to.

or maybe it's just been a long time since he got the chance to watch you interact with anyone else.

maybe he's just ridiculous, and he should go do something else before he thinks about this for too long. shoko is wrong, though, he thinks. he's definitely not jealous.

he's satoru gojo. he doesn't have anything to be jealous about.

but he's still watching when you shake your head at something nanami says, tapping him on the shoulder and excusing yourself while waving him on, still light and airy, eyes meeting satoru's with that same grin.

it's probably worse to know that it doesn't quite belong to him. that he's not the sole benefactor of it all.

"hey," you say, bumping into him on purpose when you come over, your hands wrapping around his forearm as you lean on him. "need help?"

"nah, i've got it," he finally looks away. he doesn't want to watch this.

but you're still grinning at him, trying to catch his eye--even with the sunglasses. "you're all alone over here," you coo, "i can help you clean up."

satoru snorts. "i thought you weren't going to help with anything."

"well, since i'm already here..." you drawl, beginning to pick up spare utensils, and napkins. all of the things he'd been too distracted to do.

you're humming as you do it, completely content with everything.

satoru tries not to grind his teeth at the fact that your mood is not because of him.

"how's nanami?" he asks, unprecendented, after a moment.

you shrug. "he's good. i guess the real world sucks too," you say it with a lilt, like there's an inside joke that satoru is missing.

he shakes his head, trying to keep his words civil. "the real world?"

"the corporate universe, and laws of reality, or whatever," you roll your eyes, and you sound exactly like him. "no curses or magic to liven things up."

"no monsters, you mean."

"or that," you smile at him, looking almost giddy.

satoru hums.

you put all of the trash you've collected on a serving dish, piling things up without a care in the world. and then you turn towards satoru, and he can feel your slight frown before he can see it. "you okay?" you ask him.

satoru freezes. "what?"

"is it getting to you? the brunch?"

"what? no, i'm fine," he tries to look at you like you're ridiculous, but his face feels stiff, and wrong, and far too happy for you.

"you look like your tongue is too big to fit in your mouth."

he sticks his tongue out, almost on command. "does it look any different?"

"hmm," you pretend to observe. "yeah. might want to see a doctor about it."

"noted."

"are you trying not to laugh at something? you can tell me if i have something on my face, you know."

satoru's smile is a bit easier at that, but he shakes his head anyway. he kind of wants to run away to his room--something he's learned from raising two children. "no, i'm just thinking."

you raise a brow.

satoru scowls. "what? you didn't think it was possible?"

"no, not really."

he shakes his head. he tries to turn away, scoffing like it's a joke (it's not), but your hand reaches for his bicep before he can.

"hey," you say to him. he turns back to you, and your smile, nose scrunched up as you lean in. "how are you?"

"busy. i have to go make sure there's enough ice in that bucket."

"i'll come with you," you say, even though you both know that he's lying.

"no. i'm sure nanami has more he wants to talk with you about."

"is that what this is about? nanami? are you mad at him, or something?"

"why would i be mad at him?"

"i don't know, satoru, your brain is a confusing thing," you tug on his hair just a little bit. "hey, c'mon. why're you upset?"

"i'm not upset."

satoru should be basking in your attention, but he can't quite bring himself to notice it. or that you spend every day with him--mostly without complaint--and never fail to laugh at something he says.

no, his thoughts are not very organized, at the moment.

"you've got your little angry pout on," you nudge his lips with a finger. "i think you've been spending too much time with megumi."

he grabs your hand, trying not to squeeze. "i'm fine. go hang out. you're not supposed to be helping me."

this time, you pout. "you don't want to spend time with me?"

he groans, throwing his head back. "i'm trying to be nice," he tells you. "you know, like how you're always telling me to?"

"ew," you say, giggling a little bit. "i don't like it."

he rolls his eyes.

"seriously, come hang out with me and the kids. we can beat them at charades, or something, again. you need a little pep in your step."

"what are you, my mom?" he deadpans but feels his heart twitch a little bit because you're still holding onto him.

"might as well be. take a break, satoru, i miss you."

you say it so easily and nonchalantly that satoru wants to pick you up and lock you in a little box, just so you can never talk to anyone but him again.

he stares at you, blinking beneath his glasses, feeling like you're doing all of this just to mess with him.

honestly, whiplash is a serious condition.

you smile at him, fluttering your eyelashes unknowingly, pouting at him a little bit, even through the smile.

and satoru's never been able to say no to you, so he lets you pull him with you, back to the kitchen, where you grab nanami too--to the dismay of satoru, of course. he tries not to glare.

and satoru chooses to ignore the discerning look that nanami sends him, and the fact that his arm tightens around your waist as you drag the two men along.

he's not jealous. god, it's just very loud in here.

somewhere several minutes earlier, when the two of you were standing just a little bit too close to each other, both of you pouting, looking like two children fighting over a toy--you had a couple of spectators.

shoko scoffs, shaking her head. "that's disgusting."

you're on your tiptoes, head tilted as you purr something to satoru. they can't see his eyes from twenty feet away, but they can all tell that they're stuck on you. glued, never to be torn away.

megumi looks at the woman, then follows her eyes to the two of you, blank-faced.

tsumiki giggles.

"we know," they both say, rolling their eyes.

next part | series masterlist

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70sscifiart · 3 months

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The trope I'm exploring with Space Crowd Saturday existed before Star Wars, but 'A New Hope' still stands as the biggest popularizer of the concept. Here's Ralph McQuarrie's Mos Eisley Cantina art.

#Space Crowd Saturday #Ralph McQuarrie #photo set #star wars #Mos Eisley

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alotofpockets · 7 months

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The regular | Part 1 | Alessia Russo

Pairing: Alessia Russo x Reader

Summary: Your cafe gains a new regular after Alessia's move to Arsenal.

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | words: 2.1k

Part 1 | Part 2

Over the past few months you gained a new regular at your cafe. You loved seeing familiar faces and having small conversations with these people that showed your business love over and over again. You had recognized this new customer instantly as you are an avid watcher of women’s soccer, it was none other than Alessia Russo. When she first came into your shop, you greeted her with a smile, “Goodmorning, what can I get for you today?” You greeted her like you greeted every customer, understanding that besides being a famous soccer player, she was also just a person looking for a morning coffee. She ordered and took a seat in one of the corner booths.

She had come in almost every morning for the next few weeks. You were slightly suspicious of what the Manchester United player was doing here in North London, but again you were not wanting to impose and let her live her life outside of fame. So, when you came across the announcement that Alessia had transferred to Arsenal, the pieces clicked. Though, of course you continued treating her like a regular customer, letting her enjoy her personal space.

You opened up the cafe for the day and got to work on setting out the freshly baked pastries. You had opened the door for some fresh air, while you cleaned off the tables you didn’t get to last night. At the sound of footsteps, you turn around, you were met with the smile of none other than the newest member of Arsenal herself. “Hi, good morning.” You greet her with a smile of your own. “Hi, sorry I know you’re not officially open yet but I was wondering if maybe I could get a coffee to go?” The girl had such an hopeful look in her eyes that you could hardly resist, not that you would have resisted in the first place. “Yeah, no worries, of course you can.” You knew Arsenal was playing Manchester United today at Leigh Sports Village, the home stadium of her old club, and the players' bus likely had to leave within 30 minutes.

She gives you her order and you start working on it. “Thank you so much,” She starts as you hand her the cup. “you’re a lifesaver. Your coffee is the only thing that keeps me going in the morning.” You laugh with her. “Any time, I hope you have a great morning!” As she pays for her drink she tells you to keep the change for getting her a coffee before opening, you try to refuse but she insists. “Thanks again. I hope you have a great day as well.” And with that she’s out the door again.

That night you watch the match from home, you’re incredibly shocked at how rude the Manchester United fans are towards Alessia, every time she touched the ball the crowd chanted all kinds of boo’s her way. You felt for the girl, this was no way to treat a person. When you heard the Arsenal fans chant ‘Lessi Russo we’ve got - Lessi Russo we’ve got’ you were proud of your team's efforts to make Alessia feel welcome, and hoped that she was able to focus on the positivity instead of the negativity.

It was a busy Saturday morning at the cafe, still each time you heard the little bell at the door ring, you looked up to see if it was Alessia but it hadn’t been her all morning. You went around the shop seeing if anyone wanted refills on their coffee as your coworker Mandy helped the people in line with their orders. It was only after the lunch rush that Alessia walked through the door. The usual smile plastered on her face was replaced with a tired looking frown, your heart sank. When you notice her slumping down into a seat without ordering, you decide to go ahead and make her regular order for her. You set the cup down in front of her. “On the house.” You tell her when she looks at you in question.

When a group of middle aged men wearing Manchester United jerseys walked in your eyes quickly shot to Alessia, she had her backs to them so she didn’t realize. You hoped these fans weren’t like the rude ones you saw on TV last night as you took their order. The group walked past Alessia’s table and sat down a couple tables over. They immediately started whispering to each other and pointing Alessia’s way. Alessia noticed the group and looked up, the men started laughing loudly when she made eye contact with them. You saw Alessia look back down at her coffee with a sad expression on her face. “Hey, Mandy, can you take over for a bit?” Mandy agreed instantly and you walked straight to Alessia’s table.

You stand with your back to the men, and send Alessia an apologetic look. “Hi miss, that private table in the back is ready for you. If you follow me, I’ll lead you to it.” Alessia nods, grabs her bag and follows your direction. You hold open the door to the back and lead her to your office. “I am so sorry for them, Alessia. Please take all the time you need here. I can kick the group out if you want.” Alessia shakes her head, “It’s okay, they didn’t do anything yet. Wait, you knew something happened without them doing something and you know my name.” A slight blush reached your cheeks, there was no more hiding the fact that you didn’t know who she was. “I, eh- yes, I didn’t say anything, but yes. I’m y/n, to keep the name part even.” Alessia takes a seat on the couch in your office, “You knew this whole time and didn’t say anything?” You shrug, “Yeah, I’m sorry, I figured you got recognized enough and deserved regular interactions too.” Alessia smiled for the first time since she walked in. “No, no, don’t apologize. It is refreshing, just being able to order my coffee and stuff, it’s one of the reasons I enjoy your shop so much.”

“You saw the game yesterday then?” Alessia questions, once again looking down. “Yes, I did. Those Manchester United fans were absolutely horrible and I am so sorry that they treated you so badly during the game. I think you played really well, Alessia, you didn’t deserve that, no person does.” After a deep sigh, Alessia says, “Yeah, they were.” You sit with her, “For what it’s worth, I’m very happy that you joined Arsenal.” Alessia’s smile grows again, “You’re a Gooner?” In response you just say, “Lessi Russo we’ve got.” and you both start laughing. Alessia looks around, now that she’s calmed down a bit she realizes where she is, “The owner won’t mind that I am in here?” You decide to joke with her as your first answer. “Yeah, I don’t think she will mind.” She searches your face, “Are you sure?” The corners of your mouth perk up, “Oh, very sure.” You can’t hold your laughter in anymore. “I feel like I am missing something.” Alessia says with a confused look on her face. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Alessia, I am the owner, and I do not mind that you're here.” She rolls her eyes and playfully hits your arm. You talk for a bit longer before Alessia says that she has an appointment to get to. “Can I get you a coffee to go real quick?” She nods, “Yeah, I’d love that.”

You head to the front to make her coffee to go and see that the men are still there. “Here you go. They’re still here, we have a back exit if you want to ignore their presence entirely?” Alessia thanks you and follows you to the back exit. “You should come to one of our upcoming games, if you’d like.” You smile at her, “Yeah, that sounds fun.” She points to your apron, “Can I borrow your notepad for a second?” You hand it to her and watch her write something down. “Here’s my number, text me and I’ll get you into whatever game you’d like.” And with that she’s out of the door. You look down to the number with a smile on your face. When you hear Mandy call out for your help you quickly drop the note on your desk and head back to the front. “Thank you for covering, Mandy, I appreciate it.” After work that day you texted Alessia, and made plans to come see them play against Aston Villa.

The next day was slow, one Sunday it was super busy, and the other it was quite the opposite. However, soon after that thought the quiet got interrupted by the bell ringing, within seconds the room filled with chatter, you looked up and saw Alessia welcome in a group of her fellow Arsenal players. She sends you a quick wave and follows her teammates, Katie, Beth, Viv, and Leah to a booth. It was just you today, so you headed their way to take their orders. “Hi ladies, what can I get for you?” Beth is the first to talk. “Hi, Alessia over here has told us all about you, and we wanted to come see for ourselves.” After a warning nudge by Viv, she adds, “Your cafe, of course. She said the coffee was amazing here.” You smile and take their orders. “All right, coming right up.” You say not noticing the warning glances Alessia sent the other girls.

You make each of their drinks and bring them to the booth. Katie gets your attention before you turn back to the counter. “I heard you were going to come see us play next week.” You smile at the group, “Oh yeah, I am. Alessia is going to get me a ticket. I’m very excited to see you all play live.” You engage in some more small talk with the girl before letting them enjoy their coffee. As soon as you turn your back on the group, the table starts pushing Alessia to go talk to you.

Alessia walks up to the counter, you smile at her when she greets you. “Hey, did I forget something?” You ask in return. “Oh no, I just wanted to see how you were doing today.” You were happy to see that she was back to her smiley self. “I’m doing good, it’s been slow today, so I was happy to see you walk in. How about you, how are you?” Alessia leans on the counter, standing in a more comfortable position. “I’m doing well, we just got back from practice and when the girls said they wanted to get some coffee together, I told them this was the perfect place.” “Well, thank you for the compliment, I really appreciate it.” Alessia turns around and walks back to the table but you see her teammates pushing her back towards you, you smile at the scene in front of you, but quickly hide it when Alessia comes back your way. “Actually, I did have a question.”

You noticed the woman in front of you getting nervous. “Okay, ask away.” Alessia plays with the rings on her fingers. “I was wondering if you had any plans for tonight.” You smile at her, butterflies start filling your stomach. “That depends on your next question.” You joke. She stops fidgeting with her rings and looks up to read the expression on your face, when she sees you’re smirking she knows that she can continue. “Would you like to get dinner tonight? With just me, not the whole team, though we could do that too if you’d like that more.” She starts rambling. “Yes, I would love to. It’s a date, just you and me.” You discuss some details before Alessia heads back to the table. You hear them cheering her on and smile to yourself.

Not long after more people enter the shop. You help everyone with their orders with a smile that won’t falter. Alessia joins in the small line of customers. “Hi.” You greet her. “Hey.” She says back, you both smile at each other and hold eye contact for a moment before Alessia continues. “Can I pay for the whole table?” You put in the amount for the table and she pays, again with a tip. “I’ll see you tonight.” She says before joining the rest of the girls, you wave at them when they walk out. The rest of the day flies by as you are looking forward to your date with Alessia.

Continue reading part 2

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#alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x y/n #arsenal women #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

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MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Sixteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Jealousy, Angst, Possessive Behaviours, Syltherin!Boys, asshole!Berkshire, Kissing, Threats Of Violence, Weaponizing!TomRiddle, Dirty Talk.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

As darkness shrouded the castle on the overly-anticipated Saturday evening, Tom guided you into the lively heart of the Slytherin common room, a space pulsating with carefree energy and laughter. Students adorned in their finest attire swirled around you, their faces flushed with excitement, their voices mingling in a chorus of revelry. The air crackled with the tang of burning embers, and the room was bathed in a warm, golden glow emanating from countless floating candles overhead.

Amidst the joyful chaos, Tom's friends sat at a secluded table, an oasis of calm amidst the storm. Their demeanor was poised, their laughter soft and controlled, setting them apart from the exuberant crowd. As you stepped closer, you felt like a solitary figure navigating the maze of social intricacies. Emily, who had promised to join you shortly, was notably absent, leaving you feeling like a fish out of water in this sea of unfamiliar faces.

Tom's hand in yours provided some semblance of comfort, grounding you in the midst of the lively chaos as he introduced you to each one of his friends individually. Every introduction was a meticulously choreographed ritual, marked by the graceful dip of heads and the soft rustle of silk against polished leather. Their smiles, though polite, held a hint of calculated charm, concealing a labyrinth of secrets beneath their composed exteriors.

In this enclave of refinement, Tom's circle stood apart from the rest of the common room. The casual revelry of the other Slytherins felt distant, their laughter and chatter forming a separate backdrop to the sophisticated symphony of Tom's world. The room seemed to bend to the will of this select group, accentuating the stark contrast between their cultivated refinement and the more carefree atmosphere of the rest of the room. Here, every gesture and word was carefully curated, preserving an aura of exclusivity. You could tell this was not something they did very often, so when they did, it was absolutely noticed--the rest of the room seemingly more tame in response, a stark comparison to the last party you had ventured in on.

This group represented everything you had ever dreamed of being a part of, all the aspirations you had ever hoped to achieve. Yet, your focus--or rather, your entire fucking mind--was elsewhere.

And the very reason it was elsewhere was seated amidst a circle of his elite friends-- Nott, Berkshire, Black, Zabini, and Malfoy, with Pansy Parkinson at his side--Mattheo's intense gaze bore into you from across the room. His dark eyes, like orbs of obsidian, were sharp and penetrating, dissecting the scene meticulously, and no matter what the fuck you tried to do, there was absolutely nothing that could distract you from the feeling of his gaze, burning flesh wounds into your skin with each passing second.

While his friends engaged in lively conversations, Mattheo's attention was solely fixated on you and Tom. His focus, both laser-sharp and predatory, traced every movement, every touch, every nuance of your interactions with his brother. The air around him crackled with an unspoken tension, his lips pressed into a thin line, a manifestation of the restrained emotions churning beneath his composed facade. It was as though he was dissecting the scene before him, his mind processing every detail with the precision of a master strategist, all while his dark eyes remained fixated on you, as though he was scared that he'd miss something if he looked away.

As the night bore on, you began to grow more comfortable amidst the sophisticated chatter--getting to know a few of Tom's friends fairly well, discussing ambitions and graduation plans without even being offered a single drink. You honestly thought things had been going well, almost far too fucking well--until Tom excused himself momentarily, his eyes meeting yours from the seat next to you as he prepared to make his exit.

"I need to handle something," he said, his voice low and confidential, his eyes flicking to his brother across the room, before returning to you. "I noticed Mattheo watching you...why don't you go say hi? I should only be a few moments, I'll join you when I'm finished."

"Oh, no-uh..." you hesitated, knowing that Berkshire was present, a fact you couldn't ignore. "I don't think it's a good idea, Tom, me and-" you began, attempting to voice your concerns, but he cut you off with a soft, reassuring kiss.

His lips pressed against yours, brief yet meaningful, before he pushed up from the table, leaving you in the midst of the party, alone.

As Tom's figure disappeared from view, you caught another glimpse of Mattheo from across the room, his gaze intensified, his stormy eyes ablaze with a potent mix of irritation and complete fucking fury--something you've seen in his eyes a few times before, but never like this. He sat slumped in the chair, his form swallowed by the shadows, his tousled curly hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The dim light caught the sheen of frustration on his sharp features, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw and the determined set of his mouth. His fingers tightened around his drink, the muscles in his hands flexing with the effort to suppress the simmering anger bubbling within him.

You knew him all too fucking well at this point to know that he was not bloody happy, and you weren't entirely confident that approaching him was at all the right move at this moment. Yet, you weren't sure what else you were supposed to do.

But before you could dwell any further, Blaise's eyes, a glimmering shade of obsidian, met yours from across the room. His lips curled into a playful smile, beckoning you over to his group with a subtle yet irresistible gesture. Despite your inner turmoil, the unavoidable feeling of dread pooling in your stomach, you excused yourself from the table and began to hesitantly make your way through the crowded room, every step feeling heavier as you approached the circle of Slytherin boys.

Mattheo's presence never relented, slouchily seated in the love seat, legs spread far too fucking wide, his intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes, like twin storm clouds, seemed to dissect every movement, scanning every inch of your body as you moved, as if he was searching for something hidden beneath your skin. It sent shivers down your spine, and you fought to maintain your semblance of composure.

As you drew closer, Berkshire, always the instigator, couldn't resist the opportunity to unleash his venomous tongue. "As if you're going to call her over here," he sneered, his dark eyes gleaming with malice. "Didn't know our circle was open to charity cases."

The rest of the Slytherin boys, visibly inebriated and riding the wave of arrogance, chimed in with smirks and condescending remarks, reveling in their camaraderie at your expense. It was a calculated display of power, a reminder that you were the outsider in this exclusive circle, a pawn in their powerful game.

Suppressing your frustration, you took a seat next to Blaise, your eyes darting briefly to Mattheo, who watched your every move with an intensity that sent your heart racing. The air crackled with tension, and you felt like a lamb surrounded by hungry wolves, each one waiting for the opportunity to pounce. Yet, amid the arrogance and hostility, Blaise's charm provided a temporary shield.

"Ignore them," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody amidst the discord. "They're always like this. Besides, you look stunning tonight, little raven. Don't let them get to you."

Despite Blaise's efforts to calm you down, to deescalate the situation as best as he could, Berkshire persisted, seemingly unable to control himself.

"I hear you're quite the favourite of the prodigy," he sneered, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Must be thrilling, being the chosen one for a night."

Malfoy, ever the arrogant asshole, added his own twist. "Or maybe she's just a distraction," he said, his tone conspiratorial. "You know how Tom likes to keep himself occupied, especially when the stakes are high."

You parted your lips to say something, to defend yourself in any sort of way, when another voice cut through the air, cutting you off before you could even attempt to force out a syllable.

"Tom's little plaything, isn't that right?" Regulus’ words were laced with arrogance, his voice like a low growl. "Who would have guessed."

Blaise shot Regulus a warning glance, his eyes urging him to rein in his hostility, but the damage was done. The room felt suffocating, the weight of their words pressing down on you, threatening to crush your resolve, and you couldn't hold your tongue any further--if they wanted to play with fire, you were going to make sure you were the one holding the matches.

A derisive chuckle escaped your lips as you assessed the Slytherins before you. "Jealousy, gentlemen, is a rather unflattering shade on anyone," you remarked, your gaze settling on Berkshire. "I'd refrain from it if I were you, Berkshire, you're already hard enough to look at as it is."

Berkshire's lips curled into a sneer, his arrogance on full display. "Well, well, we've got ourselves a little spitfire, haven't we?" he retorted, his voice dripping with condescension. "Someone really needs to fix that attitude of yours...perhaps I'll let Tom know, I'm sure he'd be more than willing to fuck it out of y-"

Mattheo's eyes turned icy, his rough voice slicing through the air like a blade of frost. "Berkshire, I suggest you keep your filthy mouth shut before someone decides to shut it for you," he said, his tone frigid and devoid of any warmth. "Let's start the fucking game, yeah?"

Mattheo's attempt to restrain his anger only made his words sharper, emphasizing the dangerous edge lurking beneath his composed exterior--Blaise, seemingly sensing the danger rolling over the horizon, nodded eagerly, shifting in his seat as he scanned around the circle.

"Absolutely, let's get on with it," he chimed in, his tone more playful now. He turned his attention to Nott, a sly grin forming on his lips. "Nott, truth or dare?"

Nott, appearing unfazed by the tension that had just unfolded, raised an eyebrow and smirked back at Blaise.

"Dare," he replied confidently, his demeanor cool and collected.

Blaise's grin widened. "I dare you to snog the next person who enters this common room."

Nott chuckled, seemingly unbothered by the challenge. "Piece of cake," he said, leaning back casually, his eyes scanning the room for potential targets.

You caught yourself smiling at his causality, but when you noticed a familiar blonde haired girl walking in, her eyes scanning the room as though she was looking for someone, your heart stalled.

Blaise's voice cut through the silence. "Hey, isn't that-"

"Yes." You said, raising a hand to wave her over as her sight finally landed on you. "It is..."

Emily hurried over, her eyes widening in curiosity as she settled into the seat next to you, giving you a small greeting. The room seemed to hold its breath as Theodore stood up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Ah, perfect timing," Theodore said, his voice smooth and confident. "Emily, was it? Lovely name. I've been dared to kiss the next person who enters the room, so I must inquire, do you have a boyfriend, and would you be amenable to participating in this little game?"

Emily blinked in surprise, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Um, no boyfriend," she stammered, her gaze shifting nervously between Theodore and the expectant faces around her. "I guess...I mean, if it's just a game, sure, I guess that's fine."

The tension in the circle seemed to heighten as Theodore closed the distance between them, his eyes fixed on Emily's lips. The room fell silent, everyone holding their breath as he leaned in, his hand finding her chin, tilting her head back as his lips met hers in a brief, almost chaste kiss. The atmosphere crackled with a strange mixture of anticipation and awkwardness, your eyes meeting Mattheo's for a fleeting moment--one that felt as though it lasted forever, noticing his jaw tense and his eyes darken as he glimpsed your mouth, and then, as Theodore pulled away, a sly smirk played on his lips.

"There we go, a perfect dare fulfilled," he said as he reclaimed his seat, leaving Emily looking slightly dazed. "And that's how it's done, boys."

Theodore's triumphant tone hung in the air, echoing his satisfaction at successfully completing the dare. Emily, looking slightly embarrassed but surprisingly amused, exchanged a bewildered glance with you. It seemed like Theodore had a natural talent for both charm and mischief, a combination that made him rather unpredictable.

Blaise let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Well played, Nott," he said, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and approval. "I think we could all take some fucking notes."

Theodore's dark eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned his attention to Malfoy, who sat back, looking unfazed despite the intensity of the situation.

"Malfoy, truth or dare?" he asked, his voice dripping with calculated curiosity.

Malfoy, never one to back down from a challenge, arched an eyebrow. "Dare," he declared, his confidence unshaken.

"I dare you to serenade the group," Theodore proclaimed with an impish grin after a few moments of thought, his eyes flicking toward Pansy. "And Pansy here gets to pick the song."

You couldn't stifle the smile that crawled its way across your face as Malfoy's expressions dropped, Pansy sitting up straighter against the back of the couch as though she'd just been abruptly woken up from a slumber. As she pondered her thoughts for a moment, a sly smile crawled across her lips while she turned her attention to Malfoy.

"I heard this charming Muggle song recently. 'Can't Help Falling in Love' by Elvis Presley, do you know it?" When Malfoy groaned, reluctantly nodding, her grin widened. "Perfect. Sing it, Malfoy, let's see if you can capture the essence of a true romantic."

Malfoy, never one to shy away from a challenge, dropped the grumbling act and accepted the dare with a smirk. He stood up gracefully, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt with an air of confidence. The room fell into a hushed silence, anticipation hanging thick in the air.

With a deep breath, Malfoy launched into the Muggle love ballad, his voice slightly off-key but filled with an unexpected sincerity. Each word spilled out in an earnest attempt, and despite the imperfections, there was a genuine effort in his performance. The room was soon filled with laughter as Malfoy's melodramatic rendition took an unintentionally humorous turn.

His eyes, though, couldn't escape the challenge in Pansy's choice of song. As he sang, they occasionally flicked toward her, acknowledging the audacious choice. The laughter and amusement echoed around the room, mingling with the bittersweet undercurrent of emotions that danced in the air.

Amidst the laughter, Mattheo remained as serious as ever, his eyes continually locking onto you. For a brief moment, your gaze met his, and in that exchange, a torrent of memories flooded your mind--past moments shared in secret, a connection that had once felt unbreakable. The juxtaposition of Malfoy's performance and Mattheo's unwavering stare stirred something deep within you, a mixture of nostalgia, regret, and an unspoken longing that lingered in the pit of your stomach, leaving you both captivated and unsettled.

As his show finally came to an end, Malfoy took a bow, the circle erupting into a laughter-filled applause. As he returned to his seat, Pansy wore a satisfied grin, clearly happy with her choice, and Theodore looked especially pleased, reveling in the success of his dare.

"Quite impressive, Malfoy," Theodore remarked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Your secret talents never cease to amaze us."

Malfoy simply shrugged, his usual arrogance back in place. "Naturally," he replied, the corners of his lips quirking up in a subtle smile. "Now, who's next? How about you, Ravenclaw, truth or dare?"

You felt a sudden knot tighten in your stomach as Malfoy turned his attention toward you, his silver eyes sharp and calculating. The weight of the room seemed to press down on your shoulders as the spotlight shifted onto you. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, each more precarious than the last. Truth might lead to questions about Tom or Mattheo, both topics you desperately wanted to avoid.

So, with a forced nonchalance that barely masked your anxiety, you replied, "Dare."

You hoped against hope that the dare he gave you wouldn't plunge you into deeper waters, although the mischievous glint in Malfoy's eyes suggested he had something particularly devious in mind--and of course, you most definitely were fucking right.

"I dare you to go into the broom closet with Berkshire for fifteen minutes."

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief at Malfoy's audacious dare, your voice laced with incredulity.

"Are you completely mental?" you scoffed, glancing at Berkshire, who seemed equally stunned. "There's no way I'm voluntarily locking myself in a broom closet with him for fifteen minutes. We will undoubtedly end up tearing each other's heads off."

Berkshire, never one to miss an opportunity to mock, chimed in, "Yeah, I'm not signing up for a murder-suicide pact tonight, thanks."

"What's the matter, Raven? Afraid of a little close quarters?" Malfoy, clearly enjoying your discomfort, taunted, "you two certainly have no problems running your mouths at each other in public. I think a little private meeting might be good for you."

You clenched your fists, trying to rein in your irritation. "I promise you, I'm not afraid...I'd just prefer not to be expelled a few months from graduation."

"Fine, fine...you're a bloody baby," Malfoy retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Since you're so picky, how about Mattheo instead. He's not scared of a little closet, are you, Riddle?"

Your eyes darted to Mattheo, his expression stoic, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. The room seemed to tighten around you, a sense of foreboding settling in your bones as Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his eyes glittering with concealed anger as he put down his cup and stood up. The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken hostility. His voice was low and steady, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"Fifteen minutes," he said curtly, his gaze fixed on the broom closet. "Knock when it's up."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his determined stare. There was a whirlpool of something in his eyes, something you couldn't quite decipher--anger, frustration, or maybe something entirely different. As he gestured toward the closet, you felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of apprehension and anticipation.

With a deep breath, you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. You walked toward the closet, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze on your back. The door creaked open, and you both stepped inside, the darkness enveloping you as it closed shut behind you with a soft click. Inside the closet, the air was close, your breaths mingling in the confined space as you stood facing each other with hardly enough room to turn around if you tried to.

The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the tension between you almost suffocating. It was a daring game, one neither of you had expected to play, and now you were trapped together, the world outside the closet slipping away into nothingness, the tense energy in the room vibrating through your bones as the silence grew to be unbearable, neither of you daring to speak.

Finally, Mattheo spoke, his voice rough like gravel underfoot, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder in the night. "You let him kiss you."

His words weren't a question, but weren't really a statement either--it was as though he was repeating something, reading something off a sheet of paper, trying to make sense of it, each syllable carrying a weight of disbelief, as if he was grappling with a reality he couldn't quite accept. Your pulse increased, your lungs stalling, his tone laced with something you couldn't quite place--accusation, curiosity, or maybe a hint of vulnerability.

"Yes," your throat felt tight as you admitted your actions. "I did."

It was a confession, a truth you couldn't deny, even if you wanted to. The darkness seemed to amplify the weight of your words, and you could almost feel Mattheo's gaze piercing through the shadows, seeking answers. And even though you could hardly see Mattheo's face in the darkness of the closet, you could smell the hint of alcohol radiating off of him, not as strong as it usually was, but still enough to make your head spin. Mattheo's breath, warm and laced with the remnants of the party, washed over your face. His next question sliced through the air, sharp and accusatory.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice a low growl, echoing with frustration and confusion. "You said you don't-"

"I don't." You cut him off, already knowing exactly what he was going to say. "Not at fucking all."

The words spilled out, tinged with defiance, but beneath that was a current of vulnerability. You knew the truth of your feelings, but convincing Mattheo seemed like an insurmountable task in the darkness.

"Then why?" he pressed again, his tone more insistent, as though he needed you to unravel this mystery for him. "You're playing him...you're playing him like a fucking flute, yeah?"

His accusation hung in the air, a challenge, a plea for an explanation that made sense of the tangled web of emotions between you, and for some reason, all it did was further your anger.

"Does that bother you, Riddle?" you hissed, your voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. You shifted your weight, locking eyes with him, your gaze narrowed and intense. "Did you think you were the only one capable of playing games? Or maybe you think it’s only okay when you do it?"

The words carried a raw edge, a blend of defiance and accusation, challenging him to confront his own actions and hypocrisy. Mattheo's throat worked as he swallowed, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

"Raven, you're playing with fire-" he began, his voice a low warning.

"Don't even go there," you cut him off, your words dripping with venom. "I am the shape you made me, Mattheo...filth teaches filth..."

Your voice trailed off, the darkness of the closet adding weight to your words. You tilted your head, catching a glimpse of his parted lips and furrowed brows, a mix of frustration and barely-restrained anger etched on his features.

"And even still," you continued, your tone biting, "I could only dream to be as skilled at it as you are."

Mattheo's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with an emotion you couldn't quite place, as your words hung in the air like a heavy fog. The anger and dread that had gripped you moments ago seemed to dissipate, replaced by an almost palpable tension. His energy shifted, seeping out of the closet through the cracks in the door, leaving a lingering, painstaking atmosphere in its wake.

You stood there, anxiety coiling in your chest, completely unaware of how close the two of you were until this very moment. His presence loomed over you, a silent force that you couldn't escape, and yet, a part of you didn't want to. His chest rose and fell with each intense breath, the confined space amplifying the weight of his proximity. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and even if there were, you found yourself rooted to the spot, knowing that not even a fucking fire could force you to move.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you, either." He whispered.

You paused. “You-“

"You haven’t left my mind…not even once." His words hung in the air like a sinful confession, catching you completely off guard. “Do you know how fucking annoying that is, Raven? Having to act like you’re not haunting me at all seconds of the fucking day?”

Utter shock seized you, your body tensing involuntarily. You stared at his face, desperately searching for any signs of deceit, but found none.

“The mind works in funny ways,” he said. “Memory…memory taps a fucking gun to your skull and demands you bring back the dead…meanwhile, the dead is out kissing my fucking brother in front of me…”

His gaze bored into yours, raw and unguarded, leaving you utterly defenseless against the truth he laid bare.

“I know we called things off, I know I used you in the beginning, I know I was a fucking asshole to you, and I’m…I’m fucking sorry..." his body seemed to vibrate with restrained emotion, his fists clenched at his sides, as though he was waging a war within his mind. "There’s so many girls out there, Raven...so fucking many that I could distract myself with, but it would do nothing...it's your body, it's your fucking pussy on my mind..."

Each word hung between you, heavy and charged with unspoken longing, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move. "Matt-"

Mattheo stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his chest almost brushing against yours but not quite daring to touch. The tension between you crackled in the air, your every nerve on edge. His eyes, dark and searching, drilled into yours, seeking answers to questions you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

"Were you thinking of me?" His voice was a low rumble, an undercurrent of intensity underscoring his words. "When you're with him...every time you close your eyes, who do you see?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your fingers trembling at your sides. The room seemed to spin, the air growing thin as your lungs struggled to draw in oxygen.

"You." The word escaped your lips, a fragile admission that hung between you, heavy with the weight of truth. "Always, always you."

Mattheo exhaled, his breath rushing out like a dam breaking, as though he had been holding it in, afraid of your response. His lips parted, wetted by a tongue that seemed to have forgotten how to form words.

"That's right..." he murmured, his voice barely audible over the racing of your hearts. "You know I'm your best-kept secret, Raven...why don't you show me like you know and believe it..."

His words lingered in the charged atmosphere, a challenge and a plea, leaving you suspended in the moment, torn between the past and the present, between what was and what could be.

Your voice wavered with a mix of concern and disbelief. "You're drunk, aren't you, Mattheo..."

"I'm not drunk." His reply was swift, like a crack of lightning. "I've barely had one fucking drink, I'm as sober as I've ever been...and even if I hadn't quit all that shit, there'd be no way I could drink tonight anyways."

Your breath hitched, your eyes locked onto his, searching for any sign that this was some kind of sick joke. "Why?"

Mattheo emitted a low chuckle, but it lacked any warmth, carrying a sinister edge that sent shivers down your spine. "Because, if I was drunk, I wouldn't have been able to control myself...I would have knocked my own brother out fifty fucking times over without even a second thought…not a fucking soul in that room would have been able to stop me..."

His words hung heavy in the air, an ominous promise that draped over you like a suffocating cloak, leaving you with a chilling realization that the tangled web of your past was far from unraveling.

"You fucking ruin me, Raven..." his voice was a low, guttural whisper, dark and haunting, sending a shudder through your limbs. "That stare...it makes me fucking want things..."

Your eyes widened, his words wrapping around you like a vice, constricting your thoughts.

"Things...like what?" you managed to breathe out, your voice barely audible.

Mattheo ran a trembling hand through his tousled hair, the veins in his hands standing out in stark relief, a silent testament to the intensity of his emotions. His eyes, usually so sharp and controlled, were now clouded with a raw, primal desire, a longing that had been hidden for far too long.

"Things like my fist in your hair and my cock in that pretty fucking mouth..." he growled, his voice cracking with the weight of his desire. "Things like bending you over in the middle of that party just to show every asshole out there who you belong to..."

Your mind was a whirlwind, thoughts spinning out of control, unable to comprehend anything except the burning desire that consumed you.

"Holy fuck..." the words escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, a testament to the overwhelming intensity of the moment. "Mattheo, I...."

Mattheo's eyes, darker than you'd ever seen them, searched yours desperately. "Can I touch you, Raven?" he pleaded, his voice a raw, heartfelt plea. "Please, let me fucking touch you."

In response, you barely managed to nod, your throat tight with anticipation. And then, his lips crashed onto yours with a fervor that made up for all the lost time, all the weeks of distance and silence. His kiss was passionate, demanding, a fiery reunion of lips and souls that ignited a wildfire between you two. His hands, warm and possessive, found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, sealing the gap that had kept you apart for far too long.

In that moment, every wall you had built around your heart crumbled, the fragments falling away like ash in the wind. You surrendered to the storm that was Mattheo Riddle, his touch setting your skin ablaze, his kiss a tempest that swept you off your feet. He was your drug, your haunting addiction, an irresistible pull that defied reason and logic. No matter how far you tried to run, no matter the crazy measures you took to stay away, you always found yourself right back where you started--entangled in his arms, lost in the intoxicating whirlwind of his presence.

Mattheo broke the kiss, his hands gripping you as if he feared you might vanish into thin air. His lips trailed down to your jawline, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against your skin. "I can taste your fucking pain, Raven...is that because of me?"

You nodded, your voice catching in your throat. "Yes," you admitted, your vulnerability laid bare before him. "Having experienced both, I'm not sure what hurts more...intense feeling, or the absence of it..."

"The absence...without a fucking doubt," he whispered, his touch on your skin sending electric sparks through your veins. His presence felt overwhelming, his breath warm against your neck in the dimness of the closet. "I know he's good for you...I know he's every fucking thing that you need...but I-"

"No." Your hands tightened around his neck, nails digging into his skin. "He could be fucking everything and more...he's just...he's not you."

Mattheo's teeth grazed your earlobe, a shiver running down your spine as your words spun in the silence between your bodies. Your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the dark curls, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline in the midst of a storm.

"Better men could have you, Raven...I won’t deny that," he admitted, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. "But they'll have to get through me, now...I will leave such a fucking imprint on your soul that anyone you entertain after me will have to physically know me in order to fucking attempt to understand you..."

His declaration felt like a promise, an unspoken commitment that bound you to him in a way that transcended mere words. In that moment, you realized that you were not just giving in to desire; you were surrendering to something far more profound and all-encompassing. Mattheo wasn't just another flame to be extinguished; he was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path, leaving behind scorched earth and a desire that defied reason.

You pulled him closer, sealing the unspoken pact with a fervent kiss, letting the intensity of your emotions guide your actions. In that dim closet, amidst the whispers of Slytherin secrets and the echoes of your tangled past, you found solace in Mattheo's arms, embracing the chaos that came with wanting someone you shouldn't, knowing that in the end, the heart wants what it wants, regardless of the consequences.

The air in the closet felt charged with a potent blend of desire and desperation as you pulled away, gasping for air. The intensity of the moment coursed through your veins, leaving you breathless and exhilarated. Your eyes locked onto Mattheo's, your voice raw and unsteady, yet laced with conviction.

"You might be bad…so fucking bad for me, Mattheo," you whispered, your words hanging in the small space between you, "but I fucking want you...there's no one else..."

“Fucking hell, Raven…” Mattheo let out a low, guttural groan, his hand slithering up to grip your face gently, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. His stormy eyes bore into yours, his voice a gravelly murmur, carrying the weight of his emotions. “You’re my little devil, aren’t you?”

You smirked. “Yes…I am…”

"I'm in deep, baby," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, his breath warm and sweet. "Merlin knows we both feel it...you hold my fucking fate, so seal it…”

With those words, you closed the distance between you yet again, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, his hands slithering down to grip your backside with enough force to make you groan into his mouth. And just as things began escalating, just as your hands were trailing their way down the front of his body, reaching for his belt, there was a knock at the door.

"Fifteens up."

————————

Find seventeen->

826 notes · View notes

samkerrworshipper · 7 months

Text

playgirl | Leah Williamson x Reader

warnings: smut, fingering, cunnilingus, fluffy soft smut 18 + minors dni

lots of angst, smut, hurt, fluff it’s a mixed bag lol

lots of people who are wanting to see some sammy k smut so lmk if you want to see anything specific xoxo and enjoy my lovely’s!

It was no secret that Leah Williamson got her way around. No secret to her teammates, no secret to the soccer community, no secret to all of the women in North London, no secret to you. Somehow though, for some reason it had drawn her to you, you were teammates for fucks sakes, you being on loan from San Diego and her being a accommodating captain who had offered a spare room in her house to you, whilst you figured out your bearings and in what world were you in the place to say no. From day one you had been infatuated with the woman, something that Alex Morgan had warned you of, having gotten word from Tobin that Leah liked to have fun, sometimes too much fun. Your first impression of Leah was that she was lovely, accompanying the Arsenal team to pick you up from the airport and everything. Her eyes were what truly had you enamoured with her, the way that the greyish-blue pierced through anything that she looked at.

Once you’d gotten back to her house she’d showed you around, informed you that whilst she tried her hardest to cook she wasn’t very good at it, and that she went to a teammates house most nights to eat. You’d told her that cooking was no issue, that because of your italian heritage you’d grown up in the kitchen, learning your Nona’s tricks from when you could walk. Leah was elated by that news, insisting that once you’d settled in you’d have to cook for her and you’d smiled at her and agreed. Leah had been nothing but accommodating and for a little while you’d found doubt in Alex’s words, that was until a few weeks into your stay with Leah you went out on a Saturday night with the team. It had started tame, a dinner out together as team bonding, which had ended in Katie deciding on which night club for the team to hit and from then it had gotten rowdy.

The London girls were very clearly decorated partiers, you however weren’t. You hardly drank to begin with, so whilst your teammates were busy with getting wasted on their weekend off, you were not, leaving you to observe the actions of your new teammates. Leah lasted a total of fifteen minutes in the club, something that most of the girls didn’t seem to be surprised by. Fifteen minutes in she was pulling a girl from the bar out of the club with her, both of their hands roaming in places that were not acceptable for a public space. It hadn’t taken you long to realise that the night was going to end similarly for most of the girls you were with, either them picking up somebody or heading home with their partner. Alessia was hellbent on getting you drunk, something you were not a fan of, but her being one of the only girls not on the dance floor or throwing themselves all over someone meant that you’d quickly paired up, also being the newer pair to the crowd. Eventually, you got sick of Alessia’s persistent begging for you to take a shot with her, pawning her off to Katie and then calling an uber for yourself back to Leah’s apartment.

When you made it through the door of the house you were unsurprised to hear the sound of moans filling the noise barrier, coming from upstairs. Just from the sound of the illicit moans you figured out that whoever Leah had brought home with her, was very drunk and that she wouldn’t last very long. With that thought you went about my normal nighttime routine that you’d fallen into during your time in England, by the time you’d gotten through it and fallen into bed the incessant sound coming from the room next to yours seemed to have ceased.

You got up at your normal time the following morning, ignoring the small headache you had from the combination of the glass of whiskey you’d had at dinner the night before and the lack of sleep you’d gotten. Climbing down the stairs in your pyjamas and with a mess of curls that you couldn’t really be bothered with taming this early in the morning and making a beeline straight to the coffee machine. It was when you were about halfway through your first cup of coffee for the day and second slice of toast that you heard the ruckus from upstairs, that you’d patiently been waiting for. You kept your eyes on the papers that youd had been trying to read, yesterdays copy that Leah had gotten from the shops on her way home from training. As much as Leah had tried to interest you in her beloved news, you had no interest. You waited about another minute before you were rewarded with the sound of two sets of pattering feet coming down the staircase.

“Was I seriously such a bad lay you can’t remember my name?”

Ten seconds later you were blessed with the sight of the girl that Leah had brought home from the night before, making her way down the stairs, half dressed and trying to tug her dress that left hardly anything to the imagination and struggling to pull her shoes on whilst Leah tried to grab for her.

“Lina, fuck, Lila, I’m sorry, you were great.”

The girl stopped at the foot of the stairs, glaring up at Leah. It was like watching a sitcom, except this was real life and it was all unravelling horrifically in front of your eyes.

“My fucking name is Lisa, if you gave to shits you’d know that. Fucking athletes.”

The girl turned back around, batting away at Leah’s hands that were trying to grab for her wrists. The girl made it to the front door, bringing her middle finger up towards Leah and slamming the front door behind her.

Leah stayed paused in front of the door for a few seconds before muttering,

“Good morning and good fucking riddance.”

She trudged her way into the kitchen, walking straight to the kettle and starting it, one of the things you’d learnt about Leah whilst staying with her was that the woman was hardly functional without her morning coffee and you couldn’t expect her to get anything done without her having consumed her beloved caffeine.

“Is that how all of your one night stands end?”

There was cheek in your voice, something you weren’t apologetic for but a little bit scared of, this was uncharted territory for you and Leah. You had heard her have girls over, she kept it fairly quiet though, sneaking them in well after you were supposed to be asleep and sneaking them out in the middle of the night or waiting for you to go on your morning run before disposing of them.

“Not normally, no.”

Leah’s voice held a little bit of humour, but mainly shock, her body language still reflecting her complete disbelief over what had just happened.

“Who would have thought, the mighty Leah Williamson being humbled so early in the morning. Forgetting her name? That’s amateur shit.”

Leah looked up at you, her eyes hooded with disapproval of your words but also not outright denying your words.

“We were both so drunk, I’m not even certain she gave me her name. She was a good lay but god was she whiny, glad she’s gone.”

Leah finished preparing her coffee and sat down in the seat beside you at the kitchen table. Tugging the paper she knew you had no interest in reading over to her side of the table so she could actually read it.

“How do you know that she wasn’t just whiny because you were a shit lay.”

You didn’t even know where that cockiness had come from, you bit your lip as your far older, and scarier teammate looked up from her paper at you, a little bit of a smirk playing across her face.

“Trust me honey, I’m not the problem and half of London could confirm that.”

You rolled your eyes at Leah, taking another bite of your toast and watching her very quickly become infatuated with whatever she’d stumbled upon in the papers. You took a sip of your coffee before saying anything, letting her words sit in the room and mellow out.

“Doesn’t count if you are fucking them all when their drunk, intoxication increases the amount of endorphins your brain is producing Williamson, so science says that even if you are a good lay, half of what those girls are feeling is the alcohol.”

Leah didn’t look up from her paper, but smirked as soon as the words left your mouth, giving you enough of an indication that she’d heard your words. She finished her page, taking her time reading over the words whilst you sipped dutifully from your mug. When she finished her page she flipped over to the next one, but looked up at you, her head cocked just a little bit.

“Baby, trust me, alcohol or not I’m the best lay any of those girls have had, there’s a reason why my phone is always buzzing.”

It was something that you’d noticed in your weeks at Leah’s house, whether you were sitting on the couch watching a movie together or eating dinner, her phone was always vibrating and she was always staring down at it, typing furiously like a six year old and any time you tried to ask her about it she always brushed you off.

“Is that not just because you go for the straight ones though?”

Leah choked on the sip of her coffee that she’d taken during the brief break of time between her previous words and your rebuttal. She swallowed her coffee before letting out a chesty laugh, there was condescension in it though, something unknown hidden behind it.

“Straight or not they’re all screaming my name honey.”

Leah’s voice held so much confidence, it was entertaining. Listening to her talk herself up so much, you couldn’t help but try and take her down a peg or two.

“Yeah screaming your name on the way out the door when you forget their name.”

You finished your breakfast, standing up and taking your dishes to the sink and washing them off, not taking your eyes off of Leah for a second, even whilst you stacked your dishes in the dishwasher.

“Sweetheart, I’m telling you right now, that if you got lucky enough to have me, then you’d be screaming my name all the same.”

You rolled your eyes at Leah, staying composed in front of the woman.

“So cocky Williamson, the self obsession really must be getting to your head.”

You sat yourself on the kitchen counter, watching as Leah washed her own dishes and loaded them up next to yours before turning to look at you. Normally Leah had a significant height advantage over you, but with the height of the counter you were sitting on you were set face-to-face with her.

“It’s not cockiness sweetheart, it’s self awareness. I’m a good lay, I’ve been told it many times by many different women, sober and not sober. You don’t have to hide behind the jealousy, you wanna go don’t you? Can’t really blame ya, everyone wants a bite.”

You rolled your eyes effortlessly at Leah, trying your very hardest to obtain all of the composure you’d held. You shoved her playfully on the shoulder, more as a warning than anything, because if she stayed in your personal space bubble much longe4 then you weren’t sure if you’d be able to uphold your facade anymore.

“It’s cute that you think I’m into you, considering you don’t even know who or what I’m into.”

Leah smirked at you, licking her lips as she reentered your personal space bubble, practically confining you to your spot on the counter, her hands placed on either side of your body, gripping onto the counter and looking at you with a little sparkle in her eyes.

“Tobs told me that you dated Sonnett, so I know that you aren’t straight and she told me that you're single, so that ticks those boxes. You dated Sonny, which means you have a thing for attractive blondes with a personality, I think I tick those boxes.”

You rolled your lips between your teeth before biting down on the bottom one, mainly for show more than anything.

“Bold of you to assume that you have a personality and you're attractive. It’s cute that you think you’ve got a shot.”

Leah smirked, toying her tongue between her teeth and rolling it between her lips.

“Don’t I?”

You knew where this was going, and it wasn’t that you weren’t interested, because you definitely were. But you also knew Leah’s reputation. She didn’t do relationships, she was a casual sex person and there was nothing wrong with that, but you weren’t interested in that. You also knew she was riding on her own endorphin high now, a mixture of post sex haze and hangover that you couldn’t trust.

“Baby, I’m not interested in casual sex, something Tobin should have told you. I liked Sonny, but she was a casual sex girl and I’m not doing that again, so you can have your fun with your walk of shame girls and I’ll have my fun, okay?”

You were mocking her a little bit, giving her a fake pout that she was clearly offended by. You hoisted yourself off of the bench before she could say much more, bounding towards the stairs and running back to your room to throw on my training gear.

The topic wasn’t brought up for a few more weeks, you let Leah bring her girls into the house at whatever time she pleased and Leah did her best to ignore the yearning that had developed in her gut for you.

It was all fine, all going well until you’d managed to get yourself injured. You’d had a really good run, becoming a starter on the team and scoring a few goals in some important games. Until a Chelsea player had taken your ankles out from under you and done some ligament damage, it wasn’t anything major, a few weeks at most, but you’d been recommended to wear a boot for the first few weeks, just to make sure you weren’t putting any unnecessary pressure on your foot. You hadn’t minded to begin with, but in a very short amount of time you became very frustrated, with the boot, with not playing soccer, with being sidelined without a definitive time to when you’d be back. You very quickly went from being the bubbly, happy teammate to being someone that the girls had to walk on eggshells around. Everyone took notice of your sudden mood change, but it was clear none of them knew exactly how to tackle it, none of them knew you all that well considering you were new to the club, besides Leah.

She’d tried approaching you a few times, at training, in the rehab centre, at home. Yet every single time you’d shut her down with some kind of false sarcasm, a laugh and the insistence you were fine. She was getting sick of it, getting sick of having to watch you repetitively deny help from anyone. Your attitude towards yourself and other people was shit and she could tell it was really affecting you.

She’d just gotten back from training one night, you’d opted out considering that you had done your rehab in the morning, using the excuse that you wanted to talk to some of your US teammates on a organised skype call. When Leah had gotten home the house was silent, something that she’d come to find abnormal since you’d moved in. There was always some background noise, the sound of the tv, or your music filling the house. Yet, when she walked through the door, slinging her bag onto one of the hooks near the door, she heard absolutely nothing.

She tiptoed through into the kitchen, her eyes searching the communal space before locating you. You were sitting on the sofa, looking down at your laptop, completely and utterly absorbed by whatever you were looking at and either purposely ignoring Leah or too enraptured by whatever was on your scream to have noticed her.

“Y/n.”

Leah’s words were enough to break you from your daze and when you turned to look at her Leah recognised the red rims that were painted along your waterline and the semi dried tear tracks on your face.

“Sorry, fuck, I was supposed to sort out dinner, give me a second and I’ll get it started.”

You were reaching for your crutches almost immediately, time having slipped away from you in Leah’s absence, Leah’s words stopped you though.

“No, don’t worry about it, we’ll order in, just stay sitting.”

Leah smiled at you, walking over towards the couch and picking up your crutches from your hands and placing them down on the floor, before sitting down on the couch beside you. She left enough space that you weren’t physically touching but stayed close enough that you could feel her presence.

“Is everything alright, Y/n?”

It was uncharted territory between the two of you, Leah had seen you upset, she’d been the one who’d had to drive the two of you home after doing your ankle and it hadn’t been pretty. But you’d never allowed her in, never allowed her to see you emotionally vulnerable besides that, and even when you’d done your ankle you’d tried your hardest to keep your composure, until you were lying in your bed that night by yourself and you let it all out. Leah could hear your sobs from the other side of the wall, just as you could hear the sound of the moans of whatever woman she’d booty called that night to help her deal with the itch in her body that came every time she had to watch her team take the pitch without her.

“Alex called, San Diego is trading me, so when my loan is over I’m going straight to Angel City. They said that they weren’t prepared to deal with ankle problems, that it’s for the best and that when the official trade period comes I’ll be gone. Angel City is going to honour my loan, until the season ends and then I have to go back home but I won’t even be going back home.”

Leah did her best to remember the basic American geography she’d learnt in highschool, trying to map out the two points on a map.

“Angel City’s based in Los Angeles isn’t it? You won’t be that far away, it’ll be a two hour drive.”

Leah’s voice fell on deaf ears, you were too busy biting down on your lip to even think about what she was saying. Because yes, technically she was right, it wasn’t like you were being traded to the other side of the country, but you’d been playing for San Diego for the whole of your senior career, it was your home, and they were just pawning you off like any other player.

“Plus, aren’t Christen, Ali and Alyssa at Angel City?”

You could feel more tears stemming in your eyes, you looked up in an attempt to conceal them, not wanting to embarrass yourself any further in front of your captain.

“Leah, you don’t get it. How would you feel if Arsenal had traded you when you’d done your ACL? San Diego has had me since I was 16. If I am going home I don’t want to go home to anywhere but there, I don’t want to have to play anywhere other than San Diego, the wave is my home, Alex is my fucking home and they are just turning me away because I’ve had some ankle problems. So what’s the point in me even putting the effort into fucking doing this recovery if even when I do it I’m going home to nothing.”

You’d left Leah a little bit speechless. She thought about it, thought deeply about putting herself in your shoes, something she’d never really done and she got what you were saying.

“So don’t go home, stay here.”

Your eyes looked at Leah, filled with something she couldn’t even try to pin down.

“Because Arsenal is really interested in having to deal with bidding for me and taking my contract. They probably want me even less than fucking San Diego does right now.”

Leah was a little bit shocked by the amount of aggression behind your words, never having seen this side of you, it hurt her heart a little bit.

“Turn around.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at Leah’s random request.

“Excuse me?”

“Turn around, back facing my chest.”

It took you a few seconds to realise she was completely serious, and hell, what did you have to lose at this stage? You did as she’d asked and jolted slightly as her hands found their way to your shoulders, starting to very gently massage into the tense skin across your back. Leah was shocked to feel the sheer amount of tension that must have built up over the past few weeks across your shoulders, clearly you’d been pushing down your feelings for a little bit too long.

“Arsenal loves you, the whole team loves you, if you wanted to stay you’d be very welcome. Ankle injury or not, if the Wave valued you, they wouldn’t have traded you, so I know it sucks but if they really valued you as a player they would keep you, they clearly don’t and you deserve better than that.”

It was unnerving to you how good Leah’s hands felt, rubbing gently across your back, slowly diffusing the mounds of knots that had developed across the surface of your back and shoulders.

“Do they teach you how to massage in adultery school?”

It was a weak joke that had Leah snickering just a little bit.

“Y’know that I’m not the heartless playgirl that everyone paints me out to be. I like sex, sure. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a human with functioning feelings, I still care for people, I care for you.”

Her words made you feel a little bit guilty, because you had kind of pictured her that way in your head, the woman had a girl in her bed almost every night. You couldn’t help but hear the vulnerability and honesty in her words though and you wanted to believe her words, or you wanted her to explain her words to you.

“Your hands feel good, really good.”

You could feel Leah smirking from her spot behind you on the couch.

“They’re good for more than massages.”

Her words were murmured, meant for you, not that there was anyone else in the room to hear them. At her words you were turning yourself on the couch, so you were face to face with the blonde. She was staring back at you with hooded eyes and a faint smirk on her eyes. Maybe if you hadn't been so emotional you wouldn’t have felt your breath catch in your chest as you took her in. Maybe if she hadn't been smirking at you in the ‘I dare you’ way, you wouldn’t have leant in. Maybe if she’d never gotten the opportunity to put her hands on you in the first place she never would have gotten so greedy as to have them back on you. Maybe if none of it had happened you both wouldn’t have leant in to kiss, or maybe it still would have happened.

The kiss was sweet, soft and tender. Leah pulled me gently into her lap, pulling me up and over so you were straddling her hips, giving you a little bit of leverage in the kiss.

“We can’t turn back once we do this, are you sure you want to?”

Leah’s words were murmured against your lips, as she took a little break to get her point across.

“We’ll figure it out afterwards, I just need to feel something, I need to feel loved.”

Leah’s forehead nodded against your own.

“Hold on.”

You didn’t have enough time to comprehend her words before she was hoisting you both up off the couch and towards the stairs.

“Leah, your knee.”

You murmured the words into her neck as you approached the steps, you didn’t want her to put you down but you also didn’t want her to hurt herself.

“It’s fine, I’m back in a few weeks anyways, it’s back to normal now.”

You were surprised when, with much ease Leah managed to get the both of you up the stairs without much struggle, her beelining directly towards her room. She very quickly sat the two of you down on her bed, resuming the kiss you had both previously been occupied with. Her lips were soft, everything about how she was treating you was so uncharacteristically gentle for you and you loved it, loved how she was accommodating you.

“Lee.”

Your words had Leah’s eyes cracking open quickly, a little bit of fear painted across her clear blue eyes.

“Yes, sweet?”

Her voice was so kind, practically dripping with tenderness.

“Need you to touch me, please.”

Leah smiled against my lips.

“Mm, where do you need me?”

Normally, you probably would have felt self conscious having to admit something like that, but with Leah everything felt different, you just didn’t feel the normal insecurity that came from sex.

“Fuck, pussy, please.”

Leah smirked again against your lips.

“Because you asked so nicely.”

Leah’s hands travelled down to the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging down under your ass, and once you’d hoisted yourself up, down and your right foot with ease. The left one was a little bit harder, with the moon boot and just as she’d been about to undo the velcro to remove the boot completely you stopped her.

“Just leave it, please, I just need you.”

Leah was smirking wildly at request, forgetting your sweatpant leg and letting her hand trail back up to the edge of your panties, a black lace thong that was one of your favourites. Your arms find their way over Leah’s shoulders, tangling at the back of her neck as her lips attach to your neck in synchronised harmony with her fingers finally making contact with your heat. You moan shamelessly as Leah brushed your panties to the side and works her fingers in and out of your wetness, her thumb finding its way to your clit and one of her fingers making its way down to the source of your wetness.

“So wet baby, all for me?”

Leah’s words vibrated against the skin of your neck, a place that she had busied herself with littering little marks along, trying to figure out which spot got the most sinful noises to leave your mouth.

“Fuck, yes.”

Leah smirked a little bit more, absolutely drunk off of the feeling that she had you in her arms, not some random girl that she didn’t care about.

“Mm, you feel so good sweet, can I finger your precious hole, is that something you want?”

She was hiding the question of consent in her words, something that was a major requirement for Leah, she might have been a bit of a nymphomaniac but that didn’t mean she didn’t have rules for herself, one of them was to always ask for consent.

“Fuck, please Leah, please.”

Your moans and pleads were enough consent for Leah, allowing her to very gently work one of her fingers into your pussy, slowly working in each knuckle. You were desperate though, pushing yourself down against her finger, aching for more.

“Leah.”

The word was murmured out between moans as Leah found your pulse point and bit down on it, soothing the bite with her saliva and gentle licks.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

Leah had quickly realised that you liked praise, and whatever little nicknames that she could form off the top of her head.

“More, please, harder.”

Leah bit her lip at your words, it took every bit of self control she had not to cum right there on the spot.

“So desperate baby girl, you're doing so well for me aren’t you, I think I can give you some more.”

Leah, slid another one of her fingers into your hole, when she felt no resistance she started to very gently move her fingers in and out of you, searching for that certain spot and when she had located it, gently curling her fingers against it. The sounds that left your mouth were hellish enough for even the devil to find them sinful. Leah resonated in it, bathed in the sound of your pleasure as she continued her assault of your neck.

When she could feel you beginning to clench against her fingers she placed the pad of her thumb against your clit, pushing the hood of it back to give her full access to the sensitive nub.

“Le-Leah, fuck, fuck, I’m so close.”

Leah nodded into your neck, gently brushing her finger against your spot and pumping her fingers just a little bit harder into you, elated at the way your hips met her fingers on every single thrust, your juices dripping all over Leah’s sweatpants.

“Cum whenever you're ready sweetheart, go ahead.”

It didn’t take you long, a few more swipes from Leah’s finger against your clit before you were catapulting over the edge of pleasure. Leah felt you clench tightly around her fingers and when she did he gently laid your body down against her pillows, withdrawing her fingers but replacing them with her mouth, pressing her tongue gently to your hole and coaxing you through the shakes and spasms. When you finally did come down you tried pushing Leah’s head away, frightfully aware of how sensitive you had become, but Leah continued her ministrations.

“Lee, fuck.”

You could feel your body arching up against the sheets once again, your arousal already building up again as Leah very gently laid her tongue out against your pussy. She pushed her hand up to your mouth.

“Suck.”

You obeyed her, letting her push the two fingers into your mouth and being blessed with the taste of your own pleasure against your tongue. You sucked Leah’s fingers dry as she continued to suck and lick her way across your pussy, like she was a starved woman.

“One more pretty girl, give me one more.”

Her wish was your command. You relaxed against the pillows, allowing yourself to feel every single little detail of what she was doing. You were a goner as soon as she started to suck on your clit, it was over sensitive from the previous orgasm and it didn’t take you very long to build back up to the edge again.

“Leah, fuck, Leah.”

Leah seemed to understand what you were saying, without you saying it.

“Come pretty girl, I’m here, I’ve got you, I’m here, you're safe.”

Another suck to your clit and you were done. Leah very gently lapped up your juices whilst you came down shakily from your high. Once she’d lapped it all up she clawed her way up to you, meeting you in another soft kiss, her tongue invading your mouth and giving you another taste of yourself. She collapsed down on the pillows beside you, one of her arms coming to rest around your torso as she tugged her own sweatpants off, which were now soaked in your juices.

You were spent, splayed across her pillows and Leah was certain she’d never seen a more perfect sight.

When she got up to go and fetch some supplies you groaned.

“Don’t leave me.”

Leah smiled sadly at your response, it was clear that you had been feeling alone for a while now, and now that she knew it she wasn’t going to let you feel that way, ever again.

“I’m not leaving sweet, I’m just going to fetch a few things, I’ll be back in a minute, I promise.”

She finished her statement by pressing a gentle kiss to your hairline, before getting up from the bed and making her way down her stairs, as fast as she could whilst staying at a safe pace.

When she returned to her bedroom you were in the exact same position, orgasm drunk, splayed across her sheets. She’d managed to retrieve your crutches, two glasses of water, a granola bar and a warm face cloth. You groaned as she got you to sit up against the pillows, she didn’t want to disturb you but she also knew there were some things that had to do, just to make sure that you felt better.

“C’mon sweet girl, take some sips of the water for me.”

You rolled your eyes at Leah, her fussing over you was something you hadn’t expected. She has tasked herself with the job of undoing your boot, removing your sweatpants and replacing them with a pair of her sleep shorts.

“More than that, the whole glass, please, and the granola bar.”

You rolled your eyes at her, you’d very discreetly tried to put the glass back down on your bedside table after taking two measly sips but Leah didn’t seem to be having a bar of it.

“Who would’ve known Leah Williamson would be such a mother hen.”

Leah looked at you, completely dead pan.

“I take aftercare very seriously, if you don’t feel safe or well then I would want you to tell me, I know what we just did wasn’t exactly intense but sex should always feel good, and if it didn’t I’d want to know.”

There was so much care in Leah’s words, and even if she was only a few years older than you, you suddenly felt like the age gap was so much bigger than that.

“Leah, I feel safe and good, you were perfect.”

She nodded, seemingly happy with your answer and returning to her task. She was so gentle with your ankle when she finally did undo the velcro, gently lifting it up and the sweatpants off of it before strapping it back into the boot and gently lifting a pair of her shorts over your ass. It was perfect and nothing that you’d imagined with Leah, you’d imagined her being cocky and showy, everything about her. But in this moment she was so vulnerable, so tender and warm and it made you feel so guilty for ever thinking anything else of her.

After she’d watched you consume the water and granola she’d seemed to become a little bit more at ease, changing quickly into a pair of sleep shorts and taking off her hoodie, substituting it for just a sports bra, so she was matching with me. After she was done getting dressed she slipped into the sheets beside you, one of her arms finding its way around your bare torso immediately, the skin on skin contact sending shivers up your spine.

“You are so loved y/n/n, here or back at home, there are so many people around that would do anything for you.”

Leah’s words were murmured into your ear as she threaded her fingers into your hair, tugging lightly on the hairs at the nape of your neck.

“M’ sorry that you didn’t get anything in return.”

Leah shushed you as soon as the words left your mouth.

“Hush, I don’t need anything, knowing that you felt good is all I need.”

There was so much sincerity in her words that it made you crumble just a little bit.

“You're not a heartless playgirl bitch and I’m sorry if I ever made you think that I thought of you that way. You are fucking perfect and just as good as you had said.”

Leah laughed a little bit from her spot behind you, the warmth of her breath against your neck making the hairs along your body stand up.

“I’m not too bad, huh?”

You flipped over in the bed, so you were face to face with her.

“I don’t want to be one of your one night stands who’s name you forget.”

Leah rolled her eyes, but when she realised the genuinity behind your words her eyes softened.

“Good, because I don’t want that either, y/n Williamson sounds pretty good, if you ask me.”

You snorted effortlessly at her.

“Wow a proposal on night one, do you do that to all of your bedmates to charm them, Williamson?”

Leah smirked, pressing her lips to your own.

“No, I think you’d have to be the first, what did you say about endorphins again, they must be getting to my head or something.”

You leaned in to stop her stupid babbling, pressing your lips to hers to silence her.

“I’ll never forget your name and I’m never letting you feel alone again, I promise.”

You smiled against her lips, so tied up in the serenity you were feeling, the peace away from everything that was going on in your life.

“I could never feel alone when I’m with you Leah Williamson.”

#woso #woso community #leah williamson #marry me rn #arsenal wfc #leah williamson is mom #leah williamson is mother #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson is boyf #leah williamson imagine

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slutforitoshi · 1 year

Text

nagi seishiro - illuminate *:･ﾟ✧

ft. fratboy!nagi x f!reader, 18+ minors dni

cw: intoxication/fucking under the influence (alcohol), nipple play, thigh riding, fingering, choking, cumming on body

synopsis: what happens when you lose your roommate at the biggest frat party of the semester?

wc: 2.06k

A/N: inspired entirely by a whiteout party i went to last night

you stopped trying to look for your new roommate about half an hour ago, giving up the impossible search in a sea of sweaty bodies dimly lit by uv lights.

“pleaseee” she had said with doe eyes, begging you to go with her to the first frat party of the semester. you barely knew anyone within greek life and the last time you were at a frat party some random girl threw up all over your new dunks. this was before you knew frat shoes were a thing, and the memory makes you shudder.

“i heard ksig has really cute guysss” she continued, still trying to convince you to come.

you rolled your eyes, “sorry i’m not interested in lumberjack built gym rats whose greatest contribution to society is shotgunning beer cans in seconds.”

“what else could you possibly be doing this saturday night? and don’t tell me it’s homework because it’s just syllabus week” she exasperates, not giving up,

“well-” you started, but then realized she had a point.

“come on it’s the biggest party of the semester”

and that’s how you ended up at kappa sigma’s fall rush social: whiteout theme. looking at the state of the frat house, you wondered who came up with that terrible idea. the uv lights only highlighted the filth on every visible surface area. upon entry you were already regretting your decision.

that regret only grew when you realized your new roommate was a runner. you lost her barely half an hour in, unable to find her in any public space. you chose to avoid looking in the private rooms though because well you know what happens in there during parties.

low battery: 20%. great now your phone was running low too. there had to be at least another two hours before the party ended, and something told you your roommate wouldn’t be calling you back anytime soon.

“HE JUST DOESN’T MISS!!” a deep voice booms followed by an eruption of incoherent yelling. a crowd was growing near the beer pong table, and you decided to join them. it had to be better than sitting alone doing nothing on a couch now that your phone was low.

you push your way towards the front to see what the noise was about, and you see a duo stood at one end along with a singular guy at the other. the one-man team was clearly dominating as visible by the cup ratio: 1 to 8. he is up, having to land a pingpong ball into the remaining cup twice.

shoot, in. the first shot is successful, and you could hear people murmur in anticipation.

shoot…in. the crowd erupts in an instance, and the guy is hoisted up onto another’s shoulders. there, you finally get a good look at him and your stomach flips. he’s fucking hot.

all your previous qualms about the theme were long forgotten as you see how his white hair glows under the dark lights, illuminating his figure. he’s tall too, nearly touching the high ceiling from the shoulder ride.

“LET’S FUCKING GO THAT’S OUR SEI!” the guy carrying him shouts, earning whoops and hollers from who you assume are the ksig brothers.

“so his name is sei” you murmur, liking the way it sounds on your tongue.

“can i go play games upstairs now?” sei asks, and his brothers boo in response. he seems entirely different from the other frat boys, almost bored at his win, like it was only obvious that he would sweep the other team. your attraction continues to grow.

“come on sei, you never come to these things. at least stay for a little longer.”

“what a hassle” you hear him say softly as he’s lowered back down to the ground. his brothers go to the next room for more drinks you assume, but sei stays put near the table. and suddenly you’re met with an opportunity.

you swish around the remaining jungle juice in your solo cup for a bit before raising it to your lips and downing it in one breath. you needed a shot of courage (or multiple in this case because why the fuck did that taste like 80% alcohol).

“you were really good back there” you lean on the pong table, facing your body towards sei who was currently occupied with his phone. he looks up from his device, and you don’t miss the glance he gives towards your body.

suddenly you’re thankful that the only clean white fit you had was coincidentally your sluttiest one. the crossed fabric that wrapped around your neck defined your cleavage, and the short tennis skirt threatened to show your ass at the slightest bending motion.

“oh thanks…do i know you?”

ouch.

“probably not, this is my first ksig function” you try to ignore the heat that flashes across your face, “not really a frat party person.”

“me neither. the bros made me come today since there were zetas talking shit about our pong game” he responded, and you’re thankful to find common ground.

“well clearly they weren’t much of a match. i’m surprised you’re a brother if you don’t go out often”

“hm i actually only joined on a bet. my friend said he’d buy me a ps5 game if i got a bid” he shrugged. “i’ve been trying to drop for over a year now, but they need me for the tournaments”

“tournaments?” you ask, clearly not the most knowledgeable about frat culture.

“yeah for pong and beer die. they think ksig has a shot at the finales for the first time in years or something”

they probably do judging by sei’s performance just a few minutes prior. you reach for a ping pong ball, purposefully grazing his arm lightly to reach it.

“can you show me how to throw? i suck” you pout slightly. technically it wasn’t a lie, you couldn’t aim for shit, especially not while buzzed.

“it’s easy, it’s all in the elbows” he takes a ball himself and shoots, naturally landing it of course. you try to mimic him after, only to see the ball bounce off the cup’s rim.

“you’re bending your wrist too much” he comments, handing you another ball. you try again, and it ricochets off one cup, barely missing the one next to it.

“you’re overextending your arm now” he says, already with another ball in hand.

“let me show you”, you expect him to demonstrate again but instead he places it in your hand and takes position behind you. he raises your arm with his own, showing you exactly how the movement should go. you’re focused on anything but the technique though, instead thinking about how warm his fingers are against your wrist.

“now you try” he says, by your ear. holy shit he’s right there. he doesn’t move from the position though, and the nerves caused by his proximity makes you miss terribly.

“how did you get even worse,” he’s clearly shocked, doubting his own teaching ability for a second, “you should just give up” he concludes.

“hey it’s just because you were so close” you defend yourself, eyes widening once you realize what it suggested.

“do i make you nervous?” he smirks, and you’ve never felt smaller (maybe that’s also because he’s literally towering over you).

“so what if you do?” you retort, digging yourself a deeper hole.

“want to go to my room?”

~~~

the door is barely shut before your lips are on each other, tasting remnants of alcohol. he leads you to his gaming chair, seating you on top of his lap. immediately you can feel a bulge form under you.

sei’s kisses aren’t aggressive, but needy. his hands are on your waist, pulling you in further towards his chest. then back out, creating just the right friction beneath your skirt. you build a rhythm, grinding on his thighs, which you note are quite toned.

“f-fuck sei” you moaned against him, resulting in a tightened grip on your hips.

“you’re making a mess” he observes, pleased at the damp streaks forming on his pants. while one hand remains at the side of your waist, he moves the other one up, settling on your right breast. he eagerly tugs your shirt to free it, capturing the bud with his fingertips. pinching and rolling, emitting louder moans from you.

“so fucking perfect” he murmurs before diving in, capturing the sensitive bead between his lips. the sensation pushes you further to the edge, eyes rolling back as his tongue circles it.

he picks you up easily from the chair, face still buried in your chest. he sets you down on his bed and starts to unbuckle his belt. you remove your own drenched panties and move to do the same with your skirt.

“keep this on” he smacks your hand away from the waistband, “i’ve always wanted to fuck someone with a skirt on”

he takes off his shirt with one pull, and wow abs. he smirks again, seeing your eyes fixated on his body.

“like what you see?”

“how could i not?”

if you looked closely you would be able to see his cock twitch, clearly thrilled at the validation. his lips are on you again, and he mumbles out a “you drive me fucking crazy”

fingers are prodding near your entrance, and you instinctively shut your legs from the sensitivity.

“keep them open” he pulls your knees apart, strong arms keeping them from shutting again. he circles your clit first, lubricating his digits with the surplus of slick. once satisfied, he enters with two at once, earning a particularly long moan from the stretch.

“so wet” he starts to pump, quickening his pace, “all for me”

“just like that sei just like that” you repeat, intoxicated by the feeling. the squelching noises are overwhelming, bouncing off the walls. then he curls his fingers.

“don’t do that i-” you choke out, “i’ll cum!”

he doesn’t stop though, still thrusting his perfectly curled fingers through your orgasm. wait, what kind of frat boy makes the girl cum first?

before you could ponder too much he’s wrapping an arm under you, swiftly flipping you over onto your stomach. you go onto your knees, and he’s nearly cumming at the view of your ass up against him.

glancing back you see him quickly rip open a condom with his teeth before slipping it on, as if he’s done it a billion times before. with looks like those you wouldn’t be surprised.

he positions himself behind you, aligning himself with your entrance before pushing.

“seiii” you drawl, in awe at how perfect he fits within you.

his hands are positioned at your hips, slowly thrusting his own against you as you grow accustomed to the intrusion.

“y-you can go faster” you moan, and what can he do but comply. his thrusts are sharp and quick, and you begin to hear his own breathy moans at the feeling of your velvety walls.

“your body’s so perfect…like it was made for me” he groans. his right hand moves away from your hips and rest against your throat, squeezing.

the sudden loss of oxygen makes your mind go into a haze, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure.

“flip over” he suddenly goes, before moving you himself. “need to cum while seeing you”

his hand remains on your throat as he continues to fuck you in missionary, getting closer as he hears those sinful moans and sees your face permanently plastered with an expression of ecstasy.

“want you to cum on me” you plead, “want you to make me a mess”

unable to say no, he pulls out and rips off the condom with alarming speed. within a few pumps of his hand he’s granting your wish, decorating your upper body with thick spurts of white.

you’re sure it would be a sight if you were to step back into the party under the uv lights.

~~~

sorry i totally forgot to tell you i left with a guy >.<

you stare blankly at the text from your roommate displayed on your screen. yeah you were never going out with this girl again.

“just stay here with me” sei says, also seeing the text from over your shoulder. “i’ll take you home tomorrow”

well you’d have to thank her for dragging you out this one time at least. you shut off your phone and succumb to sleep in the arms of your not-so-typical frat boy.

#bc tell me frat boy nagi would NOT hit so hard #@yunxbin im crying over fratboy nagi too #nagi seishiro #nagi #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro smut #nagi smut #blue lock #bllk #blue lock smut #bllk smut

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wlfpet · 1 year

Text

(Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader)

— PAPI BONES

A/N: Hi, this is the formerly scrapped, 3x longer, 2 months writing project that I had because I wanted to fuck abby in a closet! this was actually supposed to be my first post on tumblr, but i got mad at it and sent it to the dungeon for two months :/ but yall wanted it, so I'm super happy i got to finish it, even though it took multiple days and cups of coffee to power through. sorry for the wait, hope you fuck wit her.

content tags (can you tell i don't want to write anymore ;w;): college au, childish antics at a big age, drinking, cool, ellie and dina are in this! kind of abstract sexual descriptions, assplay, cunnilingus (r!receiving), boob... touching? small mention of drugs because dealer!ellie, drunk sex, enthusiastic consent! :D, reader is kind of annoying sorry, men being assholes, reader catching feelings for a girl she fucked once, real.

wc: 7.6k ;w; (send help)

proofread?; barely.

tl : @clearheartgreyflowers, @oatmilkchaii, @ghostfacebunny, @ellsbclls (thank you to the sweetest deb @ellsbclls for helping beta read this, i appreciate your suggestions and encouragement and this would probably have been scrapped TWICE without your help ;w; )

synopsis: your best friend dina drags you to a college frat party. you hate shit like this, and you're painfully shy but when she does those puppy dog eyes you can't say no, so in a cruel twist of fate you end up in the closet with abby Anderson, and lose your virginity. yay college! (apart of the 'jackson university' thematic!)

Your idea of a Saturday night well spent wasn’t squeezing through a sea of sweaty backs; but like many things in your life, it wasn’t up to you, because you were easily swayed. Everything was overstimulating, the waves of bodies on bodies that pulsated and threw you between different poses and balances to keep on your feet, the ringing of laughter, of music, of every sound echoing in your head, around your body, vibrating through your very core. The smell of liquor and drunken antics and that one guy puking in the corner made you sick. But somehow, you were here, spurred on by peer pressure friendship and goodwill, trudging through the blackened room to your target; the snack table.

Dina, your roommate, and determinant best friend held a firm hand on the small of your back, pushing you through the crowd and causing a small jolt to run down your body as she steered you around every obstacle and corner in the room. She was a woman on a mission, and the one who dragged you out of bed, convincing you - against your better judgment- that it was fatal that you accompanied her to a frat party. You knew she was good-natured, and your first friend when you moved 500 miles away from home to college. It was an instant click, but you were opposite best friends.

Dina, ever the social butterfly, had connections in all different spaces; she could party with the sorority girls –hold the coke, please,– out-cram everyone, even the National Honor Society kids, all the way to the top of the class, hell, she was on the damn debate team, which was probably why it wasn’t a struggle to get a ‘yes’ out of you. You, on the other hand, were uncomfortable at bars, school sporting events, and parties, and one time you even thre– fuck, never mind. It was all effortless to her, in almost an enviable way. Dina loved to go clubbing, loved to hang, out, and she had been near-begging you to come out with her and her cool friends for months, not that you’re not cool, I mean.

And somehow, despite everything, it worked.

You could almost remember how you got there if you put away the sticky crunch of coke sticking to your shoes with each step, and reached back into the recesses of your mind. Or at least, back three-and-a-half hours ago.

“They’re all great people, no weirdos, promise!”

It was the emphatic plea made to you as you lay on your bed, queuing up the next episode of the apocalypse show you watched each week, watching her make Dina list off every reason why you just had to follow her out tonight. It was clearly very life-or-death shit to her, but you were unconvinced. It was just a party but there was going to be a smaller, more intimate kickback in a friend-of-a-friend’s basement. She was in the middle of getting ready, sitting at her school-issue desk and looking at herself in the mirror, dark hair coned over her head in a bun as she sat in deep concentration, words slurred and simple as she applied mascara, her mouth slacked into an O position.

“So you’re gonna like, fucking go, yeah?”

She said it as though it was obvious, like it wasn’t a question, but one look at you, –curled up in covers, laptop on chest, martini glass pajama pants and teddy bear teeshirt ON, unbothered– showed her that it would be a tall order, and that big guns would be needed.

“Not interested, sorry.”

“Not even a tinyyyyy bit?” Dina squeezed her fingers together for emphasis, throwing her head back in mock exhaust, a theatric groan rumbling out of her throat. “Not even a little bit.” You echoed, your roommate cutting her eye at you through her handheld mirror, but it was what it was. You weren’t into all of that stuff; the bump and grind of sweaty bodies wasn’t alluring, listening to someone else’s shitty music at ear-bleeding levels felt like hell, and if you wanted to get pitifully drunk and throw up all over yourself, there was a garbage can right under your bed. But your friend really, really, wanted your company and it made you feel, really, really bad to always blow her off.

“Why are you going so hard on this?” You bemused as you propped up on your elbows, watching as she stalked around the room in her newly painted face, quickly rummaging through her drawer for a spare outfit.

“Maybe because it bums me out to see my super cool roommate wasting away in her dorm every weekend?” In Dina’s mind, she was making a lot of sense. She was waiting for you to chime in, to say you know what, Dee? You’re right, I get it. But instead, you stared blankly, and she threw down her arms in exasperation. “You’re in fucking college, man! You don’t even wanna have one night of fun?” She punctuated the ‘fucking’ with a wild gesture around her head, which made you chuckle to yourself.

“I mean, I was planning on wa–”

Your body was jostled by an insane amount of weight, almost turned completely over by two roughhousing dudes– a mess of limbs and arms, who looked at you and then at each other, as though they had spontaneously sobered up. You didn’t even have the time to start to be angry when they prattled off a blended, slurred apology and thrashed somewhere away through the mass of hands and faces in the dark room.

Fucking assholes, ruining the flashback sequence.

The room was lit only by haphazard mood lights; soft LEDs and gaudy, flickering Christmas baubles, a solitary television, camped by stoners who laughed madly, and the dim auburn glow of the odd ceiling lamp nestled in the far back of the house. You were out of your element; you couldn’t dance, weren’t the most social, and even though you were with a friend, all of this made you feel very alone.

Dina cut through the crowd with her elbow, bellowing out “Ex–cuse me!” while she pushed you through gaps as they formed. Her voice fell to mutter again, barely audible, chunked and cut by the music bouncing from wall to wall, grumbling that she had places to be, and if E*&^$ didn’t get her off at least once, there would be hell to pay. She was determined to get to the other side of the room, where it was arranged that by the chips, as smokers usually are, she would find her current fuckbuddy and her friends, waiting to hotbox and pregame a bit more before the room peaked. She was driven by horniness and selfishness, as one typically is after four shots of Tito’s vodka, and getting smoked out and ‘taken care of’ upstairs was half the reason she even came.

You’d never met her most recent suitor, and the question of her girlfriend was always met with a ‘no, she’s just my sneaky link.’ but you didn’t question it enough to know more. She was just the girl who Dina would go off campus to meet, and as long as she wasn’t a slasher, and her pre-rolls knocked you on your ass, it would be what it was. You were carried away by your friend’s excitement, by her heavy hand nearly lifting you off of your feet as she beelined to the kitchen, wrangling your twin bodies every which way.

“Ellie! Ellie!” She yelled, jumping up and down a bit to compensate for her voice being swallowed by the bass. She burrowed through the wave, pushing you towards a girl leaning against the sink, nursing a red cup and low, hazy eyes. Her auburn hair was swallowed by a black docker, and a dark-coloured backpack jutted out from behind her as she smiled and waved the two of you –mostly Dina, into her orbit. She looped her head under your shoulder to be pulled into the strong hug of firm biceps, and Arms looked you over, offering a friendly nod.

–

“It’s on streaming. You can watch ‘Many of Them’ literally whenever!”

“Live tweeting is a part of the experience.” You chided matter-of-factly, sitting up cross-legged. It wasn’t like the brunette was wrong, exactly, but you couldn’t give up too much at once. Going soft was not a part of the plan.

“Fuck, whatever– You know the girl I’ve been hooking up with, right?” Her eyebrow raised at your dispassionate ‘not really.’ “Well you know her fucking joints, she sells– weed, shrooms… pills?” Dina listed off with her finger, mulling over the last detail for a second, then confirming in her head with a nod. It’s fine, you’re cool, and the two of you had always bonded over your love of recreational joy anyways. “So, if you wanna smoke orsomething– I got you, all you have to do is show up.” Her hands were up almost sheepishly as she tested the waters, but you weren’t super convinced, and your idea of fun wasn’t exactly playing wingman while she got tongue-fucked by a drug dealer, and the pregnant pause was enough to cue her into having to bring out the big guns.

“-And, and! I'll wash all our dishes, and cleanyoursideoftheroomforaweek.”

Damn, she practically ran through that last part, so under her breath you knew she was hoping that you didn’t hear. But you did, and for a second you could almost see a smirk play on her face as your eyes lit up. She was always up for a good bribe, and even though she would act annoyed, it was great for breaking you out of your shell. She would offer to watch the zombie show if you came out to the bars in your college town with her, pizza if you confessed to your crush instead of instastalking them three times a day, even though it didn’t work, –oh well, shooters shoot– and tonight? A week free from chores if you just spent a couple of hours in your own personal hell. Yeah, you would give her this one.

“Now we’re talking. If you want someone to be the lookout while you and Jesse Pinkman go at it, who am I to deny?” You teased, kicking your legs over the edge of the bed.

Your roommate craned her head up, momentarily stopping her mission of rifling through her clothes. “Who said that?”

“You’re in your ‘good panty’ drawer.” You whispered cheekily.

“Well, you got me. Someone has to get fucked around here.”

“Oh fuck you, bitch!” You laughed, throwing your pillow, hitting smack in the center of her chest.

Dina bounced around the room, practically billowing with glee. There was a descending, barely audible ‘fuck yeah’ as she traipsed down the hall towards the bathroom, rounding the corner and disappearing from your periphery.

“By the way, you know Jesse’s last name is Huang, right, not Pinkman? And we’re uh– not together anymore.” Dina shouted through the silence.

“That’s a character from Breaking Bad. It was a joke– because he’s a drug de–” You stopped yourself midway. “Never mind. It’s not funny if I explain it.”

“Oh– I never watched Breaking Bad. Too Long.” She deadpanned. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head as you slid your way off the bed.

That’s how you found yourself in a dimly lit bathroom, missing the comfort of your memories as ‘Ellie’ rolled a blunt. You stood leaning against the door and Dina sat on the closed toilet seat. The dealer sealed the last of the leaf with a flick of the tongue and a lick of spit, maintaining direct eye contact with Dina so she could not-so-subtly show off. She passed it to the brunette first, who mimed a cheeky, ‘why thank you’ and drew poutily. You three sat there for a while, smoking and talking, steam from the hot shower wafting above your heads as music pumped through the foundation of the house.

There was laughter outside of the door and it soon became awkward for you, Ellie and Dina finishing the blunt, –you were a lightweight– and chatting idly as Dina traced a fingertip against the outline of the tattoo Ellie was showing off.

The temperature of the tiny room ran hotter between their reddened eyes, and it was as though you were being banished by a galactic force. You couldn’t mistake how the red-haired girl’s glance caught an extra second or so at the way Dina’s body was hugged just right in her party dress, cleavage strained against the fuchsia PVC of her neckline, and how she bit the corner of her lip when her eyes hooked on a dark mole on Dina’s breast that was framed by the feathers of her black hair.

It was time to go, unless you were interested in seeing your best friend get dug out on the countertop.

You were already a little bit wobbly, hearing a giggle that slipped from Dina’s lips morph into a squeak as you slipped out of the crack you pulled in the door and into the fray, getting carried down the stairs and back over to the drinks. You crossed over a kissing couple, cutting into their makeout and heavy petting session, and through a huddled together group of girls whispering something about seeing an ex across the room.

You gripped onto the countertop for stability when you finally broke free from the pulsating wave of bodies. There was a bit of everything surfing in deep bowls of ice and water, open bags of chips and snacks bunched up together on the island. You could not be sober for this shit. You wedged up the pop cap on a hard seltzer and brought it to your lips, the spirit coating your tongue and boiling its way into your stomach. There it was again, the familiar warm feeling in your hands and feet, the soft pressure already creeping across the flat of your face. Yeah, now that was it. The anxiety began to melt away, and you leaned against the countertop, flexing your legs.

Wow, they’re inviting giants to the shindig too. You laughed to yourself as the scarlet-lit ocean parted, and a tall, wide figure walked through and into the darkness of a descending flight of stairs. If only it was that easy when you needed to piss, notwithstanding that you had already been in the bathroom.

It’s fun being sardonic sometimes.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see your roommate coming down the stairs, the dealer’s deft fingers pulling down part of her dress that rode up her ass. She arched her head up, straining left and right like the eye of a submarine as she looked for you; her eyes lit up, waving to you as she fisted her companion’s belt loop, bouldering through the sea of people. She was high as fuck, if her bright pink eyes were enough to speak to it, and your gaze lingered over the new expanse of a deep purplish hickey on her neck, small indents from teeth glimmering with saliva in the light.

There was that hotness again that burned in the pit of your stomach, not from drunkenness or anxiety, but the can of fruity liquor in your hand covered up for the embarrassing flush of your wild cherry-coloured cheeks. You peeled your eyes back up to her face and smiled dumbly. You’d never had *that* before. You’ve watched things before at least, and obviously, touched yourself to the thought, but you’ve never had someone to fool around with in bathrooms or hold your skirt when it rode up.

There was your first kiss, but it was in middle school, so it didn't count. It was all clammy lips, two noses that couldn’t get the space between them *quite* right, and an overzealous set of chompers that left you with a bloody lip. Actual horseshit, but somehow, a core memory. It was annoying in a way, how it just didn’t come to you, but you wanted to be wanted. To be lusted over, desired even in that casual touchy way that simmered between your best friend and the girl you didn’t know very well. Dina was making grabby hands at you, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Your drink bobbed as she whisked you to her will, you and Ellie sharing a knowing look as she pushed your bodies through the hall and down the darkness of the stairwell.

–

“RULES ARE SIMPLE,” some asshole in a hat bellowed as he stood over all of you who sat in the circle, mildly drunk off your asses and looking for easy fun. He held up a black beer bottle, carrying it like a trophy and swishing it around your noses for a closer look. “You kids might know seven minutes in heaven.” You didn’t know him, but according to Dina, this was his house, his party, and his very annoying rules. A light patch of raised skin played against his nose as he scrunched his nose over and over again, hands on hips, clearly trying to steal back whatever thought the liquor took from him. Jason, right?

Whatever.

“But we’re all grown-ups here, so I present to you–” He rolled the bottle in hand, clearly soft-launching his bright idea. “Fifteen minutes in purgatory!” There was a deep groan radiating from some, but there was a small minority that exploded in cheers, and whoops. “Pretty self-explanatory, two adventurers venture deep into purgatory, and come out forever changed.

“Two adventurers go deep into purgatory,” He gestured his head at the foreboding broom closet in the back of the room. “And return forever changed.”

“We’ll use the bottle to choose our unlucky voyagers, and you’ll spend fifteen minutes in the closet.” He explained, dropping the mystique in the second half. “Alright kids, let’s start; and just for the record– If you’re a pussy, get the fuck out of the circle!”

The drunken cast of partiers whooped and cheered, hyping each other up, spilling beer out of red cups as they gestured wildly, entirely too grown for this. The room played ‘not it’ to pick who got the first spin, and the unfortunate soul was a blonde who sat cross-legged, blank-eyed at the black glass handed to her, nodding her head tersely.

“We got our very own Abigail Anderson– !” Her eyes narrowed. “Andddd….” Hat praised, cueing her to spin. She took the bottle, pointing the tip towards herself and then spinning it, the glass doubling, tripling the circle, making you dizzy chasing it with your eyes, and everyone sat with bated breath. It slowed and slowed and slowed, until, like ugly fate, it stopped at your feet.

“Our newbie!” He got up to cheese, leaning over you, placing his hands over your shoulders, and rocking you from side to side. You laughed awkwardly, putting your palms up defensively at nothing.

“Um– uh…” You were at a loss for words, only cut off as his head shot into your field of view, hot, hopsy breath tanging your nostrils. “What, you scared?” He taunted, all eyes on you, watching as you nursed a deep discomfort about the whole thing behind an uneasy smile.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Jordan.” The girl, Abby, groaned. She looked up at you from her downward pointing head, swishing her bottle of hard cider in the hand propped over her knee. Jordan, that was the name of this dickhead. Yeah, fuck him. “If she doesn’t want to get in the closet, she doesn’t want to get in the closet. I’ll just spin again.”

Dina cut in, the redhead still leaning lazily against her. “Yeah, don’t–dont be a dick, Jordan.” Her face was tight, and Ellie was annoyed because Dina was annoyed, and the room held a pregnant silence, and even though it wasn’t your fault, you felt all too responsible and all too uncomfortable with all of the eyes watching you.

“It’s fine, guys. Let’s all– eh, chill out, okay? I’m going to take the dare.” You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, trying to steal back the vibe, trying to replace the tension with playful drama as you circled your head around, wiggling the fingers slightly of your held-up palms. “Because I’m not a little bitch.”

The crowd exploded in raucous laughter, each voice clashing together and mimicking the sound of a pipe bursting. You looked over at your partner, who seemed pleasantly surprised, a smirk playing on her peach lips. She placed down her bottle and stood, and as she towered over you, you realised that maybe you were playing with fire. She was scary and nonchalant, but the outer workings of her face were soft and gentle. She didn’t look like the girls in the videos you watched at night; she was something different, uncharted, and before you knew it, a nervousness, and something lower, darker, ran through your body.

Then it was time to go, you piling in first, looking around at some of the half-darkness in the room, barely enough to fit two people in.

The asshole patted the girl’s back, corralling her into the closet behind you. Blood rushed to your head, the pressure was too great, like getting skullfucked through your ears. show her a good time, you could hear him say, and then something that you couldn’t quite understand over the bass. The mountain’s eyes narrowed, but before she could shoot back, her large body crashed into yours and the space became tighter and tighter, just enough for the two of you to put your arms out to either side or turn around. For a split second, you could see Dina’s face from over Jordan’s shoulder, tightened in concern, a timid thumbs up at the side of her head. Then, he closed the door, and the last of the light slipped out through the crack in the wall.

There was a deep silence, and somehow, like the hazy feeling you get right before you wake from a dream, you were chest to chest in the darkness with her blue eyes staring back at you, damn-near bioluminescent. You’d seen her around, because everyone sees her around, but it hadn’t registered that the giant who had parted all of those people in the crowd like they were just water, was standing right in front of you. Outside you could hear the rumble of the music, vibrations of the bass wrapping around you and shaking you from the inside out. The closet was too tight, too warm, too filled with smells from towels and coats and folded blankets and dusty boxes of light bulbs and two cramped, awkward bodies.

Suddenly, you felt all too intimidated.

“You’re Abigail, right?” You questioned. “Off the rugby team?”

“Abby.” You couldn’t read her face in the dark, and though she spoke pointedly she didn’t seem angry, but the accidental overstep was enough to make you want to dig a hole through the floor with your bare hands and die in it. “And yeah– captain, of the rugby team.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry.” You yielded. “So… what are we supposed to do? In here, I mean.” You gestured at nothing, knocking some washcloths from a top shelf down in the dark. “Ah, damn it.” You cursed under your breath, bending down to pick up the small stack. You could hear Abby behind you, sucking her teeth with a judgy hum. Her brows were almost touching her eyelids, captured in secondhand embarrassment, and she almost felt bad for how awkward you were, scrambling to pick them up from the floor.

If you could see her face, you’d be able to tell how her eyes flicked up and down her body, taking everything in. Your black skirt slid slightly to bunch at the front, uncovering portions of your doughy thigh and the ever-so-tiniest range of fabric hiding your prettiest secret. She had to tear her eyes away, almost. She jumped, even, glad you couldn’t see as you popped back up.

You were cute, holding the disheveled stack in your hands, a look of sheer pride on your face. You looked over to the side, tossing them unceremoniously on a free shelf, gravity taking a couple back to the ground. Your sated chuckle, the way your tits pushed up slightly, illuminated, almost framed like art by the neckline of your cream cardigan made her hungry. She pushed the ideas of what she wanted to do with them out of her mind, but damn, she could think about some things that would make the devil embarrassed. She stomped down her desire, stoicism crossing her for a second, only for her to open it back up on second thought.

“They want us to fool around, fuck, ideally.” She started, analysing your expressions for any hint of discomfort at the conversation. “But– we don’t have to do anything.” She tried to cut some of the thick discomforts with a placating smile, almost lost in detail in the low light. She was huge, more so than you, or most anyone else you knew, the jutting-out edge of a shelf knocking the back of her head every time she leaned her head back in the tight space. The hard washboard of her torso was framed by an opening of a grey hoodie and barely much else, just the thick band of her boxers peeking from her sweatpants, and the black of a cropped tank top that stopped right below her bra line.

“Jordan… is typically a good guy, but when he gets drunk he’s a total POS.” Abby was sallow-faced, pursing her lips, tension running through her jawline. “I shouldn’t have let him put you on the spot like that. So… I’m sorry that you got pressured to get in here.”

“It’s fine, I just.” You started, ready to say that big phrase, the one that slightly burned your back to admit. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“What, played seven minutes in heaven? Yeah, kind of a jackass thing to suggest in your twenties.”

Shit. She was going to make you say it.

“No. I mean I’ve never–” and you thought your tiny voice couldn’t get any tinier. “had sex before.”

Abby breathed in the deepest sigh, pure anxiety crossing her face for a split second, before she was feeding you apologies. “It’s fine, we don’t have to do anything we can just sit here and talk. Or be in silence if you want it’s alr–”

“I want to do it.” You said doggedly, pressing yourself into a tiny corner. Her brow perched, and there was something in those narrowing blue eyes that said she didn’t believe you. You were pigeontoed, legs shifting against one another, declaring in your firmest voice that you wanted her to take your virginity.

“Are you sure?” She breathed out, stepping a bit closer. “You don’t have to feel pressured to do anything because you think they want a show.”

“Oh, my god.” You were pouting, annoyed. “I can choose if I want to have sex you know, and I want to have sex right here right n–”

She kissed you, softly as possible, testing your waters to see how far you were willing to go. Her hands were patient, one lightly knotted in the woolen knit of your cardigan to lightly pet your lower back, the other making gentle grips on your sweatered arm. Her fingers were barely bruising, gripping around your wrist almost tight enough, and a tiny shockwave coursed between your thighs and convinced you that you wanted more. In this low light, in this dark room, in this place between space and time, you wanted to be her conquest. To be taken, touched, manhandled, to be made to weather the storm of her overwhelming strength against you, lost in the middle of the ocean.

It was perverted, almost, how the idea of her showing restraint raised hairs on your skin, how you deepened the kiss like you were being overcome with an insatiable, bloody hunger. You had to take back the moment, to steal her attention in a way she couldn’t deny before she thought you were all talk; you stepped closer, positioning yourself so that her thigh hovered right below the heated space under your skirt. Her hand was warm, soft as you grabbed it, moving it lower, deeper down the divot of your back and where the fat of your ass connected. She caught on, groaning into your lips as she kneaded around your body, her tongue sweeter and heavier against yours, working that one damned hand up your skirt to cup bare skin.

You jumped.

As fast as it had come, her hand slipped back from under your skirt and the touch was lost completely, awkwardly hovering for a second until Abby pulled it back into her pocket and stepped back. You were miserable, eyes welling up in frustration like a lost dog at the lack of feeling. She was pulling you into insanity but was too chivalrous to drown you in it, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she looked down at you.

“Fuck– didn’t mean to be aggressive like that. I–” The redness bled across her cheeks, freckles on full display as her fingers met the wet spot that you were hiding, your hands guiding hers to the space between your thighs. There was a pause, a knowing, a challenge between the two of you as an unknown heat spread throughout your bodies, and you collided once more. The blonde’s mouth sucked a nasty pressure into your throat, agitating it with bites and licks as her head traveled deeper, hands playing at the front of your sweatered torso to undo the buttons that held your breasts hostage.

Her entrance was assured as she popped the loops open, fingers gripping the fabric of your camisole and lifting up, taking your bra with it. She nipped at the exposed flesh, heat from her mouth traveling directly to your vagina, clit throbbing hard with need. Abby engulfed a nipple with the wetness of her tongue, closing her lips around the rapidly hardening bud to pull it to full attention, chuckling as she scraped the flesh with her teeth. The wet head was replaced with her palms, each thumb and forefinger rolling one or the other. The sensitivity of the tiny flesh was insane, enough to make you whine out loud as she continued, better than anything you had ever done to yourself.

You were biting your lip, eyes big and doe-like as you waded through your pleasure, soft pants heaving your chest. She fished it out from between your teeth and hooked it within her own, popping the plump flesh into her mouth as she pared yours with her tongue. You swore the room was spinning, a wetness slicking between your thighs, a drip positioned between two pairs of hungry lips. You could’ve spent all fifteen minutes– or an eternity, in this beautiful hell, giving and taking and relishing in a different, sort of strange type of want.

“Don’t stop.” You moaned in between stolen breaths, the blonde chasing your mouth each time you pulled away.

“For you, pretty?” Gripping you tighter for emphasis, pressing you closer into the wall, angling further between your spread legs. “Never.”

It was like you were some weird intoxication to her, a drug that she couldn’t get enough of. How your ass molded right into the divots of her palms, those tiny moans that rang through the cage you two were in, the rapid beating of your heart rippling through your body. She wanted to peel your cardigan from your shoulders, wanted to shred your clothes from your body and take you however she liked, and make you feel better than you knew what to do with. Needed to make you scream and fuck you until you cried. But it was your first time, so she resigned to being gentle and soft, like you were a little deer in the forest, and she was trying to get close without scaring you off. so she would give you only what you needed.

She didn’t have a lot of strong feelings about that nickname she had earned in sophomore year, War Machine, from all of the pretty girls she ran through and left unable to walk, unable to talk for a couple of days or more. but when Jordan said it, in front of you, in front of sweet and innocent, pretty and tiny *you* she could’ve reeled back and torn him apart. But she still didn’t want to scare you. So she had forced an alright, the one a child forces when they get scolded, and hid the burning in her palms that made her want to fight in the pocket of her pants.

Your eyes bored x-rays through her formidable thighs as she bent her knees to squad before you, strong hands rubbing up and down your thighs with contrasting gentleness to the hard angles of her face, the brow that was crooked down slightly in concentration, the slightly parted lips playing with mischief as they took you in. You were frightened for just a second, until Abby looked up at you with sympathetic eyes, a hand leaving your thigh and linking with your fingers, guiding you to the base of her skull to envelop her honeyed strands.

She was back at you, the darkness in your stomach leaking out as you palmed her head, and she ran her hands upward, more upward, until the ruffles of your cotton skirt were overturned in her palms. From the waist down, you were completely exposed, a wet spot working itself into your panties from your innermost recesses and a musky scent betraying your shyness.

Abby pressed herself gently into the fabric, her fat lips creating a cool pressure against the hot flesh, her nose itching lightly into your pubis. You bucked your hips unconsciously, nearly fucking her face in your abandon. A vibration from her laugh traveled through you, nestled inside of you, and more wetness began to slick your channel. That friendly ache formed in your rapidly hardening clit, and a similar pain throbbed in your pinkie and middle finger. Her other hand moved up, gripping fistfuls of your ass, less forgiving now, and forcing a squeak from your lips.

You were dumbstruck; a stranger’s hands all over you, mouth nearly on top of your sacred place, nearly leaking from sheer lust. She had barely done anything. Your jaw slacked, and in your mind you felt like a fool, lamenting how you thought your first time would be special. Soft circles rubbed into your inner thigh as she pulled your legs apart, peppering angel kisses throughout the little divots.

“S’okay, baby.” Her voice was barely a whisper, a tiny encouragement that calmed the buzzing in your mind. “Tell me how you want me. I’m yours.”

and you thought that declaration would destroy you,’ I’m yours.’ and it felt very, very real.

“I want you to touch me.” You said, barely a whisper, nodding as she pressed her face to your thigh, sliding down your panties to about knee-level. It was as though she had seen heaven’s gate open, awestruck at the blood rushing to engorge your lips, how your clit stood on end without even being touched. The thatch of hair curling between your thighs and around your depths. She had to have a taste, and there wasn’t much room for second-guessing as she pressed her mouth to the hot spot and flattened her tongue directly against the wettest space.

Juicy noises slid from her mouth as she rolled your clit between her tongue and sucked sharply with her lips, and it was as though you could’ve sunk to the floor, the way your legs became distinctly not yours. It was enough, enough, not enough, then too much. It was like you were an endlessly gushing fountain as Abby’s wet, firm tongue parted your lips, dipping ever so lightly into your hole as she licked out a string of nectar from your drooling cunt. It was as though you were animated, possessed even, as your hands flew into her hair, pushing her head down further and further, to that release you chased violently and madly.

Abby was humble, letting you guide her where you needed her; she was soft at first, but you didn’t want soft, you wanted more.

She obliged.

The blonde slipped her fingers between your thighs and parted your slit, opening up an endless, waiting tightness. She was intrepid, pressing through your clenching muscle and opening you up more than you had ever done; thick digits tearing through you, fucking your pussy at an unforgiving pace, concentration forming in the muscles of her neck. You hid an inhuman growl in the pit of your throat, in the crook of your sweatered elbow, and she moaned out, satisfied with that which she had created inside of you. You were fucking her face in a tight, dirty closet, calf propped over a muscled shoulder for support, the heel of your booties pressing into the wall, locking her in.

It was as though the two of you were fighting, every roll of your hips she chased with her head, every time you shied away from the pleasure she held you harder, taking you even hungrier, diving deeper to a spot you didn’t know was there; every taut pull at her scalp met with an even tighter grip into the flesh of your plush ass. The pads of her fingers violated the sopping warmth of your cunt, and you clenched your stomach unwittingly, walls flexing, holding her hand there. Drool dripped from between her lips, pooling and soaking down into the fibres of an old shag rug, caked with dust and whatever else.

Your own slipped between your lips before you could suck it back in, and the silver trail bounced, the way it does when it breaks, and the thick drop cascaded down her temple, getting lost in your brow. The piece that was yours snaked down your collarbone and between your breasts and somehow, you felt a connection.

Abby snorted, sucked in a breath as her fingers left you empty. Fuck. She didn’t go for her face, wiping them on the skin of your pussy, they traveled upwards, firm grips on your ass. She rubbed the flesh as though she was throwing clay, stretching the skin between her rough fingers, calluses on her palms coasting over every bump and groove. She had found what she had wanted, craning her neck lower, lower, until you could just barely see her eyes. Her fingertips prodded, greedy, opening your lips, tongue leching against your soft fruit as though she was funneling the juices directly into her mouth. You thought your thighs would give out but she held you, stronger, and you fed her willingly.

Her middle finger dipped down into the slit, collecting juices, stealing a breath from your lungs, you wanted to scream her name but it was caught inside of you, so you stood slack-jawed, fuck drunk as she abused your walls, fucking every ridge painfully slow. The tight hole stretched around the meatiness of her finger, and she hooked it as though she was searching, retreating from the warmth, slick with your nastiest of liquids. Again, she split your ass with one hand, and you clenched your tightest hole without thinking about it.

“Don’t worry,” She said, muffled against your mound as she latched against it once more, “gonna help you so fucking good.” You were confused, but you trusted her, a complete stranger. For a second you began to ask what there was to worry about, but your mind was pried away from you as you felt the pressure of her coated fingertip tracing around your asshole. A gentle kiss played at the head of your pussy, comforting you as you nodded your head wildly, something of a ‘yes’ flying from your throat as her middle finger parted that threshold.

Your mind exploded, head shooting straight up into the air, a small yelp burning into a silent open-mouthed cry. You were spinning, the room was spinning, your body heated up instantly. Then, the wet warmth traveled back to your clit, her opposite hand nestling two fingers into your aching, needy twat, her tongue lapping as her fingers resumed digging and that one damned finger fucked in and out of your tightest hole painfully slow.

She fucked you like an animal; you cried out like a bitch in heat. The music trembled through your ears, and you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough, that everyone would hear, everyone would know. You were both drunk and this didn’t matter, didn’t mean anything, but she was bottoming her tongue out in you and you wanted it to mean a lot. Girls talked and you fucking hated them all. She was loose, she got around, and you wanted to be hers.

You wanted to capture her and be interesting to her and walk with her hand on your lower back around campus. Wanted her callused fist in your hair, around your neck as she took you every night. Wanted badly to fucking cum, to open the portal, to wash her face with this unholy water, wanted to kiss wet lips and taste everything. Wanted to know if she could ever like you, after you gave it up, quickly, bellowing like a foghorn against a rack of coats. You wanted to be kept, to keep her spit inside of you like a keepsake but she sucked it back in a quick second, before you could even feel her cheeks hollow between your thighs, and felt dirty for even thinking of it.

A sweet pain formed between your thighs and you couldn’t stop the groan that rose from your throat, every muscle in your face clenching and unclenching, your eyes crossing as your orgasm came quickly into view. Abby fucked you through it, fingers slow and forgiving. It was as though a stream of slowly descending tidal waves were crashing against you, and you needed more, it hurt but you needed more. Something deep burned inside of you, endlessly hot, and you wondered how she could stand the heat as she hit it over and over again. You sobbed, and swore that you could feel a tear roll down your cheek, feeling the need to rub your eyes for good measure.

She looked up, entranced, face softening for a second, watching as you gave up your mind to your body. There was a hard knock at the door, the music lowered a decibel, silence filling the two of you, her fingers still deep inside of your two holes. A sing-song voice bellowed out ‘five minutes!’ and the darkness ridged her eyes.

For the first time, her voice was hard, removing her hand from your cunt, making sure to curl the one in your ass tighter in compensation. She slammed the door twice with her fist, the frame bulging in a way that made you fear the whole thing would just fall down. “Fuck off.” Her voice was loud enough to tear through the uncomfortable tension. There was an apprehensive, ‘woah man,’ that you could barely hear, and the music regained, the party rejoiced, and hopefully, the fear of God being struck enough in your host to leave well enough alone.

Her lips were still slick, soft, kissable with your juices. She flashed you a genuine, pretty smile. Her hands gripped a little too tight but you wanted it all. She looked down at the mess between your trembling thighs, then at your heavy, panting face. She leaned back on her heels as a wide smile played on her face, satisfied with herself. A windy chuckle passed through her glistening lips, wiping her mouth and chin on the inside of her hoodie. “Fuckin’ insane.” She breathed out in between pants.

“Abby.” She said, as though the strength of your orgasm traveled through your brain and made you forget the events of the last 15 minutes. “Constance Hall. Dorm 425 on the second floor.” It was as though your heart skipped a beat, but you punched it down, a weak smile playing against your lips.

She was fucking disheveled, almost inhaling the last sweet smells of your pussy, creating a memory of the flavour and filing it away in her mind for safekeeping. She was delicate, pulling your white panties up to your thighs again, soothing a finger where those soft, curly pussy hairs were hidden again. She let down her hands, skirt furling down, covering the marks of dark possession that she left behind. “Come see me again sometime, ‘kay?” She chuckled, giggled even, and that glint in her eyes was enough to make you faint.

She stood up, waiting for you to compose yourself and straighten everything out before she pushed open the now-unlocked door and peeked her head out.

Jordan was already on her as the door flew open, and you could hear his hushed nosiness as you hugged the wall and tried to act casual, eyes locked on her retreating back as she reentered the room, light haloing her. ‘So what happened?’ you swore his lips read, and your stomach dropped. But she cut through his questions, loud enough for you to hear, convincing enough that he wouldn’t have anything to run his mouth about later on.

“Nothing man, we were just talking.”

Maybe she was actually just that charming.

Yeah.

#tiki writes #abby x reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson ff #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby tlou #abby tlou smut #abby smut #abby anderson x female reader

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saythenametotheworld · 30 days

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Message in a Bottle [1]

Genre: strangers to lovers; fluff; slow burn Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Reader Warnings: mature themes, sloooow burn, suggestive Notes: 19.7k words, song prompt was Message in a Bottle by Taylor Swift. Synopsis: Seungcheol likes his coffee dark and iced; you like yours creamy smooth and searing hot. Your differences, mutual interests, and love for coffee bring you close together. It was all fun and games until you fell madly in love with a Choi Seungcheol whose heart still belonged to someone else.

It was crowded when you went for your usual coffee run at the cafe across the street from your university. The rain was pouring hard and for you, the unexpected downpour was today's bad luck because you didn't have an umbrella with you. Fortunately, your jacket kept you warm and some nice schoolmate shared her umbrella with you on your way to the cafe. The ambiance is nice, like always and you're thinking about staying until the rain passes, maybe catching up on the book you were reading. But judging by the number of people present in the cafe right then, you figured you wouldn't have a chance to even open a book. Initially, you assumed most of these people were taking a quick shelter because of the rain, but when you noticed the large number of girls with their giggles and chatters, you figured out what was going on. Today is Saturday, the day when the cute part-timer will be here. Of course, you should have expected the place to be full with zero vacancies.

Right then, you spotted a corner table where a guy sat quietly by himself, a book covering his face as he read. You grimaced at the way he was holding the book at eye level with one hand. To you, that's the most uncomfortable way to read, especially with a hardcover book. But hey, each to his own, right? You shouldn't judge people just because their ways aren't what you're used to. Especially right now when you're in dire need of a seat and he has a table for two by himself.

"Hi, excuse me? Are you alone? Do you mind if I sit here?" you pleaded, your tray heavy in your hand and not because of its actual weight but because you were being really careful not to spill the mug of hot coffee. The guy didn't even look up from his book when he dragged his glass slightly towards him, a gesture telling you he was making space for you on the table. "Oh, thanks, you're a lifesaver!"

You set your tray down and placed your orders on the table before a service crew came over to take the tray. As you settled down, you fished the Kindle from your bag, glancing at his book to see what he was reading. "The Republic by Plato? Are you a student here?"

He peered at you over the book, lowering it slightly to reveal a set of big, round, dark brown eyes and arched eyebrows. You grinned sheepishly, now realizing that your attempt at small talk was a bad idea. First, he probably wanted some peace and quiet, too immersed in his book and didn't want to be disturbed; second, you're not even fond of making casual conversations with strangers in the first place.

"Oh, sorry. I had to read the same book last semester for class so I just assumed you're a student here too," you explained.

"You're a senior?" he asked, lowering the book on the table for a moment. You were able to take a good look at his face which bears somewhat exotic but good-looking features. He had a prominent nose, and pouty lips that caused his jaw to clench when they were pursed. "That's a requirement for senior Political Sciences students."

"Yeah! Yes, I am," you smiled, nodding as you stirred your steaming coffee so you had an excuse not to look him in the eyes. He seemed older than you, you could tell by the way he was sitting and his manner of speaking. Also because of the way he's not dressed like guys your age. "How about you?"

That was your low-key attempt at asking his age.

"I graduated a few years ago," he shrugged before taking his iced coffee and sipping from the glass straw.

"Ah, I see, you're an oppa," you noted, nodding again as you blew on your cup. You stopped in your tracks, realizing belatedly the implication of your reply. You looked up at him and sure enough, he had a confused smile on his lips. You briskly sat up and shook your head and hands at him. "No, no, I mean, like you're older than me. That's all. I'm not trying to flirt or anything."

He just nodded with his eyebrows, smiling wider with his lips together before returning to his book. "What's your name?"

You fumbled with the thoughts in your head, suddenly forgetting your own name upon being asked what it was. After clearing your throat to silence your crazed brain, you told him your name and threw in that you're a senior Linguistics student.

"Linguistics have Plato?" he asked, referring to the subject you mentioned a while ago.

"No, but I took an elective."

"Hmmh, you seem to have plenty of time," he replied, eyes still glued on his book. "Seungcheol."

"Huh?"

His eyes fluttered to you. "My name. It's Choi Seungcheol."

"Oh, I wasn't ask— I mean, yeah, nice to meet you, Seungcheol-nim."

Seungcheol flattened his lips together in a smile before shifting his gaze back to the book. You smiled back, although his eyes had already left you. After that brief exchange, you both plunged into your own worlds, reading books in two different mediums, immersing yourselves in two different types of literature, and drinking coffee at two different temperatures. The little nook you shared was quiet, even with the chattering around the cafe and the consistent giggling when the handsome part-timer would smile at a random someone among the customers. You were so immersed in your own little world that you lost track of time, only realizing how long you've been sitting there when you touched your cup and it has gone cold. Seungcheol's spot in front of you is empty. The rain has stopped too, leaving a mist behind that fogged the glass.

"Okay. I will stop here because I have self-control and John Green will still be here when I come back to it," you whispered to yourself, like a mantra to keep yourself from using up all of your time doing something you consider to be unproductive.

As you tucked away your reading tablet, you spotted a piece of untouched donut on the table and a note with it that said: It was nice to meet you, Y/N. - SC

"You ate it? You ate it?!" Seolhee, your roommate, hollered at you when you told her about meeting Seungcheol and the donut he left for you. "You ate a donut from a stranger?"

"Technically, he's no longer a stranger. I already knew him when he gave me that."

"Yeah, for three hours!"

You sighed, lying on the couch. "You're missing the point."

"No, you're missing the point. You ate food left to you by a stranger. What if he was some creepy old guy who's slipping chemicals on women's food and then abducts them?"

"Okay. You do have a point," you told her, sitting back up again. "But first, he's not creepy old, maybe like three or four years older. Second, it was at The Coffeehouse. What kind of psycho kidnapper would abduct women in broad daylight and in a crowded cafe? And third, he just didn't strike me as a bad guy. I mean, he seemed completely normal, educated even. And you know I have a good eye for people."

"Yes, you have. But you can't entrust your safety to intuition alone. For all we know, it could be a ploy. Get you to warm up to him before he abducts you and leaves you in a ditch, naked and lifeless."

You shook your head. Criminal Psychology had Seolhee thinking the worst things about people, but you don't blame her because she obviously had a point and you were admittedly being naive when you did what you did. Still, you stood by your initial impression of Choi Seungcheol; he's a decent guy.

"So, is he handsome?" Yoori asked, just as she had finished doing her makeup in front of the mirror.

"Yoori!" Seolhee chided but your other roommate just shrugged.

"What? If you're wrong, and he really was a decent guy, then we have to know if he was good-looking enough for our girl."

"Why does that matter?" Seolhee questioned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Because he might have a crush on her. He left y/n a donut and a note. That's something a guy won't do unless he has a reason to."

"He's old."

"No, he's just a little older," Yoori corrected, jumping over to your side of the couch. "So, how much older is he? You know, older guys are way more attractive. They're mature and open-minded. Sometimes they can be a little intense too, but that's the best thing about them."

"Intense?" you asked and she scooted closer to whisper in your ear.

"Oh, you know..." In a lower but clearly audible voice, she said, "Intense and experienced."

"Okay. You're done," Seolhee announced, tapping your shoulder repeatedly. "Get up and go to bed. You have class."

But Yoori grabbed your head and locked it in a hug. "Hey, don't baby my y/n. She's old enough for that conversation! She even brought a guy here before!"

You slipped away from her grasp and ran to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you as you heard them bicker. It's one thing to live with roommates, but it's another when said roommates are two people with different personalities who are dating steadily. Seolhee and Yoori are such people. You liked living with them but ever since you moved in, they started treating you like their very own daughter even when you're literally the same age. You gotta admit though, it feels good to be taken care of.

Your coffee runs went on as usual; just dropping by to grab a cup and then leaving. Sitting around a cafe isn't really something you habitually do, especially when you're alone. Even though you were curious about Seungcheol, you never thought about sharing a table with him again or turning your spontaneous acquaintance into an actual friendly relationship. Admittedly though, each time you went to the cafe, you found yourself looking around to see if he was there but so far you haven't seen him again since that one rainy Saturday. You assumed he wasn't a regular but it could also be the timing of your visits. Either way, he only ever crossed your mind when you're at the cafe. Then two weeks in, it got to a point where your eyes automatically scanned the cafe in search of him and when you realized that you had subconsciously associated him with the cafe, you felt like a foolish teenager with a massive crush on someone.

"I gotta stop doing that," you chided yourself after you walked inside the cafe and did your routine quick scan of the place.

"Doing what?" Yoori asked, both her and Seolhee casting curious gazes at you.

You shook your head and nervously replied with the first excuse you came up with, "Talking to myself."

You looked for a vacant table while your roommates ordered the food. As you did, you spotted the corner table you shared with Seungcheol and found him sitting there by himself, reading a book. Seeing him there made your heart race, an unfamiliar kind of nervousness creeping into your chest. Seungcheol looked unfamiliar too, as if it was the first time you'd laid eyes on him. But then again, you never really got the chance to get to know him properly, let alone take the time to familiarize what he looks like.

"Who's that?" you heard Seolhee ask and only then did you realize you were staring at Seungcheol.

"No one," you said briskly, sounding defensive. You folded when Seolhee gave you a skeptical gaze. "I mean, someone. That's the guy I told you about. Choi Seungcheol."

"Choi Seungcheol?" Seolhee grimaced but Yoori gasped. "That name rings a bell."

"Seungcheol? The donut guy?" asked Yoori to whom you responded with a nod. "Well, isn't he a looker?"

"He is, but stop looking. You guys are embarrassing," you scolded quietly, tugging Yoori's hand to sit her down. You talked about random stuff for a while, eating your second breakfast between conversations. Yoori, however, can't seem to get over seeing Seungcheol for the first time.

"You should go say hi to him or something," she chimed when she caught you staring in his direction for the nth time. You chuckled incredulously, acting like you just heard a ridiculous suggestion.

"Why should I?" you questioned, hiding your nervousness behind your mug as you sipped from it.

"You can't stop looking over there. You might as well just approach him."

You didn't, of course. But you saw him stand up and get ready to leave. Just as he was passing by your table, he gave you a smile and an acknowledging nod that you returned politely. It was a fleeting exchange, almost unnoticed but you knew your friends saw that. As soon as he was far enough, Seolhee tapped your arm.

"I know that guy. Choi Seungcheol, was it? He's friends with the professor I am currently working for as a TA," she announced.

"He is?" you questioned, glancing briefly at Seungcheol who's now standing by the doorway, chatting a coffeeshop staff. "Does he teach?"

Seolhee crossed her arms over her chest, thinking. "I don't think so. From what I know, he's probably a lawyer or something. He graduated law school here three years ago and he's older than us by... five years, I think?"

"How do you know all that?" asked Yoori.

"I told you, he's friends with the prof. He comes by sometimes and they chat. Sometimes I hear them talking so I pick up things. They seem close too. They're probably related."

You just shrugged, intrigued to know a little about him but you're also less curious now that you know he's not only older but old enough to have a decent job and have his life figured out. Now that you've thought about it, you realize he's an intellectual. He went to law school, reads Plato to pass the time, and even has a professor for a friend. You can claim yourself to be an academic but not to that extent. Choi Seungcheol is in a different league and your tiny little crush on him faded after finding out how much gap the two of you have, both in age and way of life. You don't even want to begin imagining the possibility that he's wealthy too.

Studying is hard, but for someone who's got nothing else going on with her life, you've grown to love school and studying. College life gave you enough to live a fun life; classes, friends, and hobbies, even dreams and aspirations. It has its advantages but it also has its drawbacks that you dislike so much, like deadlines and homework. As you sat on a tall stool by the long window table at The Coffeehouse, you glared at the words on your computer, muttering curses under your breath. It was late in the evening when you arrived with heavy feet, having no choice but to do your homework here because your roommates had a little party going on in your shared apartment. You had a written task you forgot about and only remembered when a friend from the same class mentioned it to you earlier that evening. Now you have to pull an all-nighter to finish a ten-page in-depth analysis of a famous speech. Is it possible to finish in one night what would have taken at least two days to complete? You blew the hair out of your face again, squinting at the words while a part of the speech played on a loop through your earphones. You could swear you've memorized every word uttered by this person, even the timing of the pauses and the occasional clearing of his throat. If this goes on, you'd go nuts. Time check, 12:45 midnight.

"Okay! Four pages: done, six more to go," you blurted, stretching your arms to start typing again. Downing more of your hot coffee, you focused on the sounds from your earphones. Oblivious to your surroundings, you have cut yourself off from the world, eyes not leaving your screen while you type everything that comes to mind. And when you finally wrote the last line for your paper, you raised your hands in the air to celebrate. Even boasting to yourself when you see the time. "2:15? See, finished it in five hours, no sweat."

You pulled the earphones out of your ears, breathing a sigh of relief as you reached for your cup. Only then did you notice several empty cups sitting next to the warm one you just touched. A strange thing to see because you don't remember ordering this many. Come to think of it, you never ordered a refill but your coffee stayed warm and full the whole time you were working.

"You did great," said the man sitting one chair away. You recognized Seungcheol, eyes fixed on his book while leaning on the backrest of the stool.

"Seungcheol-nim..." you trailed off, wondering if you were right to think he had been reordering your coffee while you were working on your assignment. "Have you been here the whole time?"

His eyes fluttered over to the empty cups and to you, then back to his book. "I was here before you."

"No way, have you been refilling my cup?" you questioned when you noticed that he was drinking iced coffee.

He flipped a page and exhaled. "You look like you could use a few more cups while working," he replied.

You felt your cheeks flare, making you stare into your computer screen then shut your eyes to calm down. If there's one thing you're shy to admit, it's the fact that your heart is fragile for even the smallest acts of service. Imagine this much thoughtfulness from someone you just met? And someone really attractive at that? You'd be head over heels in no time! That can't happen!

"Why though?"

Seungcheol shrugged. "You were too passionate with what you're doing. I was touched."

You weren't sure if he was joking but that made you laugh. "Well, thanks? I guess? I appreciate it."

He gave you a brief glance and nodded. "Anytime."

You looked around the cafe, taking notice of the students with their laptops and sleepy eyes fixated on their screens. It was quiet but you could almost hear the chaos in your fellow students' heads as they worked and studied. Other customers were just lounging, but most of the people there were college students.

"Wow, this place looks miserable," you sighed, returning to your own laptop to save your work. "I guess it's true what they said about this cafe."

"What do they say?" asked Seungcheol, closing his book and crossing his arms over his chest. He looked warm in his brown coat, and you were reminded of the age gap again when you compared his coat to your cartoon sweater. Does he not even dress casually when he lounges at a cafe late at night?

"They say this place becomes a graveyard after midnight," you replied, chuckling. "I mean, every student looks close to dying. Including me."

Seungcheol smiled. "Back in my day, this was a pork belly barbecue restaurant."

"It was?" you questioned, genuinely amazed. But then a snort came out of your mouth. "Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh. It's just that you sounded so old when you said, 'Back in my day'."

Seungcheol chuckled this time. "To be fair, it has been a while and this place looks nothing like it did before. Here, let me show you."

He fished his phone from his coat's pocket and toggled on his screen for a moment before leaning closer to show you a photo. It was of him with some other people and he looked younger in it. You assumed it was when he was still in college and took notice of the place around him. It was a bit shabby, with smoke around, writing on the walls, and barbecue tables all around. It looks nothing like the posh and clean interior of the cafe now.

"This was six years ago while I was in undergrad school. Different, isn't it?"

You nodded in agreement, genuinely impressed by his revelation. "It is. Hard to believe this was the same building." You looked around the cafe. "What happened to that restaurant?"

"The owner passed away a few years back," he replied. "The building was renovated shortly after."

"Well, damn. That got sad pretty fast." You flattened your lips together. "You looked cute when you were a student though."

Your last comment made Seungcheol chuckle. "Thanks?" he replied, sounding unconvinced.

"Right, by the way, if you don't mind me asking," you began, moving to occupy the seat between the two of you. "What do you do for a living?"

"What do I do?"

You nodded with enthusiasm. "Yeah. I have this friend who said you were close with a professor she was assisting. I got curious about your job because you have this academic vibe."

Seungcheol's shoulders rocked as he laughed. "Do I now?"

You smiled sheepishly. "No, not really. But you seem like one. Given your choice of books and professor friend."

He nodded affirmatively. "I can see how you came to that conclusion."

"See, even the way you talk is intelligent," you commented and that seemed to have caught him off-guard, making him laugh shyly and look away for a second.

"Do you always speak that way?"

Your hands flew over your mouth, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Why? How do I speak?"

"Like you're empowering people by praising them too much," he replied. "Or do you do it unknowingly?"

"Is that how I sounded? Wow, that explains a lot of things," you blurted, recalling all the times you got unwanted attention from guys who claimed you were flirting with them.

"Like what?"

"What?" you retorted, refusing to answer honestly.

"Never mind, but to answer your question, I'm not really an academic, whatever you think that is." He paused and appeared to hesitate before saying, "I'm a liar."

"A lawyer?"

"No, a liar."

"Yes, a lawyer," you repeated, chuckling as you took a sip from your still-warm cup of coffee. "I figured that much after finding out you went to law school."

"You know an awful lot about me," he quipped so you shook your head in denial.

"No. Just that bit." You paused, realizing you knew more than that bit. "And your professor friend. And maybe your... age... too..."

"My age? Were you curious about my age?"

Yes. "No," you lied, laughing derisively. "It just came up during the one time when we talked about you. Once."

Seungcheol chuckled heartily. "Alright, if you say so."

You were still reeling in embarrassment when your phone buzzed, signaling a message from Yoori. She was asking if you're still out and when you'd be back so you took that as your cue to leave.

"I have to go. It's way past my bedtime," you quipped, pointing at your wristwatch. That prompted Seungcheol to check his too.

"Yeah, looks like it." He smiled at you, a friendly smile that you knew you'd be seeing again sometime. "Good luck with your assignment."

"Ugh, don't remind me." You rolled your eyes as you finished packing up your stuff. "See you around, Seungcheol-nim."

Your little meet-ups with Seungcheol were spontaneous and mostly happened when you least expected it. But over time, you got familiar with his patterns and found out he was there at random but at specific times of day; either late in the morning or late at night. Most of the time, you catch him there late in the morning, in the quiet nook he seemed to have reserved for himself or the long table by the windows. Whenever he sees you walk in by yourself, he offers to share his table where you would lose track of time just talking. The subjects of your conversations were random, often mundane but interesting enough to keep discussing. In these encounters, you found out how, despite your differences in preferences, you share common interests in literature, coffee, and music. He still speaks like an older guy, and his insights were interesting. More often than not, your opinions agree with each other. On the rare occasions when it doesn't, you're always the first to call him out, sparking a friendly debate that lets you in on his deep thoughts about the matter. While the age gap isn't that much and most people his age are good enough with technology and trends, Seungcheol admits he does not indulge too much in such things. This became something you would always tease him about.

"Is this seat taken?" you asked the moment you caught him by himself at his usual table. He panicked at your arrival, closing his book at once and hiding it under his hands.

"No classes today?" he casually asked but you already have your eyes on the book he was hiding. You sat across from him and placed your stuff on the vacant chair.

"Not until 2:30. What's that you got there?" you hinted, grinning mischievously before trying to snatch it. Seungcheol was quick to hide it and pretended not to know what you meant, looking around stupidly. "You don't have to hide it. I know that book. I saw it when I came in. I thought you're not a fan of romance novels?"

Seungcheol quietly took the book out of his coat and placed it on the table with a flustered expression. "I'm not but I do read a few. And this is a good book."

You grimaced. "Wait till you finish reading it."

"I have actually. I like to re-read this from time to time," he confessed, clearing his throat as if he was embarrassed to say what he just said.

Now you're straight-up giving him a judging gaze. "No, you don't."

"I do."

"But it's terrible. The author portrayed love in the most clichéd way possible and she wrote the most boring main character ever with no character development and ended up leaving everything behind for a guy. She started as a damsel in distress that needed saving and she stayed that way until a macho male character saved her. So boring."

"I disagree. The story is set in the 1500s when opportunities were scarce for women. She was denied a lot of things and had to live a life mapped out for her by society and other people. Her love interest was a man with access to limitless privileges. And while I do admire headstrong and independent female protagonists, I also think it's alright to get out of a bad place with someone else's help."

"I have to admit, that's a good point. But that's not the only problem. The author wrote a perfect love interest. He's too nice and charismatic. Also consistent and cares about her thoughts et cetera. He's too good to be true. And the way he pined for her and never gave up on her? Unrealistic! That's where I draw the line."

"I thought you didn't finish it?" he teased. "You seem to know the story better than I do."

Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest. "I had to force myself to finish it because it was for an assignment. I remember writing an analysis and a vicious critique on it."

"Did your professor agree with you though?"

"Hah! Of course not! But she still gave me a good grade for my work. Her insights were the same as yours, actually. Obviously, people can have different opinions about the same things. So, you're entitled to your own opinions just as I am to mine," you replied, chiming as you recalled that particular time in your life.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked, as if challenging you to argue your claim.

"I have. That's why I know the author made a fantasy version of love."

"You don't know that. What's fantasy to you might be reality for her. Or to whoever it was that she got the inspiration from."

You scoffed, "Seungcheol-nim, love is subjective. You can continue enjoying that book. You don't have to convince me. My last relationship showed me an entirely different version of romance. While he seemed like the man from the novel at the very beginning, with his handwritten letters and sweet-smelling flowers, it took him four months to show his true colors. He dated three women while we were together. Three! And we're all from the same university!"

Seungcheol looked appalled. "He did?"

"Yes! Gosh, he was an absolute jerk. I always wondered how he got away with it for that long."

"That's relatable, somehow," he commented, making you snigger.

"What? You got cheated on too?" you asked but then you saw him hesitate so you shook your hands at him. "You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I'm only comfortable telling you about my ex because I believe more people should know what a scumbag he is."

He laughed upon hearing that. "Alright, but did that last relationship change how you think about love at all?"

You crossed your arms over your chest and confidently said, "Of course not. All I got from that experience was that he was a jerk, and love is a different experience each time. I know not everyone will treat me the same way. I've had good relationships before that."

"If any of it were good, it wouldn't have ended and you wouldn't have met your last ex." His comment made you scowl and snicker.

"So you're like a love expert now?" you teased so he laughed heartily. "I mean, I had no idea I could talk to you about love and romances like this."

"Honestly? Me too," he laughed, tapping the book on the table. "This book has this effect on me, I guess."

After a few more criticisms about the book, you and Seungcheol let the hours tick by just talking. Lunchtime came soon enough and you had to leave first because you made plans with some friends to eat lunch together.

"Ah, can I get your number?" he asked just as you were about to leave. He handed his phone to you and added, "If you don't mind."

"Yeah, sure," you told him, taking his cell to type in your number. You've been talking and hanging out with Seungcheol for almost a month already, but this is the first time he asked you for your number. Not that he has to because you two never really needed to talk remotely. Thinking about it now, you don't really have anything to talk about on the phone. Maybe that's why he never asked for your number before nor did you wonder why you don't have his. Sure, you follow each other on social media, but asking for your number means you are closer now and will probably start texting each other.

You were right. When you got home after school that day, you received a text message from him, introducing himself and asking you to save his phone number. Turns out Seungcheol is going out of town for work and wants to keep in touch.

Seungcheol: Execs are boring. I could use someone to talk to.

You: it's okay to admit that you chose me because you don't have other friends

You grinned mischievously after sending your reply, happy to tease him. You once asked him why he's always alone when you find him in the cafe and the subject ended with you concluding that he had no friends. It has since become an inside joke between the two of you that you would sometimes tease him about.

Seungcheol: I do have friends but I'll admit I enjoy our talks more than with any of them.

You: Okay, Seungcheol-nim.

Seungcheol: Speak comfortably, y/n. You don't have to keep calling me Seungcheol-nim.

You: ??? You: I'm used to it now tho You: It would be weird to start calling you oppa LOL

Seungcheol: Why is that weird? I'm older so technically, I am your oppa.

Shock triggered your hand to lose grip on your phone and send it falling on your forehead, making you yelp and sit up from the bed. Groaning, you pressed the throbbing space between your eyebrows and picked up the device to reread Seungcheol's message.

"Wow," you sneered. "Choi Seungcheol, you handsome specimen, you better not be flirting with me."

You: Alright, then, Seungcheol-oppa.

"Because I will flirt right back," you mumbled, unable to hide your grin.

You had no idea at the time that your little nook in the cafe was about to expand and take up a bigger space in your lives.

Texting Seungcheol was funny to you because it eerily felt like an email correspondence. He sounded serious all the time and formatted his texts in a standard manner. He's too formal and rarely ever used emojis. He reacts with a plain 'hahaha' and the best you can get out of him is a 'lol'. It was probably because he's a lawyer; the formal nature of his job must have influenced even his basic activities, like casual chatting and texting. Surely it has to be that because there is no way he's too old to know how to use emojis or any slang. After all, five years ain't that much of a gap.

Seungcheol: Yes, it is extremely boring but this will all be over tomorrow so I'm holding out.

You: damn You: 1 more day of listening to old men talk all day? You: couldn't be me. You: I'd be gone on the first day. props to you for surviving the past three days tho

Seungcheol: lol hahaha

"Eh? Did he really just 'lol hahaha' me?" You squinted at your screen, glaring too much that you thought your eyes might bore a hole through your phone. Your thumb tapped the call button before pressing the device to your ear.

Seungcheol picked up almost immediately, clearing his throat on the other line before greeting you with a "Hello?"

"Is now a bad time for a call?"

"The day is over and I'm in my suite now so no, it's not a bad time."

You nodded, although he couldn't see it. "Good. My fingers are tired," you lied because you thought it would be rude to tell him you can't handle any more of his boring standard text formatting.

"Really? You could just tell me, you know. We can call it a day. Get some rest. Talk again tomorrow."

His voice reverberated beautifully in your ears; calm, well-articulated, and soothing, like mellow music playing in a cafe. That alone was enough for your heart to feel at ease but he just said you can talk again tomorrow. He's saying he wants to continue your little chats. He's enjoying your company even though it's only through the phone. Maybe you're right, but maybe you're reading too much on something that has no meaning at all. Either way, your heart swelled with excitement and joy along with a tiny ache that you can't explain. You knew this feeling since you've felt it before. The friendship you have with Seungcheol is starting to make your heart flutter.

"Hah!" you scoffed at your own thoughts. "Alright then. Good night, Seungcheol-nim."

"Or we could talk now too! Now!" he blurted in a panic, making you laugh. "I mean, if you're not tired yet. We could keep talking. Isn't this better than texting?"

"It is," you agreed. "But what can I do? It's already past my bedtime."

Seungcheol chuckled. "I thought your bedtime was at 3?"

"It's constantly changing. It's the era of drastic changes, Seungcheol-nim. Adaptability is a good edge," you jested. You can hear him laughing from the other side and couldn't help grinning to yourself. He sounded so humored that you felt a little proud of your wit.

"Right," he said as he stopped laughing and cleared his throat. "So is it your bedtime yet or what?"

"No. My bedtime changed thirty seconds ago. Adaptability, you know."

He went on to laugh again, making you grin fondly. It wasn't even that funny but he's laughing like he's in a standup bar or something. Either way, the sound that's filling your ears is also making your heart feel full.

The next morning, Seolhee complained about you being a tad too loud last night with your laughter and giggling. That caught you off-guard, making you hide your phone after sending a reply to Seungcheol's message.

"Sorry. I was on the phone with someone," you confessed, scrunching your nose cutely as you watched Seolhee take her seat on the dining table.

"Have you started seeing someone again?" she speculated. "You talked for hours last night so it must be serious."

You shook your head. "No, duh. It's just Seungcheol-nim."

"Choi Seungcheol?" Yoori asked, placing a plate of side dishes on the table. "You're dating Seungcheol now? Good for you, girl!"

"What? No!" you strongly denied. "We were just talking. It was a friendly chat."

"Friendly chats don't go on until past midnight, y/n," Seolhee hinted, giving you a knowing look. "Whatever it is that you think have with him right now, you better confirm it before you go falling for him. I know he's charming and all that but safeguard your heart."

Yoori hummed affirmatively. "She's right but falling for him is not that bad an idea. He seemed nice."

"He does seem nice but you have to first make sure you're on the same page. The earlier you know, the better. You can't wait until you've fallen for him before you ask what his intentions are."

You would never bring up relationships with Seungcheol, especially between the two of you. It would only make things awkward between you if it turns out he was just being friendly and even more so if you find out that he was looking to date you. Why? He is a wonderful guy, but there are a lot of things to consider. You don't know his background despite knowing his hobbies, his dislikes, his habits, etc. You can't help but think Cheol had been hiding behind a persona the whole time or that he isn't willing to properly open up to you. Sure, you're up close and personal, but there's a fine line between who he is with you and who he is as a person. Somehow it felt like you knew a lot about him but not enough to really know who he is.

So you sat in front of your computer, looking through his Instagram account for any clue about his life. Based on the dates of his posts, he rarely updated his feed and probably never used the site that much. He had random pictures posted there but he didn't have one of himself except on a handful of group pictures. His profile picture isn't even of himself but a dog.

"So he has a pet, huh?" you mumbled, smiling at the pictures of a cute Maltese dog. "Of course, he has one. He looked like the kind who would have one. I wonder who takes care of it when he's away or when he's at work."

You were still scrolling through his posts when your phone buzzed, signaling a message. It was Seungcheol. "Wow, you really should not speak of the devil."

Seungcheol: Any plans tomorrow night? I have two tickets to a concert. You can have the other one if you want it.

You grimaced. "Or you could just invite me to go with you like a normal person."

You pouted as you thought about what to say but then something in your mind clicked, sending your heart on a rampage. Could it be that he's inviting you to go with him? Obviously, he is, right? He said he had two tickets and he'll give you one. That's it, right? That's the invite!

"Oh lord," you blurted, closing your laptop and tucking it into your bag before you went running out of the cafe. You typed in a hurried reply as you walked briskly back to your shared apartment.

Barging into your apartment and closing the door with a loud slam, you stared wide-eyed at Seolhee and Yoori who looked back at you curiously.

"I think Seungcheol-oppa just invited me out on a date."

"And?" Seolhee asked while Yoori was suppressing excited squeals.

"And I might have said 'yes'."

Seolhee was stern about your ambiguity. You said you were invited, but you also said it wasn't an explicit invitation. Still, she helped you prepare for the date along with Yoori who was just leaping with joy.

"Remember, he didn't say it was a date. So don't overthink it," Seolhe told you while styling your hair on the night of said date. "As long as he doesn't say it out loud, there is no real relationship between you other than a friendly relationship."

"Remember also to enjoy the night," Yoori interjected. "Don't let negativity ruin the experience."

“Now, where is he? Didn’t he say he’d pick you up?” Seolhee asked as soon as you were ready to leave. Dressing up took a while because you couldn’t decide which dress to wear and what look to go with. It’s a classical music concert and the dress code was black tie. Thankfully, your roommates were eager to help.

“He should be here by now,” you replied, glancing at the clock on the wall. At that moment, the doorbell of your shared apartment rang.

Cheol was dashing in his suit. He had always looked attractive in casual clothing–a shirt, a jacket, or a layer of coats and shirts. But seeing him all dressed up made you giddy. Even his hair is styled neatly. He greeted your friends and had a small talk before you got into his car. You know he drives a car, but you've never really seen him in it. When you pointed that out, he said the cafe was close by so he always walked there.

"Are we neighbors?" you had asked.

And he replied with, "No, not really. I go the opposite way from your apartment. So, we’ve been meeting halfway all this time."

The concert was fancy, not your type of scene but you enjoyed it nonetheless. Even the people looked wealthy. It was a hall filled with all kinds of people who exuded an air of elegance, power, or authority about them. As if that’s not intimidating enough, you and Seungcheol had to sit in a private booth on the second floor, away from the regular crowd, with just about five other people there with you. They said your guts would know if you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be, perhaps that’s why your belly is turning.

You weren't poor, but you're not rich enough to afford these types of pastimes either. Your parents are self-made businessmen who are earning enough to be in the upper-middle-class society. Still, even an occasional, super rare splurge on shopping is a luxury. Thus, you started to wonder what Sungcheol does for a living. Is he self-made? Do lawyers earn a lot? Or did he come from a wealthy family? It must be his family because operas and classical music are usually acquired tastes.

The concert ended and was met with a standing ovation. Heck, even the way these people clapped was elegant, like there was a certain discipline to it. No cheering, no hoots and whistles, just synchronous, pleasant-sounding clapping.

You were still clapping when you felt Seungcheol’s shoulder on yours. He was leaning to your ear, whispering, “Come meet my parents.”

“Your what?” you blurted, surprised. Before you could utter another word, however, Seungcheol was already tugging on your waist, ushering you toward the other side of the booth. You spotted two elders who you assumed were his parents. With them was a younger man who just said something that made the elegant lady laugh.

Then the younger man caught sight of you and smiled widely. “It’s Seungcheol!”

“Mother, Father,” Seungcheol greeted as soon as you got closer to where they were standing. You clenched your fists, hoping to stop them from jittering. “Good to see you.”

Mother? Father? Don’t people usually call their parents ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’?

“Hello, hunny,” his mother beamed, welcoming Seungcheol in her arms when he moved to hug her. And while his father was shaking hands with him, his mother eyed you curiously. “And who is this lovely lady?”

“Oh, um–”

“This is my friend, y/n,” Seungcheol introduced. “She’s joining me this evening.”

“So I see,” the Mother chimed. She glided over to you for a quick embrace. “It’s nice to meet you, darling.”

“It’s good to meet you too,” you replied with a smile. “You raised an excellent man.”

His mother laughed heartily, flattered. “I wouldn’t boast about it, but he did grow up excellently.”

You shared a giggle before Seungcheol’s father spoke to you. “Are you a friend from work? You look quite young to be a lawyer. Fresh from the bar exams, I take it?”

“Uh, no,” you replied, trying your best to not appear nervous. “I’m actually still a student. AB Linguistics.”

“Ah, I see,” his father hummed. “Linguistics? That’s a good program.”

“Thank you, sir,” you beamed. “I enjoy it very much.”

“As you should. Seunghan here is pursuing Linguistics too. He’s in his fourth year.”

Seunghan, Seungcheol’s brother smiled widely at you. You smiled back and said, “I’m in my fourth year too.”

“Really? Wow, are we the same age?” he asked, genuinely amazed. He turned to Seungcheol. “We’re the same age? I almost called her Noona.”

Seungcheol was about to respond when a woman interjected with a cheery greeting. It was the cellist from the concert, the star of this event. She first went to greet Seunghan and then the parents.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she told the father, who smiled in response.

“It was an impressive performance. You did well,” he praised.

“Mom, you’re glowing,” she told Seungcheol’s mother. “You look even prettier than the last time we saw each other.”

“Oh, you sweet little fox,” his mother chided, but she was giggling and touching her face. The woman’s statement seemed to have flattered her more than when you said her son was excellent. And she called her Mom, she must be family.

“Oppa!” she exclaimed, leaping a little to wrap her arms around Seungcheol whose arms were still around your waist. You got pushed aside, violently, and fell on the floor with a thud.

Embarrassment made your cheeks flare as you hurriedly stood. Seungcheol helped you up, worriedly asking if you were alright.

“I’m sorry,” the other woman apologized. “I didn’t think that would happen. How clumsy of me.”

You smiled half-heartedly, looking away from everyone’s worried gazes. “I’m fine,” you told Seungcheol who was still eyeing you with concern. You patted your dress down, feeling extremely shy.

Then the woman held out her hand, “I’m Mina. Nice to meet you.”

You stared at the hand for a moment before taking it in yours and telling her your name. “It was a great concert. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you liked it,” she smiled, then looked at Seungcheol. “Is she your friend? I’ve never seen her before.”

“She is,” he replied curtly. You couldn’t help noticing Mina’s elegant demeanor. She exuded elegance and class that you’ve only seen on TV shows about rich people. The way she spoke was beautiful and enticing. Even her motions were so fluid and beautiful, plus her mannerisms were cute. It was like being in the presence of someone who is hundreds of times better than regular people–than you are.

“Anyway, thanks again for coming, oppa,” Mina told Seungcheol, patting his shoulder before placing her hands on both. She flashed a sweet, coquettish smile and leaned to kiss Seungcheol on his cheek. “See you again soon?”

“Okay,” Seungcheol replied, flattening his lips into a smile.

Mina turned to you, her hand sliding naturally on Seungcheol’s arm and linking it there. “It was nice to meet you, y/n. Good thing you’re not dating because that would have been so awkward.” She laughed.

"No, we're just friends,” Seungcheol iterated.

“I know. You already said so, oppa,” Mina beamed. “I have to go. Thanks for coming and see you next time.”

She then fled the booth, leaving you and Sungcheol there by yourselves. His parents left a while ago, telling you to catch up with Mina. Seunghan didn’t stay for long too, and left shortly after their parents. Your eyes flitted over to Seungcheol who was still looking at the door Mina exited on. You even witnessed the heavy sigh he let out a few minutes later before turning to you.

“Shall we go?”

You nodded in response. He offered his arm for you to hold on to and you did just that as you walked out of the booth, to the hall, to the lobby, until you reached the entrance where his car was being driven out of the parking lot by the valet. The first few minutes of the ride home were quiet and it was stressing you out. He should at least say something to fix this awkward atmosphere. Maybe, you should. But you had no idea what to talk about.

Should you ask him about his family? Or Mina? What do you have to lose? He brought you here so he should expect you to have questions. This is one way to get to know each other, right? Right.

“How do you know the cellist?” you began, eliciting an inquiring hum from Seungcheol. “Mina, the cellist. You seem to know each other.”

“Ah, her,” he acknowledged, pausing. “Yeah, we knew each other. We used to be in a relationship.”

You expected this to be the answer, but it still shocked you to hear him confirm it. “I see.”

“We broke up a long time ago. She had to leave and study music abroad. It couldn’t be helped.”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed. You couldn’t say anything because your mind was focusing on the slight but stabbing pain in your chest. You were, in fact, feeling a little jealous. Mina was everything you’re not. She’s close with his family too and they have a history. Maybe Seungcheol was just being friendly, after all.

When you arrived home, your roommates were excited to hear about the date, but you told them you were tired and wanted to sleep. As thoughts floated through your mind endlessly, you wondered if he brought you to the concert as a decor to make his ex jealous. That made you even sadder but you told yourself you were overthinking it and you know he is not that kind of guy.

And then again, if you think about it, did you really truly know him that well?

You hadn't heard from Seungcheol for a while after the concert. Sad, but it was fine too because you weren't really looking for him. You had a crush on the guy, but it was over before it got deeper–which was good because now you don’t have to think about him all the time. School was demanding enough, you can’t have a guy distracting you from that.

And yet, despite your constant denial, not a day passed by without Seungcheol crossing your mind. What can you do? You don’t just forget someone overnight, especially if you like that person. Funnily enough, thoughts of Seungcheol never distracted you from your studies, instead, they made you want to work harder.

That said, you sat at a table at The Coffeehouse with a classmate to work on a project. His name was Jinwoo and he’s been flirting with you all semester. In fact, he paired up with you on this project just so he could spend time with you–he said so himself. He’s alright; charming, smart, and cute. Although you had no intentions of going out with him yet, you thought it would be fine to see where things would go. Especially with Seungcheol out of your hair.

“Seungcheol-nim?” you blurted. You were just thinking about Seungcheol when you realized the person who approached your table just now was him.

“Hello, y/n. How have you been?” He was asking you, but his eyes were fixated on Jinwoo, who only noticed Seungcheol when you called out his name.

“I’ve been well,” you replied hesitantly, recognizing his intense gaze on your classmate. “This is Jinwoo. We’re working on a project together.”

“A project?” he asked, his face softening as he glanced at you. “Good. I texted you.”

“Oh, you did?” You fished your phone from your bag and saw that he did message you; one from last night and another a few hours ago. “Sorry. I was working on school stuff. I haven’t been checking my phone much.”

“Alright. I won’t disturb you. Good luck,” he smiled.

“Yeah, I’ll text you later.”

“You don’t have to. But I’ll call you after dinner.”

You tilted your head in wonder. But you still said, “Okay.”

And he did, he called you at around 8 that night and asked how your day went. It wasn't strange to tell him how your day went. That had always been your topic every time you called each other at night. But Sungcheol seemed overly interested in it today. He kept asking more questions instead of responding to your answers with a few accounts of his own day. When he seemed to have run out of anything to ask about your day, he asked about your partner on the project.

"So, do you always get paired up with that guy?"

Your brows creased. "That guy? Jinwoo?"

He changed his question. "Never mind. How long have you been working on that paper?"

"Just a few days,” you replied, lying down to stare at the ceiling.

"Three days?" he asked from the other line.

"Now that you mentioned it, yes, it's been three days. How'd you guess that?"

Sungcheol huffed. "I just did."

"You just did?"

"We haven't talked for three days, so I just pieced it together."

"I see," you hummed, nodding even though you know he can't see it. You squinted your eyes, realizing something in his tone and attitude ever since you started this conversation. "Seungcheol-nim, is this an interrogation?"

"And there's that too," he sighed from the other line. You can almost picture how his already pouty lips are pouting even more along with the creasing of his forehead.

"What?" you asked.

"Seungcheol-nim."

"Huh?"

"Seungcheol-nim. When did you decide to go back to calling me that?"

"Oh, that? Just recently."

"Why is that?"

Because you found out his ex called him oppa and is still calling him that. "Just because. It shouldn't matter. How I address you is not that big of a deal."

"It's not?"

"No. It's not."

"Alright."

"Alright..." he echoed. You had nothing else to say to that, so you just breathed. The thoughts swimming in your head don't make sense, but you let them keep your mind busy instead of overthinking this whole conversation with Seungcheol. He's gone quiet too, probably running out of anything else to say. Or probably thinking random thoughts like you are. But it looks like he didn't want to end the call and of course, you don't really want to either.

"Seungcheol-nim?" Breathing. All you can hear from the other line is breathing; deep inhales and calm exhales from him that make you assume he had fallen asleep.

"Are you sleeping?" you asked but again, all you could hear was calm breathing. You pictured him on his bed, one hand pressing the phone on his ear and the other resting on his abdomen. You pictured the rise and fall of his chest with every inhale of air that you can hear. You pictured his face, peaceful and handsome even with his eyes closed. These are the thoughts and images that filled your head as you closed your eyes and fell asleep to the sound of his breathing

Your phone was dead when you woke up in the morning, making you wonder how long were you on the phone with Seungcheol; if he really was asleep the whole time, or if he woke up and hung up sometime in the night. As soon as you turned it on after a quick trip to the bathroom, you found a message from him.

Seungcheol: Working all day today. Cafe tonight? My treat.

You smiled as you typed a reply saying 'yes' to meeting him tonight. The bounce in your steps and the chime in your voice did not miss Seolhee's radar and she ambushed you at the breakfast table.

"You look like you had a good sleep. I thought you said you're done with Seungcheol?" Seolhee began.

"And those two correlate because?"

"Because Seungcheol is obviously the reason why you're smiling today."

"What makes you think so?" you retorted, trying to squirm out of her grasp. You wouldn't lie to her but you would never admit it either, especially after you gave them a whole spiel about you not settling for a guy who seemed uncertain about his intentions.

"I just know."

"You're too confident," you jeered, poking a sausage with your fork and taking a bite out of it.

Seolhee chuckled. "Whatever you do, don't get hurt. I'll kill him myself."

You chortled. "That's weirdly reassuring. Thanks."

You couldn't wait for your evening class to be over and run to the CoffeeHouse. It was an embarrassing thing to admit because only a few days ago, you were upset and told your roommates you didn't want anything to do with Seungcheol anymore. And yet, here you are, back to acting like a giddy teenager.

Seungcheol: Are you still in class? The cafe is closed.

"Damn it?" you muttered upon reading Seungcheol's text. The class just finished and you were walking out of the classroom with other students. As you typed a reply, you noticed Jinwoo walking with you.

"Hi. A little update on our paper," he began, standing in front of you and walking backward so he was face-to-face with you while talking. "I've proofread the entire thing and fixed any error I could find. It's pretty much ready for submission."

You beamed at him. "Thank you, Jinwoo. Do you think it's okay to submit it earlier than the deadline?"

"Knowing Professor Choi? He'd be singing our praises all semester for our punctuality and whatnot."

You giggled, finding his sentiments accurate and funny at the same time. "I bet he will. I'll trust you with it alright?"

"You know you can," he chimed, the lilt in his voice was endearing. "Listen, there's a party at the Delphi this Saturday. Would you like to-"

"Seungcheol-nim!" you called out when you spotted Seungcheol by the gate. He found you among the crowd and waved at you with a smile. The pleasant sight of him smiling didn't last long though because seeing Jinwoo made him scowl.

"The cafe is closed?" you asked as soon as you were within his reach. "Why though? The cafe never closes."

Seungcheol sighed, eyes focused on Jinwoo who was still tailing behind you. "Yeah. Something about a sanitation check. I'm not sure. I just found out about it."

"Did you ask Mingyu?"

"I did. He said it was a sanitation check but he wasn't sure either." He exhaled before shifting his gaze on you. "Do you have other plans tonight?"

You gawked at him for a second and then realized Jinwoo was still there. Seungcheol must have thought you had plans with him.

"No, I don't," you replied then turned to Jinwoo. "Thanks again, Jinwoo. Let me know if Professor Mich says anything about the paper."

"Yeah. Okay," he blurted, backing away. "See you tomorrow."

You smiled at him and beckoned at Seungcheol who was still wearing a deadpan expression. When you've walked far away enough from the gate and Jinwoo had gone his own way too, you tugged on Seungcheol's coat.

"Everything okay? We could just go home, you know. Try again tomorrow?" you asked, thinking he was miffed about the cafe being closed.

"It's alright. There are plenty of other cafes around," he replied, forcing a smile. "Are you okay with walking around tonight? I would have brought a car had I known the Coffeehouse was closed."

You rolled your eyes. "Duh. Let's go."

And thus began a spontaneous night out. Seungcheol suggested you go for a walk to the next cafe but your conversations proved to be too much fun when you missed the cafe and even missed your apartment. It was funny to both of you and you would go on to continue walking until you reached a quiet neighborhood. You climbed the uphill stairs and watched the cityscape from there.

"Seungcheol-nim, what was your dream?"

"My dream?" he asked. surprised.

"Yes, as a child. Your current job, is it what you dreamed of?"

Seungcheol leaned on the railings and gazed at the city lights. "Not a lawyer, for sure. I kinda just had to do it because everyone in the family is doing it."

You rested your chin on the cold steel bar of the railings. "So what was it?"

"A teacher."

Your eyes widened. "A teacher?"

"Yes." He chuckled. Your eyes appreciated how the wind blew his hair out of his face. "A college professor, actually. My uncle was one and he was my role model. I was set on being a teacher before I entered college but as you can see, I'm not."

"How about now? I'm sure you still have time to change careers."

"Nah," he shrugged. "I'm content with where I'm at right now."

"But do you want it?"

Seungcheol looked at you, pursing his lips as he nodded. "Of course. And if I don't change my mind about it in, say five or more years, I might consider shifting."

"It shouldn't be so hard, right? I mean, you're already a lawyer. You can teach criminal justice or something like that."

He smiled at you, impressed by your input. "Yeah. Something like that."

You wiggled your eyebrows. "I bet you'd be a really cool teacher."

Seungcheol frowned. "You said I'm boring and speak like an old man."

"The old man part was a joke and even if you're the boring kind of teacher, you'd still be cool because handsome teachers are cool."

"You think I'm handsome?"

You started laughing a little too loudly after he caught you off-guard. "Did I say that?"

"You didn't but you were implying it."

"You lawyers like to twist people's words, don't you?"

Seungcheol shrugged, chucking his hands in his coat pockets. "Only when it's advantageous. And there was no need to twist anything. The implication was clear."

"Okay, I'm gonna go," you chuckled, walking back down the stairs. Seungcheol followed behind you with a smile. "Oh, and we should drop by the coffee shop. I need caffeine because I've been home all day and there's no coffee at home."

"Isn't it too late for coffee? Don't you need to sleep?" he asked, casually catching your elbow when you lost your balance on the steps.

You felt the way his hand clenched on your arm, impressed by the strength of his hold. Then your mind embarrassingly flashed an image of his muscles underneath his coat. The amount of times you saw him in t-shirts sometimes had you gawking at his strong arms but only now did you start imagining how it would feel like to be locked in those muscles.

"Decaf?" he prompted, making your eyes flutter back to his face. You pulled your arm back and continued walking.

"Yeah. Decaf."

You shook your head a few times, trying to erase the image of yourself in his arms. It was embarrassing and you were worried that he could see through you. He can't obviously, but you still wish you were not giving off any signs. You refused when Seungcheol offered to walk you back to your apartment but he insisted on it, saying it would be dangerous for you to go alone. He must have thought it was weird for you to decline because you never did that before. If he did think that, you'll never know because he never said so.

"What's your dream?" he asked, breaking the silence between you while you walked down the quiet streets.

"Like a dream job?" you questioned, briefly glancing at him to see him nod. "I'm not sure. I actually don't have one. But I was thinking of establishing a tutoring clinic like my mom has."

"A cram school?"

"Yes. My only dream was to be content and happy with my life; to live in the city in a cozy apartment, tending to plants, and reading books. But of course, none of that is possible without an actual job and I thought my mom's job was cool, so I was considering doing what she does."

"You'd make a really cool teacher."

You snorted. "I'm not gonna be a teacher. More like an instructor."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"They are kind of the same thing," you laughed shyly. "But they're different too. I don't know. I haven't given it much thought. I think I'm just living for the now, going where the flow takes me and not taking control of my own life. It feels awful sometimes."

"How is that awful? Going with the flow is actually smart. Knowing what you want your life to be is good too, even if the path towards that hasn't been planned yet."

You shrugged. "I guess you're right. But I think I'm just lucky enough to not worry about my future as much as other people do. No one's pressuring me into anything, not my parents, not the society."

"Yes. You are lucky."

You pointed to the apartment complex in front of you. "I'm here. Thanks for walking me."

Seungcheol smiled at you, reaching to tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear. "Good night, y/n."

"Good night, Seungcheol-nim."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Is there any way I can get you to drop that?"

"What? Seungcheol-nim?"

"Yes."

"What else would I call you?"

"You didn't seem to have any problems calling me oppa before?" he complained, looking away as he scratched his nape and muttered. "I liked that better."

"What was that?" you asked when you didn't catch his last sentence. He glanced back at you.

"I said you can call me Cheol."

"I can? But you're older than me."

"It's alright. You said how you address me is not a big deal."

You beamed happily. "Alright, Cheol."

“Alright, y/n.”

You beamed. “Alright.”

“Alright…”

Like Hazel Grace and Augustus, alright has become your always.

Imagine living in a big city, with lots of massive stores, and massive buildings, but you still bump into an ex from three years ago? Baffling. But then, here you are, awkwardly sifting through shelves for a bottle of mayo while your ex asks you how you’ve been.

“I’ve been well, Yeol. Thanks for asking. Now would you please go away? I’m busy.”

Yeol just chuckled, amused. “I see you haven’t changed one bit.”

“I have. I don’t care about anything you have to say anymore,” you retorted but it only made him laugh harder.

“Gosh, y/n. I really fumbled you, didn’t I? You’re so endearing. It’s a shame you had to find out about the other girls.”

In the past, you would have kicked his shins, but you don’t even want to give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of you. You turned to face him, gave him a deadpan expression, and said, “Move. I need that one there.”

Yeol moved one step aside, letting you take a product from the shelf behind him. As you were examining it, he crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “By the way, I heard you’re seeing someone now. Is it true?”

You scowled, but you didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not true.”

“It isn’t? That’s good. Save yourself the trouble. Choi Seungcheol and Song Mina are trying to get back together.”

You froze in your tracks, your hand hovering by the shelf as you were about to put a product back in it. Yeol, oblivious to your shock, continued. “From what I heard, they’ll soon be engaged.”

“How did you know?” you asked him, forehead creasing with curiosity and annoyance.

“I know a friend of Song Mina’s. I got to hang out with her the last time she was in Seoul,” he replied but you shook your head at him.

“No. How did you know about me and Seungcheol?”

Yeol touched his chin to think. “I heard from a friend who told me he’d seen my ex-girlfriend with Lawyer Choi.”

“That’s all?”

“He said you two seemed close and asked if I knew you were seeing him. I told him I didn’t, of course. I had no idea what you’ve been up to since we broke up.” Yeol was still talking when you pushed your cart and walked away. He called out your name but you ignored him.

Seungcheol is trying to get back with Mina; why didn’t you think that’d be a possibility? He must still have feelings for her. And if they’re engaged, then it’s fine too. The news made you sad, but at least it was clear to you now that his intentions weren’t to date you or anything. He wanted you as a friend, that's it. Nothing more. At least you now know which place you’re allowed to stand on in his life. If you keep letting yourself mistake his actions for affection, it could end badly for you.

Resolute, you decided to limit contact and meetups. It's inappropriate to keep seeing him regularly when he's trying to win his girl back. There will be no more late-night talks, no more meeting up for coffee, and no more hanging out until late with just the two of you. You’re drawing the line for Mina and him to get back together. And most importantly, for yourself to stop falling for him even more.

Although you’d like to completely avoid him, you couldn’t. Seungcheol never said anything about liking you or trying to date you. So you can’t hold it against him if you develop feelings for him. That’s on you. Plus, you liked being friends with him and he seemed to like that too, so you’re cutting yourself some slack and allowing yourself to at least enjoy your friendship. You feel a little terrible, some itty bitty heartache but it’s fine. Everyone does.

“How are things with Mina?” you had asked him once when you ran into each other at the CoffeeHouse. He had been caught off-guard, but he just shrugged it off.

“We’re working on it,” was what he told you at the time.

“Good for you,” you had replied, although you didn’t mean it.

Over two weeks, you counted all the times he invited you out but you refused: four. You did fewer coffee runs and spent less time in the cafe. You focused on your other hobbies and hung out with your other friends. Whether or not he noticed the shift in you, you wouldn’t know because you never got the chance to talk about it.

“Ready?” Yoori asked, her head peering through the doorway of your bedroom. “Our ride is here.”

“Yeah, I’m just looking for my tumbler,” you replied, going through your bags.

“It’s in the car already,” she prompted, picking up your backpack on your bed. “Let’s go!”

You followed her through the apartment and outside where you saw Seolhee standing by a familiar car, and talking to an even more familiar guy.

“Ah, there they are!” Seolhee exclaimed, beaming at the two of you. “Shall we go now?”

Your eyes were locked on Seungcheol, confused and curious about him being here. He just gave you a smile and a small wave before taking your backpack that Yoori handed over to him. While your friends excitedly occupied the backseat of Seungcheol’s car, you waited for him to load your bag in the trunk and make his way to you.

“Good morning,” he greeted, looking cheerful and excited. “Are you ready to go?”

“What are you doing here?” you questioned sternly.

“What do you mean? Yoori invited me.”

You scowled. “Why would she do that? And why would you say ‘yes’?”

At this point, Seungcheol looked genuinely abashed by your confrontation. “Honestly, I have no idea why she did, but I said ‘yes’ because it sounded fun.”

You sighed, shoulders sagging as you contemplated whether going on this trip was a good idea anymore.

“Y/n, is everything okay? If it’s uncomfortable for you, I can cancel. I’m sure I can come up with a good excuse–”

“It’s fine, Cheol,” you said through gritted teeth. “Let’s just go.” You turned to open the car door but Seungcheol grabbed your arm before you could.

“Hey,” he called, his voice filled with worry. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” you exhaled.

“I meant between us. If you don’t want me here, I’ll just go.”

You took his hand off your arm and forced a smile. “Everything is fine, Cheol. Let’s go have fun.”

Yoori and Seolhee had no idea that you’ve been trying to avoid Seungcheol, and that was obviously why they thought inviting him to your weekend camp trip was a good idea. In the car, Yoori explained that they ran into Seungcheol at the grocery store and invited him to join you on this trip, even quipping that you all could use a free ride.

The ride to the campsite was noisy, with both Yoori and Seolhee singing to the top of their lungs. At one point during the two-hour travel, you forgot about your issues with Seungcheol and managed to have fun with everyone. Seungcheol was mostly taken aback by the energy from you and the girls, but he seemed to have had his fun too. By the time you arrived at the campsite, you were all full with the food you bought at the rest stops. None of you were tired though because you immediately got to work on building tents and setting up your area.

Seungcheol was tasked to set up the barbecue table after you girls realized how much easier it was with a man around to do the lifting and assembling. When you were done with your tent, you approached Seungcheol by the bonfire with a bottle of water. He looked like he had run a mile, with his sweaty forehead and messed up hair. He even took off his jacket, revealing his muscular physique in his tight dri-fit shirt. Had he always been this hot? You knew he was handsome but did he have to be hot too?

You cleared your throat to prompt him so he immediately noticed your presence. Looking away because you couldn’t help staring at his arms, you handed him the bottle of water.

“Thanks,” he chimed, taking the bottle and opening it.

“Tables gave you a hard time?” you questioned, eyeing the table that was standing on crooked legs.

Seungcheol gulped down half the bottle and let out a big ‘ahh’ after. “I’ll admit, I’m not so confident with this kind of task.”

You scoffed, rounding the table to the crooked leg. “I can see that.”

“But hey, I did well with the chairs,” he beamed, pointing at the chairs. “Don’t you think so?”

He was gleaming with pride and you couldn’t help smiling at him. He’s so endearing and he’s not even trying. “Yeah, good job, Cheol.”

You showed him how to fix the table and you were amazed to find that he was eager to learn.

“Guys! You should get ready for the boat!” Yoori called after a few minutes. You waved your hand in response then turned to Seungcheol.

“I hope you brought a rashguard,” you told him.

Seungcheol tilted his head in ponder. “Well, Yoori said I should bring one so I did. But I still haven’t been told why.”

You scowled. “What do you mean? Did you come here without knowing what this trip is?”

Seungcheol shrugged and looked at the tents around. “It’s a camping trip.”

“My god, Mr. Choi Seungcheol,” you sniggered. “This is a wakepark.”

Of course, the campsite didn’t look like a wakepark. If it did, Seungcheol would have figured it out. But if one were to take a quick hike up the hill and descend on the other side, he willl find a massive lake there and a wakeboarding facility. Seungcheol was amazed when he saw it and uttered praises about the location and safety concerns.

“I don’t do much water sports,” he told you as you were queueing for the safety check.

“Have you tried wakeboarding before?” Seolhee asked.

Seungcheol had an exhilarated look on his face. “I haven’t. This will be my first time.”

“Oh, you’re gonna love it,” Seolhee lilted. “I was scared to do it at first, but it was really fun.”

Yoori scoffed. “Which is why this has become our favorite weekend activity.”

Your friends were first to be briefed and while you waited below the platform, Seungcheol leaned to your ear to ask, “Is this what you do for fun?”

You looked up at him at shrugged. “Not all the time, but I do like wakeboarding.”

“Hmm. You didn’t strike me as the type to like extreme sports.”

You rolled your eyes and chuckled. “First of all, this isn’t that extreme. Second, since when have you been making assumptions about me?”

“That will be from the moment I first met you,” he grinned.

“Is that so?” you teased. “How many times have I proven your assumptions wrong?”

“So far, you’ve only been proving me right,” he crooned, looking pleased. “Ah, right. Except today. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” you deadpanned. “Since you’re not so big on water sports, what do you do for fun?”

Seungcheol paused to think and then replied, “I go to shooting ranges with friends. Sometimes golfing. It depends on the company I have, really. I mostly just do what they want to do.”

“Like right now?”

He nodded. “Yes. Like right now.”

Seungcheol said this was his first time wakeboarding and it showed when he did it for the first time. But then several times later, he has shown proficiency on the sport. In no time, he’s wakeboarding on obstacles and doing it flawlessly. While you who’s not a first-timer would rather avoid obstacles.

“Whatever happened to the safety issues you were pointing out when we got here?” you taunted when he came back from his 17th time on the board. Was it 18th? Honestly, you’ve lost count already.

“Seolhee was right,” he reveled. “This is fun.”

“I know, Mr. Sportsman. But this is where the fun ends,” you announced, motioning to the sky and the setting sun on the horizon. “This place is closing.”

“So they said,” he replied, sighing. “We should come back here next time.”

Is he saying he wants to come back with you? He said ‘we’, didn’t he?

You shook your head to get rid of your intrusive thoughts. “Yeah. For now, let’s change and go back. We’re having barbecue.”

Seungcheol was talkative on your trek back to the campsite. He’s going on and on about how thrilling wakeboarding was and how he’d love to do it again. He was even describing the experience and the tricks he did and almost did. Listening to him was heartwarming, like talking to a child adorably blabbering about something he likes.

“I take it you don’t get this much thrill in your life?” you guessed, giving him a probing gaze.

“Absolutely not.”

“Then, I guess you need to have more adventurous friends.”

“I guess but…” he trailed off. You waited for him to finish his sentence, but he didn’t.

When you reach the campsite, your friends have got the fire going in the barbecue and they wave at you to join them. Seungcheol said he needs to put away his stuff first so you went ahead without him.

“He really kept going, huh?” Seolhee asked as you sat in front of the table. “Until closing time?”

“Yeah, he was like an energetic toddler,” you quipped, laughing fondly. “You should have seen how sad he was when it closed.”

“He’s so much older than us, but he’s so cute, isn’t he?” Yoori chimed before leaning close to you and nudging your elbow. “Also, you two look cute together.”

“Friends, Yoori,” you iterated. “We’re friends.”

“Whatever you say,” she teased so Seolhee scolded her. You stuck your tongue out at her, happy that Seolhee took your side.

“Hey,” Seungcheol prompted from behind you before sitting on the chair next to yours. “I just noticed we only have two tents.”

“Huh?” You glanced over your shoulders to where the tents were set up and saw that you did have two tents only. “Oh. Oh no.”

You looked at your friends and Yoori just shrugged and told Seungcheol, “I must have forgotten to tell you to bring one.”

“Well, we’re not gonna share a tent,” you told them in a matter-of-factly tone. “I mean, duh?”

“Of course. But where would Seungcheol-nim sleep?” Seolhee asked.

You looked at Seungcheol who seemed as lost as you were. Surely you can’t share a tent with your housemates either. Yoori and Seolhee like to get intimate whenever you come to this place. You don’t know why this place specifically and you’re definitely not curious enough to find out. BUT maybe they’ll reconsider just this once?

“I can just sleep with you–”

“No!” Yoori and Seolhee interjected simultaneously.

Yoori giggled shyly. “You two can share.” You were about to protest but she spoke over you. “You’ll be in sleeping bags. Just scoot far from each other. Your tent is big anyway.”

You looked sideways at Seungcheol who shrugged and then said, “I can sleep in the car.”

You nodded. “Or we can rent a tent. They must have one in the reception.”

“Reception is closed,” Seolhee said, sheepish.

You could swear your friends are purposely trying to get you and Seungcheol to sleep in one tent. But when you checked the reception area, it really was closed. Seungcheol can’t sleep in his car. It’s uncomfortable and you’d feel bad if he did. Had you known he’d be joining you, you would have planned the trip properly. Although you knew you would probably refuse to go if you knew he’d be here too.

Before you spend the entire night contemplating the matter, Yoori manages to convince you to share the tent. Between you and Seungcheol, you eventually end up agreeing that neither of you is uncomfortable and you are both willing to share the tent.

“The kimchi is amazing, Seolhee,” you told your friend.

“Thank you. We have plenty at the apartment,” she chimed.

You turned to Seungcheol. “Seolhee’s grandma owns a restaurant in their town. Her food is out of this world amazing.”

“Really? We should go there sometime.”

There he goes again with his ‘we’ declarations. It makes you hope that there really is something between you and he feels it too. But that’s just wishful thinking. He’s actively trying to get back with his ex, he shouldn’t be hanging out with you like this. And then again, maybe he’d rather hang out with you. Maybe he’s decided that he likes being here better than anywhere else. And maybe you’re overanalyzing things so much so that you’re starting to think delusional thoughts.

No. Delusions are things that aren’t real. His jacket that he wore on you because he was worried you’d be cold was real. His hand over the backrest of your chair was real. Your bodies leaning toward each other whenever you laugh was real. The jokes you had to whisper to each other because only the two of you would understand them were real. Seungcheol is very real. So maybe, just maybe, this was something worth overthinking about.

“Okay! The bottle has spoken and it picked you, y/n,” Yoori announced, pointing the tongs at you. “Truth or dare?”

The food has long been devoured and you’ve gone through bottles of alcohol already. Seolhee suggested you play a game of Truth or Dare, so here you are.

“Truth!” Seolhee shrieked, which was very unlike her but she was too inebriated to care.

“Do you…” Yoori began, standing up. “...like someone who’s here right now?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “I didn’t say Truth.”

“Dare it is then!” Yoori declared, clearing her throat. She wobbled a little but regained her balance after shaking her head. She looked at you and then at Seungcheol then back at you again. “I dare you to kiss the person you like here.”

“We agreed no kissing dares,” you told her calmly so she sat and pouted, sulking.

“You’re no fun.”

You laughed at her and glanced at Seungcheol who was laughing too, probably amused by your drunken girlfriends. He’s mostly quietly observing, laughing here and there, and responding only when he’s talked to. During the game, he would only pick Truths and answer questions close-ended. Still, he didn’t seem bored, if anything, he looked like he was having lots of fun.

“Ah, crap. We’re out,” Seolhee said after pouring beer into her glass only to find that it was empty. “Ah. Y/n, I dare you to go buy more beer.”

You scowled. “Seriously? Haven’t you had too much?”

“Not nearly enough, love,” Seolhee replied, shaking her head and then laughing. You looked at Seungcheol, wondering how he was reacting to this. He just shrugged.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go!” Yoori scolded, drunkenly shooing you away.

“Yeah! Go!” Seolhee giggled and the two of them chanted happily. “More beer! More beer! More beer!”

You rose to you feet to leave and Seungcheol grabbed your wrist. “Wait, are you going down all by yourself?”

“No, dumbass,” you scoffed, grabbing his hand and pulling him up. “You’re coming with me.”

The convenience store was a little far from the campsite, about a ten-minute walk down. You and Seungcheol were talking as you went, laughing in between jokes. The cold autumn air of late September was chilly, but you’re warmed by his jacket over you. Your cheeks are hot too and you’re not sure if it was the alcohol or the proximity between you and Seungcheol as you marched down the sidewalk. Your shadows were on the road, separate but they fuse with the slight tilt of your head in his direction. Even that was making you giddy. Damn. It really must have been the alcohol.

You were still looking at your shadows when he said, “Look at the sky!”

“Where?” you asked, looking up at the sky only to find nothing but darkness up there. “There’s nothing there.”

“I didn’t say there’s anything up there,” he giggled and it was such a cute sound to hear. Alcohol loosened him up a bit and it had him giggling and laughing at the littlest things.

You gave him a deadpan expression. “Wow. Funny.”

He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again and looked at the sky. “Oh wow, I think it’s raining.”

As if on cue, the rain started pouring from the sky. You squealed when big raindrops fell on your head. Seungcheol took you by the wrist and you followed him running to a nearby waiting shed. Laughing, you both stumbled into the shed, patting down the rainwater on your clothes.

“Gosh, we should’ve just taken the car,” you blurted, peeking at the sky from under the roof.

“We had beer,” he replied, reaching to the top of your head to pat your hair back. “I don’t drink and drive.”

“But you’re not drunk.”

“I’m not irresponsible either,” he retorted, chortling at you. You were looking up at him, eyes gleaming.

“Wow, you’re very large.” Your comment came out of nowhere and even you was surprised you asked something like that.

Seungcheol flashed an affectionate scowl as he laughed. “Large?”

“Yeah, like you’re tall and your build is large,” you explained, shivering when the wind blew. “I knew you were bigger than me but I didn’t realize you were this big.”

Seungcheol chuckled. “Come here.” He tugged on your arm, pulling you in front of him so he could stand behind you. Then you felt his body pressing gently over you along with his pair of muscular arms wrapping around your waist.

Your heart skipped a beat before raging wildly in your chest. “Cheol?”

“Hmmh?” he inquired, placing his chin on the top of your head.

“What are you doing?” you asked, trying your best not to let your voice crack with nervousness.

“Helping with the cold,” he replied, taking a deep breath and then exhaling. “Damn, I think I had one too many beers.”

Seungcheol kept breathing in and out, steadying his breath as he fought against his tipsiness. You tilted your head back, urging him to get his chin off of your head. He did so and then leaned his forehead on your shoulder instead.

“You shouldn’t have drunk if you can’t hold your liquor,” you chided softly, almost in a whisper since his ear was close to your mouth.

“No, I can hold my liquor just fine. I just–” he paused to exhale and then continued– “I just need a second.”

The rain was loud against the roof and the wind was cold but your heart was warm; it was swelling with emotions, all leaning towards falling in love with Seungcheol. Surely you can’t do that, right? You’ve done well making sure you don’t fall for him even more, but now you’re back at one.

“Seungcheol?” you called softly, lifting your shoulder slightly to prompt him. “Hey.”

“Hmmh?” he responded, gently pushing you away when you moved to get him off your shoulder. “Sorry.”

You turned to face him, staring up at his sleepy expression. He beamed, eyes almost closed. It must have been the alcohol, or it could simply be the overwhelming emotions filling your heart to the brim. Maybe it’s his gentle smile and his eyes that are as beautiful as himself. Whatever it was, it made you take a step towards him, hold onto his arms, and then tip-toe so you could press your lips on his.

Seungcheol froze on the spot, eyes widening in surprise after your sudden action sobered him up. But it was only for a second. He kissed you back, holding your cheek so he could pull your face closer. Your grasp on his arms tightened as you tried to steady your body in your tiptoes. Seungcheol must have noticed you struggling to stand because he wrapped his other arm around your waist, keeping you in place.

A few seconds later, he exhaled sharply into the kiss and you could feel the temperature rising. It made you pull back, breaking the kiss. Seungcheol looked taken aback when you did.

You stuttered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

“Are you okay?” he asked and you nodded in response. Seeing that, Seungcheol leaned to kiss you again. The warmth emanating from his body, plus the delirious feeling of his lips on yours made you close your eyes, immersing yourself in the kiss once more.

This time, you parted when you were both ready, forehead pressed together as you catch your breath. Seungcheol’s eyes were closed, and you were staring right at him as the situation slowly sunk in. You took a step back, forcing him to let go.

“Choi Seungcheol,” you called out. Seungcheol looked at you, curiosity evident on his face. “You should probably stay away.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t stay so close if you don’t plan on staying at all.”

The face Seungcheol made upon hearing that shot an arrow straight into your heart. For a second there, you had expected him to finally put a label on your relationship. But that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he said, his voice apologetic and regretful, sending another surge of pain in your chest.

You were worried that you might cry, luckily, you didn’t. As you waited for the rain to stop, you both stood at the opposite ends of the waiting shed, not saying anything. The pitter-pattering of the rain kept you sane. When it finally stopped, you walked back up the hill, Seungcheol following closely behind. At the campsite, you found that Yoori and Seolhee have deserted the bonfire so you headed to your tent. Realizing that you were supposed to share it with Seungcheol, you mentally cursed yourself.

“Fuck it.”

You hid in your sleeping bag, facing the tent so you didn’t have to see Seungcheol or interact with him at all. But hours passed by, and you lay there with your eyes wide open, unable to sleep because of the thoughts floating in your head. Seungcheol didn’t enter the tent and several times you wondered where he was.

He’s probably in the car. He won’t possibly sleep outside, right? Right. And so you forced yourself to sleep, hoping the hours tick faster so you can go home and get over everything. When the first light peeked into the seams of the tent, you rose to your feet with a heavy body and an even heavier stride. The first thing you thought of was Seungcheol as if you hadn’t already been thinking about him all night. He was in his car, sleeping in the reclined driver’s seat. He must have been uncomfortable there.

Yoori and Seolhee are still asleep so you took it upon yourself to pack up your stuff. You packed the trash away and brought the dirty containers to the wash area so you could wash them. Halfway through, Seungcheol arrived.

“Do you need help with that?” he offered but instead of answering, you left the dishes half-done.

“Take care of it then,” you told him before walking away to take the trash to the recycling area. Yoori and Seolhee soon woke up and you all agreed to eat breakfast at the rest stop.

The silence between you and Seungcheol was the loudest in the car. You knew your friends noticed that, but they were nice enough not to pry. Instead, they minded their own business, flirting and being rowdy in the backseat among themselves. Several times they would prompt the two of you to let you in on what they were laughing about. Seungcheol would respond just to be polite, while you gave the most half-hearted reactions. When you arrived home, the girls thanked Sungcheol and hauled your stuff into the apartment.

As you were getting out of the car, Seungcheol tried talking to you. When you ignored him and went for the door, he grabbed your hand, squeezing it firmly.

“Please?”

You feel pathetic enough as it is, you don’t want to linger any longer. “There’s nothing to talk about, Cheol. It’s fine.”

“I just want to apologize, y/n. I overstepped.”

"It's okay. I should be the one apologizing. It was me who kissed you after all, so, I was the one who overstepped," you professed, not looking at him out of embarrassment.

"Don't be. I didn't mind it."

"Thanks," you muttered, getting ready to get out of the car. "This was fun. Thanks for everything."

Seungcheol’s face darkened with concern. "You mean the camping trip, right?"

"No, I meant all of this. Everything that we did, everything we shared, it had been fun and I would probably miss all of it but it shouldn't be that hard to forget," you replied, holding his gaze for the first time since that kiss. Seungcheol's mouth opened and then closed again. You felt even sadder, knowing he didn't want you the same way you wanted him. "Goodbye, Cheol."

"Wait, y/n," he called, so you stopped opening the car door. "Can't we be friends? We were good friends, right? I really enjoyed hanging out with you."

"I liked hanging out with you too but things will never be the same between us, Cheol and you know it." Seungcheol released your hand and you felt your heart shatter into tiny little pieces. Seeing how he's just letting you leave, you figured this was all your fault for falling for him when all he wanted from you was friendship.

He didn't even say goodbye when you left and as soon as you were inside the house, you broke down crying. Luckily, Yoori and Seolhee were there to comfort you, staying right next to you as you cried your heart out. It was ridiculous and you're telling yourself that you shouldn't even be sad about it. How can your heart break over something that was never about romance in the first place? To him, it may have not been about romance, but to you it was. He shouldn't have reeled you in like he did. You should have just ordered a takeout when you couldn't find a seat in that cafe. You shouldn't have joined him or eaten the donut. You shouldn't have met him at all.

"Imagine breaking up with someone you never dated? Couldn't be me," Seolhee jeered, getting a glare from Yoori.

"Hey, she's heartbroken enough as it is. Don't rub salt in the wound."

Seolhee just scoffed. "What did I tell her? I told her to make sure they were on the same page before she fell for his charm and all! Look at the mess he left her in!"

Yoori sighed, still holding you in her embrace. "To be fair, he did tell her he hasn't moved on from his ex and they're trying to fix it. So romance was obviously out of the table for him right now."

“Then why did he keep hanging out with her? He may have been clear about where his heart was but you and I, including him, know their coffee runs and all that meeting up are intimate enough to be called dates!"

"Seolhee, sweetheart, you can't hold him hostage for something he can't control. Yes, he's accountable for y/n's heartbreak. Yes, he got her hooked with his charming personality. And yes he was a jerk for still hanging out with another girl when he was trying to get back with his ex. But nowhere in the equation did he explicitly mention the possibility of dating y/n. He was nice and apparently, he liked talking to y/n. Our girl fell in love, he had no control over that."

"We kissed," you croaked, sniffling into the blanket.

"You what?" Seolhee asked, confused.

"Well, I kissed him, actually."

"And he kissed you back?" Seolhee interrogated so you nodded.

Yoori let go of you and stood with her arms over her chest. "I beg your fucking pardon?"

"Babe," Seolhee blurted, holding Yoori by the arm. "Calm down."

"I’m calm. But he… He's dead," Yoori attempted to go to the door but Seolhee managed to stop her.

Seungcheol sat on the table opposite Mina, absent-mindedly slicing his steak. His mind was elsewhere entirely, while Mina was rambling about her trip abroad. His lack of attention was unusual, even for himself, especially since he had been looking forward to this dinner ever since Mina's last concert. But why is he thinking about an entirely different girl from Mina, in an entirely different setting from this fancy hotel restaurant?

"Oppa," Mina prompted, taking notice of the steak that has now been reduced to tiny, uneven little pieces. Even the vegetables have been sliced the same way. "Are you alright? You seem spaced out."

Seungcheol heaved a deep sigh upon seeing the state of his food. "Yes, I'm fine. Just not hungry."

Mina pouted cutely. "You should have ordered a salad or something."

"You're right, I should have," Seungcheol grinned.

"You weren't listening to the waiter so I ordered your usual." Mina looked worried. "Are you sure you're okay? We could meet up some other time, you know."

"I am, Mina. I'm sorry if I'm not fun to be with right now."

Mina just nodded and continued eating. "So, as I was saying," she began, falling back into a long monologue about her latest trip abroad.

Seungcheol watched her speak, recognizing the delight in her voice and the way her cheeks lifted whenever she smiled, as well as the slight annoyance on her face when her story included something bad that happened there. He watched the woman he knew so well, trying to find the reason he was sitting here in the first place. Seungcheol knew it was love. He had loved Mina for so long and so much that he couldn't even look at other girls. Even when she broke up with him, he couldn't bring himself to move on and find someone else, someone better, someone who wouldn't do to him what Mina did. He waited for her to come back because she was all he wanted, the one he loved most. It was pathetic, but he didn't care. He told himself he could wait until she was ready, and he did just that, not listening to any of his friends or his self-respect. He loved Mira, and only Mira.

But why does he keep picturing you in your usual spot at The Coffeehouse, reading your books on a small tablet? Why does he keep imagining you rolling your eyes at his lame jokes and making him laugh with your witty remarks? Why does he still clearly remember how it felt kissing you in that waiting shed, with the sound of the rain draining the noises of his pounding heartbeat?

"Oppa," Mina prompted again, this time she looked annoyed.

"Yeah?"

"Are you even listening?"

"Yeah, no. I'm sorry. What was that?"

Mina huffed. "Nevermind. I'll tell you when your mind stops flying out to space."

Seungcheol was holding Mina's hand as they walked out of the restaurant, with her giggling about the good food and him nodding along. That's how it should be, the two of them hand-in-hand and together. That should make him happy because that was what he wanted. Still, he was struggling to find contentment. When he got home that night, he had to grab a can of beer in an attempt to help him fall asleep. His mind is still filled with thoughts of you, especially the part when you last saw each other.

He loves Mina, he knows that. But he felt like crap for hurting you. Seungcheol knows he's a jerk, alright. You were right, he shouldn't have stayed that long if he wasn't planning on staying at all. But he saw you as a friend, a good friend he can talk to comfortably without the pressure of being perfect. You made him laugh easily, made him drop his guard down without warning, and crept into his heart like it was only natural to do so. He knew this could happen at one point but after you found out he'd been trying to get back with Mina, you drew the line and told him you could be good friends without any expectations. He had been blind to see that you've already gone past being friends. Now he's losing his mind over you, replaying the kiss in his head and reliving the day he let go of your hand to never see you again. He's thinking about you but he can't erase Mina for someone he recently just met, regardless of how wonderful it was.

"Ah, fuck," he muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose in an attempt to alleviate his headache.

Seungcheol kept seeing Mina after that, and he was under the impression that they were back together already. She hung out with his mother a lot and discussions about marriage were being brought up but he was unenthusiastic about it all. He was too busy trying to get you out of his head, which he kept failing miserably because the effort only made him think about you more.

"What are you thinking about?" Mina asked, tracing lines on his chest.

"A lot of things."

"Can you stop thinking about them for now?"

"I don't know. I'm trying."

Mina propped herself up on her arms, smiling as she straddled Seungcheol again. "I could help," she grinned, grinding on his crotch.

"Mina, we literally just finished—" Seungcheol was cut off when Mina leaned to kiss his lips.

Right. This is what he wanted, to have Mina back in his arms again. This should feel right. Seungcheol decided to ignore the alarms ringing in his head as well as the weird feeling in his gut that he shouldn't be here at all.

"Mr. Landlord!" Mingyu greeted when Seungcheol walked into the cafe. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"I got busy," Seungcheol replied, smiling at the younger man behind the counter. "Everything good here?"

"Perfect," Mingyu smiled, turning to make Seungcheol's usual drink order. "Are you looking for y/n?"

Seungcheol realized he had been looking around the cafe and cleared his throat to shake off the shame of getting caught. "Has she been here at all?"

"Oh, she's here all the time."

"All the time?"

"Yes. She's here almost every day. I talked to her once and she said she's working on the final editing for her thesis."

Seungcheol nodded. "I suppose she is."

Mingyu glanced at the door when it opened. "There they are."

Seungcheol head has never spun that quickly; it hurt his neck a little. And seeing you walking inside the cafe with Jinwoo from one of your classes made him scowl.

"Oh," you blurted, stopping in your tracks as soon as you saw Seungcheol by the counter.

Seungcheol gave you a timid smile before Mingyu tapped on his shoulder to give him his order. "Right. Thanks."

He turned to you, smiling and then sighing. "Good to see you."

You just responded with a slight bow of your head and Seungcheol went on to find a vacant seat. He sank into the chair, taking his book out and covering his face as he scolded himself for the stupid line. You were standing right there, he could have asked to talk to you properly.

"'Good to see you'? Unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head and putting his book back down. He would soon regret it because he could see you and the guy you were with laughing together from the window table, far from where he was. He couldn't help admiring your smile, realizing just how much he missed it. But his face darkened at the sight of the guy's arm resting on the back of your chair.

"Don't punch someone, Mr. Landlord."

Seungcheol jolted when he heard Mingyu's voice in his ear. The latter just laughed heartily, placing a plate with a donut in it right in front of Seungcheol.

"It's on the house. The owner saw you come in. She's probably hoping for a discount on the rent."

"Tell her thanks and that it's not gonna happen," Seungcheol jeered and Mingyu raised a hand on his forehead as a salute.

"Will do," he chimed, tucking the tray under his arm. "Oh, by the way, I think that guy likes y/n."

"How do you know that?"

Mingyu scoffed. "Everyone likes y/n. She's popular at school. They even have a title for her."

"What's the title?"

"Million Dollar Smile. She's the university sweetheart. I have friends from the school who are head over heels for her."

Seungcheol smiled absent-mindedly, repeating your title in his head. It suits you because you have a radiant smile that he now can't get out of his mind.

"The other day, he gave her flowers," Mingyu said, souring Seungcheol's mood. He saw the frown on Seungcheol's face and thought he didn't believe him. "It's true. I was here when he did it. I don't think y/n likes him though. She left the flowers on the table."

"Then why are they still together?"

Mingyu shrugged. "No clue."

Seungcheol sighed and hit Mingyu's abdomen. "Are you here to gossip? Don't you have work to do?"

"I just thought you'd like to hear updates about her," he complained, massaging the part where Seungcheol hit him. "Why are you so mad?"

Mingyu marched back to his post and Seungcheol went back to his book, trying to ignore your presence and failing because he ended up just stealing more glances. You didn't linger for long though, leaving the cafe with your friend after you were done with your coffee. Seungcheol could only get peace of mind then. Or so he thought. You came back alone and sat on the chair opposite of his.

"What's your deal?" you asked, looking annoyed.

"What do you mean?" Seungcheol asked back, trying to appear calm despite being surprised by your sudden appearance.

"You wanna talk to me, say it. Stop acting like a stalker."

"A stalker? I wasn't acting like a stalker," he denied, chuckling. "You were sitting within my line of sight. I can't be blamed for that. And I was here first. You have no case."

"Are being a lawyer on me right now?"

"No,” he replied briskly. “Yes, maybe."

You huffed, leaning on the backrest of the chair and crossing your arms over your chest. "Is everything alright with you?"

"Yes. Everything's fine," Seungcheol replied, smiling at your warmer attitude.

"You look…” you paused, shrugged, and added, “I don't know, different?"

"Different how?"

You shrugged. "You look like you haven't slept properly. You got thinner too and a little paler than usual. Were you sick?"

"Did it always feel this good to be cared about?" Seungcheol blurted out before he could think twice about it. He saw your brows twitching and felt nervous about what you were going to say next but you just looked away. "Don't mind me. What about you? How are you these days?"

You huffed. "If you're so curious then you should have texted me."

"You told me to leave you alone."

You glared at him. "No, I didn't."

"Pretty sure you did," Seungcheol smiled. "You just used different terms."

"And you were dissecting my words."

"Nothing much to dissect when it was staring me right in the face."

You huffed impatiently, standing up from your seat. "I didn't come here to get smart with you, so goodbye."

Seungcheol grabbed your hand. "Coffee? Won't you at least have a cup?"

"I just had one."

"Yeah, I saw that. Were you working on a project again with that guy? Jinwoo, was it?"

"Why do you care? I never asked you if you're back together with Mina."

Seungcheol's hand on your wrist twitched. You were right to ask that. Why does he even care? He has Mina. He shouldn't be acting like this anymore.

"Don't stop coming here just because I come here, Cheol. This was your favorite spot. I'm graduating anyway so I'm pretty sure I’ll stop being around much."

"No. I—" Seungcheol sighed, letting go of your hand. "Okay. It was nice seeing you again."

You gave him a small smile before walking away. Seungcheol sat there for the next hour, staring into nothing with muddled thoughts and a weird aching in his heart. He kept telling himself that he shouldn't have let your hand go for the third time around. But how stupid was he to think that?

It was only when his phone rang that he stood up and left. Mina called and asked to meet him. He drove down to a restaurant, wondering why Mina was inviting him out to another dinner. It was with their common friends this time and she was gushing about some really good news.

When he got there, Seungcheol was confused to see his girlfriend sitting next to a guy, smiling happily with her hands wrapped around his arms. She spotted Seungcheol and waved happily.

"Oppa! You made it!"

You recognized the guy as the pianist who always accompanied Mina on stage. He was smiling at him too with the same glow of happiness as Mina.

"Come join us! Everyone's here," Mina said, running up to Seungcheol to guide him to a vacant seat. But he didn't budge. "What's wrong?"

"What's this, Mina?" Sungcheol asked, sighing in frustration.

"My friends. They wanted to meet you."

Seungcheol sighed again, grabbing her by the wrist and walking out of the private restaurant. He stopped in a quiet hallway, looking at Mina with conviction.

"Are we doing this again, Mina?"

"What is?"

"Who was that guy?" he spat and Mina laughed incredulously.

"That's Hyungjae. My pianist."

"Your pianist?"

Mina shrugged. "We're kind of seeing each other but it's not serious."

"Mina you were with me just a few days ago. You were in my bed!"

"I know! And I loved that," she smiled, placing her hands on Seungcheol's chest. "I love you. You don't have to worry about Hyungjae. He's just temporary."

"Are you seriously doing this again? Am I supposed to turn a blind eye while you go sleep around with just anyone? And you asked me to come here so you could introduce me to your friends? What do you take me for, Mina?" Seungcheol grunted, swatting her hands away. "Do you see how messed up this is?"

"Oppa!"

"Let's stop this."

Mina’s face contorted with annoyance. "What do you mean? You can't say that!"

"Why not?”

She shook her head. “You can’t break up with me! Who do you think you are?”

Just like that, he’s had enough. Seungcheol walked away, completely ignoring Mina's nonstop calling. He found his car and drove a long way without an actual destination. But when he saw the Coffeehouse, he stopped right in front of it, sighing as he watched it from the side of the road. He wasn't expecting to see you there at all, smiling while talking to someone on the phone. He couldn't hear you but he was smiling along, content with the sight of your bright face.

Seungcheol was a fool. All this time, he had been blindly going in the wrong direction. He didn't want Mina because he still loved her, he wanted Mina because she was familiar. He had been chasing the empty shell of the love he used to have. He had been focusing too much on what he lost that he failed to acknowledge what he found. You. He found something really beautiful in you. He was realizing just now that he was in love with you after all. You were so graceful and pretty, like a breath of fresh air. He was enamored by you, not because you were alluring or sexy, but because you were smart and spoke kindly even when you were speaking carelessly. You were beautiful to look at, and even more breathtaking to listen to. Seungcheol was an idiot. He knows that now. He knows he would be an even bigger idiot if he let go of something as beautiful as this. But after hurting you, even though he never meant to, Seungcheol knew he couldn't just walk back into your life like he was welcome to do so anytime.

Your phone call ended and you chucked your device back in your bag. As you were turning to leave, Seungcheol panicked. Getting out of his car, he called out your name as loud as he could.

“What the–” you blurted, surprised to hear someone shouting your name. When you spotted Seungcheol walking towards you, you scowled. “Choi Seungcheol?”

“Hi,” he sputtered. He held your hand as soon as you were within his reach. “Can we talk?”

“Now? I’m kind of in the middle of something–”

“It won’t take long, I swear. I just need to tell you something.”

You glanced inside the cafe and then at Seungcheol. “What is it?”

“I’m sorry,” he confessed, almost out of breath. “I’m so sorry. Can we do this again? Let’s try again, can we?”

“Cheol, what do you mean? Where’s Mina? What happened?”

“She’s gone, y/n. It didn’t work.”

You retracted your hand from his hold, glaring at him as you stepped back. “Are you serious? Did you come here because it didn’t work out with Mina?”

“What? No!” he denied strongly, reaching for your hand again but you backed away.

“I don’t think we should be talking right now, Cheol,” you told him, genuinely concerned. “You don’t seem to be in the right headspace. You’re not even acting like yourself.”

You were right. He was rash and impulsive. This was unlike him at all. “I’m sorry.”

You were about to speak when a group of people walked out of the cafe laughing and chattering. Seungcheol recognized his uncle among the students.

“There you are, y/n. We’ve been waiting for you inside. What took you so long?” the Professor asked. Then he noticed Seungcheol there so his face glowed. “Seungcheol! I didn’t expect to run into you here!”

“Uncle,” he said meekly, eyeing you curiously. “I was just passing by.”

The elder man laughingly walked up to Seungcheol, giving him a pat on the shoulder before proudly saying, “This is Attorney Choi Seungcheol. He’s an alumna of our university. My dear nephew.”

A chorus of ‘Nice to meet you’s was heard from the group, to which Seungcheol replied with, “Good to meet you too.”

“How do you know y/n?” the professor asked Seungcheol who seemed to hesitate.

“He’s an acquaintance, Prof,” you replied curtly.

The elder nodded. “Very well then. You should join us for dinner. My students just passed an important exam so I’m treating them to dinner.”

You panicked. “I think Mr. Choi is busy–”

“I’d love to, uncle!” he chimed, grinning. “I brought my car. The rest of them can carpool with me.”

“Good. Good. Let’s go.”

The group proceeded with excited chatter while you lagged behind. Seungcheol hesitated to speak to you and as he was about to try, you shook your head to dissuade him.

At this point, Seungcheol is improvising–something he’s never done in his life before. He’s hoping that it’s worth it.

[To be continued in Part 2]

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