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sungbeam · 1 year

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OFF THE RECORD ▷ PART TWO (EP9-17)

nonidol!ji changmin x fem!reader

everyone thinks ji changmin is cute and harmless, but you know that's not who he really is.

▷ genre, part warnings. e2l, childhood friends gone bad, (extra) slow burn, fluff, angst, crying lol, mentions of childhood trauma and parental manipulation, arguing, bittersweet galore, nct ten is there for the sole purpose of being nosy like the rest of us or for being a 2nd male lead who knows!, swearing, hurt/comfort, kissing!, ji changmin dancing (need i go on), symptoms of panic/anxiety, a lot of non-tbz moments sorry i meant it when i said extra slow burn, im literally writing abt people who dance like gods but im a plebian w two left feet i have no idea what im looking at except for hips—, pining haha...ha (more subtle until the end), he's in a bathrobe near the end sorry children

▷ PART TWO WC. 17.6k

love in unity series m.list / otr part one

a/n: if u haven't read part one GO AWAY GO READ PART ONE ??? WHAT'RE U DOING HERE

EPISODE NINE: OFF THE AIR

IT was common knowledge that the week before finals week was referred to as the dreaded Dead Week. Campus was barren, coffee shops and libraries were packed, and almost everybody lived in some variation of sweats, hoodies, and eye bags. You were actually holed up in the research lab (yes, again) because your deadline to get this paper to your graduation advisor was literally looming over your shoulder, and though you were practically done, you were too paranoid of not catching some dumb typo before you turned it in.

Plus, the coffee in the lab break room was free and sponsored by your resident graduate student supervisor, and beloved older brother figure, Qian Kun. God rest his workaholic soul and empty pockets.

There weren't many people here this afternoon; most had retreated to their own homes or offices or wherever they dwelled during the Week of the Dead.

Then there was Ten.

"So do you guys just wither away here by yourselves?" Amongst the empty workbenches, his words seemed to unnecessarily resonate. From his perch in Kun's office, he spread his arms wide to gesture to all the empty space.

Kun pressed his fingers to the space between his eyes. "Yes, now let me wither in peace."

"No, I don't think I will."

You felt yourself smile. Ten had come in a few hours ago with lunch for both you and Kun. Supposedly, when he had heard that the two of you habitually ran on only coffee and dreams during Dead Week, he took it upon himself to swing by the nearest fast food restaurant and pick up a very belated lunch for you both. You’d chomped down on it with Kun in his office, but as soon as you were done, you retreated back to your desk.

The sky outside of the research laboratory was already beginning to bruise to a gray-blue-purple, the color of a dusty blueberry. Soon, you would have to surrender yourself to the night and head back home, but hopefully before that, you would decide that you were at least too tired to continue staring at these same seventeen pages for hours on end…

All three heads perked up at the sound of the laboratory building door opening and closing in the distance. None of you were exactly expecting anyone, especially when people usually indicated when they would come into work. You craned your neck from your workbench to see who had come in—

“I’ll only be a minute,” you heard and recognized your colleague Jacob Bae as he strode in from the outside corridor and into the main laboratory floor.

He met your eyes and smiled. “Hey, Yn.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

He let out a sigh as he jogged past your desk and headed toward a cupboard in the back corner. “I forgot that I left my—” His voice cut out as he ducked into the dark cupboard and withdrew a giant plastic tub. From the plastic innards filled with paper, he fished out a specific packet of paper shoved into a flimsy manila folder. “Forgot my thesis draft.”

You coughed out a laugh. “Dude.”

His grin was innocent and boyish, standard Jacob. “What? A guy’s gonna forget some things sometimes.”

“Is that what you tell your girlfriend?”

He sent you an unimpressed look. “Ha ha, Yn. Very funny. For your information, she’s more forgetful than me sometimes.” He stuck his tongue out at you as he passed by your workbench, and you, as the very mature person you were, stuck your tongue out back at him. It was only fair.

A cough sounded out from the entrance to the laboratory, and you turned your head to find Changmin, out of all people, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Peering out from behind the corner of the wall, however, was his friend Sunwoo from that other night. And yanking Sunwoo back behind the wall was Chanhee. Strange.

Someone (you suspected Chanhee) gave Changmin a firm shove into the laboratory, sending the latter stumbling in before he caught himself and regained his balance. He was swaddled in a dark colored puffer jacket and a red scarf, his red-tipped nose and cheeks bitten by the cold. For the first time, he looked smaller than he was, almost shy or nervous. You hadn’t encountered this Changmin in a long time.

He wasn’t one to look vulnerable out in the open like this.

As Jacob passed by Changmin, he clasped his shoulder in reassurance.

“Hi,” Changmin said slowly as he approached your workbench.

You were still a little dumbfounded that he was here again. “Uh, hi. What’re you doing here?” The argument the two of you had earlier in the week replayed in your mind, and you almost grimaced. You’d both said even more hurtful things, and you supposed you had just been so sensitive that your brain just automatically went into defense mode to protect yourself.

No, you hadn’t been there that night for him. You hadn’t expected to see anyone there at that time of night. That was the whole point of you going so late. You had been trying to get yourself to go into the practice room on your own, but the longer you had stood there, staring at the door, the more you realized you couldn’t do it. It still didn’t sit well with you, how affected you were by your mother’s past words.

Changmin kept his distance, but he came close enough that you could hear what he was trying to say without the others listening in too much. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

You blinked. “Talk? Like right now?” Your eyes darted to your computer screen and the practically finished paper displayed. It wasn’t like you wanted to keep working on it, but your heart beat startled at the sudden thought of having that very important conversation right now, when you weren’t ready.

He caught onto your movements though. “No, no—I mean,” he stammered, recovering with a quick swipe of his tongue over his lip, “just whenever. It doesn’t have to be now. I just figured it’d be best to get that… out in the air, you know?” I think it’s what we’ve been needing all this time. Something proper; no more yelling matches.

For a second, you thought you could see some of the old Changmin in this one. It wasn’t like he had changed, per se, it was more like he was finally showing that part of himself that you had been missing all along. You swallowed, nodding. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll, uhm, text you sometime tonight after I turn this paper in.”

He nodded back at you. “Yeah, cool.”

When you saw him begin to back away, a thought suddenly occurred to you. You called out to him to get him to stop, and you could have sworn that there was a gleam in his eyes then. “Changmin—about Sumin…” You inhaled deeply as you fought for the right words to express your next thoughts, “be gentle with her, okay?”

Even then there was a pang in your heart as you uttered those words. Sumin had texted you all about her interaction with Changmin a day or so ago regarding his “interview”, and she had been gushing about her crush on him. She had even asked you how much you knew about him and if you could give her a crash course in all things dance or even Changmin. Suffice to say, you felt trapped between a rock and hard place, but you didn’t want to let her down. (You’d always wanted to be a big sister; you didn’t want to push her away because of feelings that you were too petty to address.)

Changmin’s head tilted to the side as he made a confused face. “Huh?”

You sighed, “You seriously didn’t notice?”

“No, actually,” he quipped.

You pursed your lips; why weren’t you surprised? It wouldn’t be very cool of you to reveal Sumin’s crush on him if that wasn’t what she wanted. You would have to be subtle, but also not subtle, then. “Just—” you made a vague gesture with your hands, “—don’t be brash.”

“Brash?”

“Don’t be mean,” you amended.

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You thought even Ten rolled his eyes from where he was in Kun’s office. “You’re hopeless, really.”

Changmin’s face pinched, and he was moving back closer to your workbench. “I’ll have you know that we’re both hopeless.”

You deadpanned. “Now I’m pretty sure we’re not even in the same ballpark,” you muttered in exasperation. “Whatever. Your friends are waiting for you, Changmin.”

His lips pressed into a line. He glanced quickly over his shoulder where his friends were pretending to not be eavesdropping, then looked back at you. “Okay, yeah. Just don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” you promised.

EPISODE TEN: OFF THE MARKET

CHANGMIN glanced up at the entrance to the coffee shop, matching the sign in the window to the one he had searched up on his GPS app. It seemed to match from what he saw.

Today was the Friday of Dead Week, a handful of days after he dipped out of his interview with Sumin and confronted you at the laboratory. He had consulted Chanhee that day, regarding his mess of feelings about the situation with you, and Chanhee had practically forced him to go with him and Jacob to the laboratory. (Sunwoo just happened to tag along because he, apparently, felt left out.) Changmin wondered how Chanhee could have possibly known that you would be there, but Chanhee dismissed his worries by assuring him that after he asked you, he would feel a lot better and less like a hot pile of shit.

Chanhee was right, as per usual. Not that Changmin was going to admit that aloud to him ever.

But today was important because of two things in particular, and they both had to do with things that occurred several days ago. The first item on the agenda was going into this cafe to finish up that un-started interview with Sumin. After he had given her his number that day, she was swift to send a greeting text to him to set up a time and place to meet. Changmin actually had yet to visit this coffee shop in particular, but then again, he was a bit partial to the one Jacob introduced to the group last quarter.

Your words of advice, or caution, rang in his ears like the bell that twinkled above the door as he walked into the building. Be gentle with her. Don’t be brash. Don’t be mean. What did all of that even mean? He liked being interviewed, especially when it was about dance, so why would you think he would be anything but well-behaved? Part of him thought it was based off of the two of your interactions for the past three years, but he knew you had the good sense to know he didn’t treat just anyone like he treated you.

The thought remained fresh in his mind even as he scanned the room for a familiar face.

Sumin was seated in a secluded booth in the corner of the coffee shop. When she saw him, she waved him over excitedly, slipping her compact into her purse. Her laptop was left on the table in front of her, but unopened. Huh, maybe she just got here, too.

Changmin slid into the booth across from her. “Hi, sorry, were you waiting long?” He asked as he shouldered his jacket off and set his bag on top of it.

Sumin perked up a little bit. “Oh, no! Don’t worry. Did you have a good week?”

“Ah, as good as the week before finals can be, I suppose,” he chuckled, leaning back against the booth seat. His eyes darted to the unopened laptop still in the middle of the table and he cupped the back of his neck. “Did you wanna order anything to drink? Or have you ordered already?”

She shook her head, her hand reaching up to fidget with the end of one of her curled locks of hair. “Hm? No, I didn’t order yet! I was waiting for you so we could order something together—I mean, at the same time.”

“Cool, yeah,” he cleared his throat, signaling for one of the workers’ attention with a wave of his hand. “We can order and then get started.”

“Ah, ha, right.”

Once orders were taken, Sumin finally cracked open her laptop and got a couple things set up. Changmin patiently waited for her to get all settled, his eyes wandering about the shop and absentmindedly observing the workers behind the counter as they bustled about to prepare drinks and pastries.

Sumin coughed, “Okay, I figured that recording is a little unnecessary, so I’ll just be jotting some notes down on my laptop.”

Changmin bobbed his head. “Sounds good.”

She shifted in her seat, her posture straightening, as she figured out how exactly to start. “I hope you’ll be patient with me since I haven’t been doing this for a long time, but Yn gave me some pointers to start with,” she said sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“No problem! I totally understand; take your time.” He cocked his head to the side unconsciously, “Yn didn’t offer to sit in for your interviews?”

“Oh! Uh, she did, but I insisted that I was feeling confident enough to do them on my own,” she laughed lightly. “Definitely a bit nerve-wracking, but I think the interviews with Juyeon and a few of the other dancers went well earlier in the week.”

“Hey, I mean, I admire your courage,” he said with what he hoped was an encouraging enough smile. “Just take your time with it, Sumin. We’ll make sure to get you all the info you need.” There. Was that what you meant by not being mean? Wasn’t this just being considerate, though?

His foot tapped against the ground absentmindedly as he thought about the next thing on his agenda after this interview: talking to you. It was weird, having to almost set an appointment to have this very needed talk, but as you had said, you texted him your availability and the two of you just happened to both have this evening free. He just needed to finish this interview… There was still plenty of time.

His words to Sumin seemed to make her shoulders relax a little bit, and she jumped right into her first question. Changmin would answer as thoughtfully as could, which wasn’t too difficult seeing as he was literally talking about one of the things he was most passionate about in this world. He could probably talk about dance and his love for dance for days on end. Sumin, in turn, would skillfully and naturally continue the conversation so it felt a lot less like an interview, and more like an interaction between friends about dance.

Perhaps he didn’t even realize when the questions became less about his experience about dance and more about him; when Sumin gradually stopped typing notes down on her laptop and instead leaned her chin onto her hands to watch him; or when she suddenly asked—

“Is that your ideal first date then?”

Record scratch.

The words on Changmin’s tongue died instantly, and his brain scrambled to process what she had just said. “Sorry?”

Sumin’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing. “I—I mean, you were talking about going to see live dance shows with your former partner and I just…” She shook her head with an embarrassed laugh, “Sorry, was that too forward?”

Changmin blinked once, twice; dear god, he must have been running his mouth without even realizing. “I was talking about Yn?”

That ripped Sumin right out of embarrassment—well, it was closer to mortification. The color on her cheeks had turned pale. “Yn is your ex?”

Fuck— “No, no, no! She’s not. She’s definitely not—”

Sumin covered her face with both of her palms in distress, a sentiment that was definitely shared between both parties in the booth. “Oh my god, and I’ve been telling her all about my crush on you, too. I must have looked so stupid.”

His eyes flew open. “Huh?!”

“Please, I’ve been so obvious, Changmin!”

Not to me, he thought. Jesus, was he really so blind? Was this what you meant this whole time? Changmin waved his hands around in an X formation, trying to reign the conversation into some level of sanity. “Sumin, I can assure you, that you definitely weren’t obvious until you literally just said it,” he began. “And so we’re clear, Yn is not my ex-girlfriend. She was my ex-dance partner and friend, but not a significant other.” As much as it sucked to admit that—

Sumin slowly lowered her hands from her face with the light reflected in her eyes wobbling. “Oh… okay, I guess that makes sense then.”

Changmin let out a haggard sigh, holding his hand to his head. “Yeah, well… I guess I should say that I’m sorry, but I don’t really share the same feelings for you?” He shook his head to himself, trying to rephrase: “What I mean is that I’m not exactly looking for a relationship. I’m kind of messed up right now.” Understatement of the century.

She pursed her lips, but nodded. “I get that. Thanks for being so cool about it.”

“Least I can do,” he said, clasping his hands together over the table.

“So,” she drawled with a wince, “I take it this interview is over?”

He brushed a hand through his hair. “If you have everything you need and there are no hard feelings?”

She inclined her head in the affirmative, and that was that.

— ✶

Even on a Friday evening, if it was the week before an exam season, the library study rooms were always packed, one occupier after the other. Attempting to score one was the equivalent of launching a stakeout, complete with charging cables, two cups of coffee, and a will of steel (to wait hours for a room to open up). Someone must have been looking out for you though as you managed to snatch a study room as soon as you arrived on the second floor of one of the main student libraries on campus. When you and Changmin had exchanged an, albeit brief, bit of texts, you both agreed that meeting somewhere that could serve as common ground would be good for the both of you. It had to be semi-private, as well, since neither of you wanted to let anyone else in on your private, personal problems.

The library study rooms were your solution, and maybe this was the universe’s sign that this discussion needed to happen.

As soon as the door closed gently behind you, you set yourself up in one of the chairs around the small, rectangular table at the center of the room. Changmin said he would be a couple minutes late because the bus had been late to pick up his stop and Chanhee was borrowing his car, so you texted him to let him know which room you were in.

While you waited, you attempted to ease your mind by scrolling through social media and flipping through emails and returning to social media, and wait, did you ever get a reply back from that one TA? All the while, your knee would bounce up and down ceaselessly, your fingers shaking and cold and numb. You were perhaps seconds away from your throat closing in on itself again, but then the door opened.

Changmin murmured a “hey” to you as he closed the door behind him and lowered himself into the seat across from you.

The room was quiet. “Hey,” you said back, clearing your throat.

You watched as his nostrils flared slightly as he exhaled. “What did you mean by ‘when did I stop caring’?”

You were a little startled that he decided to start right away, but on the other hand, relieved that he did. You wouldn’t have known how to begin anyway. “When did you stop caring?” You parroted in case you hadn’t heard him right. If you weren’t mistaken, he was referring to what you had said that night in front of the practice rooms.

He gave a nod. “Yeah, I was thinking about what you said…” He scratched his jaw, continuing lowly, “...y’know, on the bus ride over here. And I just don’t understand where in the world you got the idea that I ever stopped caring about you.” He met your eyes then, and you could see the tightness in his jaw, but the gleam in his irises.

This wasn't about being right anymore; it was about making things right.

"You—" you grappled for words, finding yourself pinned down by Changmin's relentlessly piercing gaze, "—I just got so much radio silence from you."

"You were giving me the same excuses."

"Because it was the same, exact problem," you fired back. "And, okay, so they were excuses, but god, Changmin. I could just see how with each passing day, you looked at me differently because I was late or I told you I couldn't make it. Didn't I give you reasons why? Just that disappointment and cold shoulder…" It broke my damn heart.

Changmin's arms were crossed over his chest as he considered your words, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. "I never," he began, "thought poorly of you, Yn." It sounded like he was struggling to piece together the right words, too, and he choked down a swallow. "I was going through a lot of shit around that time, and my patience was always paper thin by the time it was our usual practice time, y'know? It was never you specifically I was mad at."

He paused for a moment. His head hung, and he picked at a stray thread on his jacket cuff. "My parents said they wouldn't support me if I majored in dance."

Your heart stopped clean.

"They basically said I'd have to finance myself for all four years if I wanted to make dancing a career," he said with a flippant, helpless gesture. "I was given some scholarship money from the school, but it was nowhere near a full ride. So I was stressed the fuck out because I knew I needed to win those comps to get more money. They were cool with me dancing as, like, a hobby or a way to get into college, but as soon as I told them my intended major was dance?"

Well, shit.

Horror pooled in your gut, the kind that started up at your shoulders and spider-crawled down the length of your spine. "I'm so sorry, Changmin. That must have been so much pressure for you, oh my god."

This entire time, you'd been under the impression that his parents were fine and dandy with their son becoming a dancer. He'd always had a natural, prodigal talent for the art form. He was the absolute cream of the crop from your class, and you couldn't believe they could be anything but proud of having a son like him.

But you supposed you shouldn't have assumed. There was a cost to being a hypocrite.

Changmin nodded, but it wasn't very affirming. It was like he had heard it all before and had already accepted it all grimly and reluctantly. "Yeah, well… I won all those comps, but what did I lose in the process, y'know?"

He gestured to you. "I just thought I'd always have you to run back to, but you were going through your own stuff. I'm not trying to pin the blame on you—it's… just that… you were my best friend. My partner."

"It's funny you say that," you said then, drumming your fingers anxiously against your leg. "I thought I could rely on you, too. And I definitely drifted away from you, but it was because of my own reasons."

Changmin nodded, settling his hands on top of the table and leaning in slightly.

Still, every time you told someone, you could never get it right. But maybe you could get it right this time. "You know how my parents got divorced and I said that my mom had changed?"

His forehead creased then, and he nodded again.

"She started yelling a lot," you said. "Would always make me listen to her scream in my face about how dance was useless, how dance would never help me in the real world, how I was absolutely awful at it and that I should be focusing on something worth my time." You swallowed, continuing on, "And when I told you I couldn't make it or that I was late, it was because she started refusing to take me to practices and competitions and shows.

"And I mean—I tried really hard to keep going, Changmin, I really did." You raised your eyes to meet his and found him staring at you still, but this time you saw that glisten in his eyes again. The tension in his jaw had slackened, and had been replaced with that same dread you had while he was telling you what happened to him. "I thought that I could get past what my mom kept telling me, and that once I got to the practice room—I just needed to get to the practice room—it would all be worth it."

There was a stinging feeling in the back of your eyes, at your tear glands. Your vision was blurring and you blinked back the traitorous tears.

Changmin pursed his lips, his face contorting slightly as he too tried to contain the emotions welling up in him. "And then I shut you out."

"We shut each other out."

"Why—" he rasped, his hand coming up to cover part of his mouth, "—didn't you tell me? I would've—god, I would've—" He didn't know, actually, but all he knew was that he would've been better. Would he have though? Truly? Would you have?

"I didn't like talking about it," you confessed, sniffling. You were ashamed of yourself, both then and now. You raised your hand up to wipe the corner of your eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No, fuck, don't apologize." He stood, arms opening and palms turning upward like an offering, "C'mere."

Both of you, teary-eyed messes, stumbled out of your chairs to close the distance in each other's arms. It was the feeling of finally holding each other after three years that made the two of you break down completely. The study room's quiet was filled with sounds of messy, blubbering sobs—hands grappling at the other's jacket, faces shoved into the warmth of a neck or shoulder.

Two pieces of a puzzle having finally been reunited.

This was where you belonged.

"This was all I wanted," you bawled into his shoulder.

It seemed to make his body tremble harder. "I would've given it to you—god, I would've given you anything. I'm so goddamn sorry."

"Hey," you mused half-heartedly, "if I'm not allowed to apologize, then neither are you."

He gave a watery chuckle. "Okay, fine." His wet eyelashes fluttered as he closed his eyes and tightened his hold around you. "That must have been awful, Yn. How…? Just how."

You rested your cheek against his toned shoulder. "Somehow… I don't really know. I'm proud of you, though, you know? I'm really proud of you."

"Thank you. I'm proud of you, too." He sniffled, mouth pressing against your shoulder. "All this time, I thought you hated dance and hated me."

"Oh, god no," you sniffled, sucking in a breath. "I—I knew I couldn't be strong anymore; I didn't want to disappoint you." And when you could no longer attend those practices, you had believed it would be better to not be there to drag him down. You thought that without having to wait on you every time, he would have been all the better. You see now that perhaps you were wrong in your logic.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in the other's arms as words settled and feelings sunk in. The realization that this tension between the two of you was possibly over now was crazy.

"For the record," Changmin murmured, "you're a great dancer. No matter what your mom told you, you'll always be a great dancer."

You laughed a little, shaking your head. "Not anymore, I'm not."

"That's where you're wrong." He pulled away from you and you saw the tears staining his dimpled cheeks, but the smile he was giving you was something out of a dream. He gently, playfully punched your arm. "You're still my partner, after all."

EPISODE ELEVEN: OFF THE SHELF

EVER since Changmin, Chanhee, JC!Yn, and her roommate Kei decided to change the weekly grocery shopping session to Saturday mornings, Changmin had never been so grateful for such a change until now. It used to be on Sunday mornings during the fall quarter because JC!Yn volunteered at the local children’s club on Saturday mornings, but since the Sunny Side Up Club had begun closing its doors on the weekend until summer break, her Saturdays had suddenly freed up.

Kei, as usual, had waltzed off in search of her own shopping list items, leaving JC!Yn and Changmin with the shopping cart of groceries and Chanhee sitting in the middle of it, cross-legged and swaddled in a pink hoodie.

“That’s awful,” JC!Yn lamented as she slowly trailed after Changmin while pushing the cart. There was a frown etched into her face, as well as Chanhee’s, while and after Changmin had caught them up on the events of the previous day’s talk with you. “I mean, I know some parents are super strict about their kids studying, but…” She shook her head, “You’ve both been through a terrible amount of shit, man.”

Chanhee nodded his agreement, peering up at Changmin who was at the helm of the cart, staring at the label on a container of canned corn blankly. “Yeah, for sure. How’re you holding up, Changminnie?”

Changmin shrugged half-heartedly and rather mopey. “As well as I could be.”

“Well, are you guys good now?” JC!Yn asked. “Y’know, after clearing all the air?”

Changmin made a face at the canned corn, but handed it to Chanhee to place amongst the other things in the cart with him. “I mean, kind of? Not really?” He scratched the side of his head, and his two friends looked on at him, then exchanged worried glances. Usually Changmin was the one cracking jokes, but to see him in such a state… “It’s just a little awkward now because we’ve been on ice around each other for years. Going back to normal shouldn’t be easy, should it?”

Chanhee pursed his lips, his head tilting from side to side. “That’s true. When you guys were still in grudge era, you let all the angst between you do the talking.”

“Angst? I was not angsty, for your information.”

Both of his companions scoffed their disagreement. “Every single time her name was brought up around you, you gazed far off like some kind of angsty main hero,” Chanhee retorted. “Like Kevin at that one dinner when we were interrogating Eric.”

JC!Yn laughed. “That feels like so long ago.”

Changmin sent her a look, the corner of his lips tilting upward like the arch of his eyebrow. “That’s because you and Jacob act like you’ve been married for ten years.”

Her face heated at those words, but she held her chin up in pride. “I’m gonna pretend this is your jealousy talking.”

“Oh, please,” he quipped back and turned back to the shelves to hunt for any other familiar labels that would trigger his hunger. “If I wanted to be so grossly in love—”

“Then you’d go find Yn?”

“—Then I’d go find Y—HEY!” Changmin sputtered as his cheeks lit up like the can of roasted red bell peppers in his hand. Chanhee and JC!Yn exploded into equal fits of delighted cackles, the former extending his arm back so the latter could return his fistbump. Changmin scowled through his flustered haze. “Whatever; taking advantage of my vulnerable state is not cool, guys.”

Chanhee beamed up at his best friend with the kind of smile that no one could be mad at. It was impish, adorable even. “Aw, it’s only ‘cause we love you.”

“Gross,” Changmin muttered, wrinkling his nose dramatically, then nudging his glasses up his nose.

As she stopped the cart behind Changmin, JC!Yn rested her arm against the bar and let her chin sit atop her fist as she and Chanhee watched Changmin scour the shelves again. “Didn’t you say you had feelings for her back then, Changmin-ah? Would you say they were still present or not?”

He sucked in a breath at the question as he let the question marinate in his brain. After yesterday’s world-altering talk with you, neither of you were able to stay too long afterward to catch up. You’d both, unfortunately, been called to your own separate summons. But this morning, when Changin had woken up with the information having been properly processed in his brain and given him room to overthink as he did… Truthfully, he had no idea where the two of you stood with one another. It wasn’t going to be the same, not like childhood and not like the past three years.

He didn’t exactly know what to say to you now, only that there was still that emptiness in his chest. He hadn’t expected the feeling to go away, but he also hadn’t expected it to remain. What was he supposed to do? He was pretty sure you didn’t even like him like that back then, so there was no way your feelings would have changed in that sense over the past three years. Some said that distance made the heart grow fonder, and while Changmin wasn’t one for cliche lines, he did feel an ache for you. He wanted to make up for lost time. Even if you didn’t feel the same way he had back then, it didn’t mean that he still felt the same… right?

“I think we lost him,” came Chanhee’s very loud stage whisper.

Changmin shook out of his mind and leveled a glare at his two friends. “I’ll think about it.”

“Didn’t you just think about it?”

“Hey, if JC!Yn-ie can take an entire quarter to tell Jacob-ssi her feelings, then you can give me like, five minutes to think about mine!” He squawked, waving his arms around in the air like one of those car-wash balloon people that flopped around in the wind. Except this one was high on emotions and his round lenses were slipping down his nose, adding to his overall mad man-like look.

JC!Yn deadpanned, shaking her head as she began pushing the cart after Changmin. She muttered under her breath, “He’s just astounded that he has feelings for someone, JC!Yn. Let him be touchy today.”

Chanhee, who had heard her speak to herself loud and clear, twisted around to grin and pat her arm reassuringly. “He’s just malfunctioning because he might actually have a chance now.”

“I can hear you!”

Chanhee chuckled, and the sound was villainous.

The three of them, as per routine, met up with Kei at the checkout lanes. There was one occasion where one of the workers was so tired that they tried to scan Chanhee and make them pay for him, but other than that, most people just offered him a sweet from the jar on the counter. As groceries were bagged up, and Kei was caught up on the situation at hand in verbal bullet point format, she took only a moment to suggest: “Why don’t you invite her to the dance showcase?”

All eyes went to Changmin, even as JC!Yn pushed the cart out with the group.

Changmin chewed his bottom lip. “I would, but... I dunno. I don’t want to trigger anything for her.” He winced to himself, “It would be really cool to have her there, of course! But I literally saw her in the practice room a week ago and she looked like she was seconds away from having a full-on panic attack.” As much as inviting you to watch him perform for the first time in three years thrilled him (and nearly sent him into cardiac arrest), he had seen you that day—blanched, struggling to breathe. He couldn’t imagine just what thoughts were running through your head then, especially after hearing what you had told him yesterday.

He was so—god, he was so angry at your mother. He knew about the divorce and the negative effect it had on her, but for her to practically take all that energy out on you? It was something simply unforgivable. His heart hurt for you.

Chanhee dipped his head in a slight nod, mouth curved down into a frown again. "That's fair. But I mean, it wouldn't hurt to ask, would it?"

"I just don't want to come off as insensitive, especially after three years of the cold shoulder." Your words from yesterday had penetrated him deeply—he hoped to never make you feel abandoned ever again.

Kei peered around at Changmin from the other side of JC!Yn. "If it counts, I don't think she'll take it as being insensitive, Changmin."

"She might feel better about getting, y'know, a personal invitation from you," JC!Yn chimed in. "Even if she isn't comfortable with going, she'll know you're thinking of her."

Changmin pressed his knuckles to his lips, bouncing on the balls of his feet anxiously. It was amusing, and perhaps a little concerning, for his friends to see him like this. He flapped the ends of his sweater sleeves in the air like he was hyping himself up. "Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll invite her to see me perform."

He raised an arm into the air toward the sky. "The next time I see her, that's what I'll—"

"Oh, look, she's right there," said Chanhee, pointing in the distance from his cart throne.

Changmin squeaked, "She's what?!" He slid behind JC!Yn in a very poor attempt to hide himself from the oncoming party.

Said party consisted of you, Yeri, Mark, and Ten—again. Except, instead of the coffee shop across the shopping mall, it was the parking lot on his friends' turf. Mark and Yeri were the first to see Changmin's friend group, both of them making unsubtle glances at Changmin. They passed by with friendly greetings, excusing themselves as they argued over the possibility of the store having watermelon (the answer was no; sorry Mark).

You and Ten lagged behind slightly, seemingly deep in conversation. The latter listened intently, but he felt eyes on him and looked up. His eyes twinkled as he made eye contact with Changmin—Changmin couldn't tell whether or not he liked that feeling.

You realized that he was looking outward and onward, and so you followed his gaze. Your eyes widened a tad at the sight of Changmin's friend group manifesting out of nowhere. "Hi guys," you said with an awkward smile when you and Ten met them in the middle.

"Hi Yn-ie," Chanhee giggled, turning around to wag his eyebrows at Changmin.

Changmin threw back a very unimpressed scowl. He let a smile grace his face just as he looked back at you. "Hey Yn, Ten."

JC!Yn unsubtly began pushing the cart to uncover Changmin. "Hey, you two. Changmin was actually just talking about you, Yn!"

Traitor! Changmin's jaw dropped.

Ten grinned. "That's really funny, 'cause Yn was just talking about you, Changmin."

You glared daggers at your friend with the same level of betrayal in your eyes as Changmin expressed. At least you were both getting thrown under the bus.

Kei nudged him. "Don't you have something to say to her?"

"We'll get out of your hair!" Chanhee chirped, patting the side of the cart as JC!Yn resumed her pushing on the cart past you and Ten. "See you at the car, Changminnie!"

As Changmin's last line of defense walked away with JC!Yn and the shopping cart prince, Ten inclined his head to you. "Should I stick around for this?"

You sighed under your breath. "Probably not. I'll see you inside?"

"Whatever suits your fancy," he mused, shrugging. As he passed by Changmin, he winked, then whistled some random tune as he went on his merry way.

"So what's up?" You asked him then. It seemed to be a cozy morning for you as you fidgeted with the ends of your big, woolen sweater. There was something delicate about the way the corners of your lips curled up into a smile.

Changmin cupped the nape of his neck. "Oh, uh, I know we had that whole talk yesterday, and I was wondering if you'd wanna come see my performance at the winter showcase on Friday?" He added quickly, "No pressure, of course. If you're uncomfortable, then you don't have to worry."

Your lips pursed together in a slight pucker. "I'd actually love to go. I mean—" you swallowed, "—I haven't gone to one since freshman year, but I'd love to."

"You can leave whenever you start feeling uncomfortable," he assured you, but he was smiling widely now. "It'll be cool to, y'know, have you in the audience."

"That means a lot, Changmin," you said earnestly, your smile sweet. It was almost weird to not have you frowning or glaring at him. It felt… good. It felt really good. “I will try my best.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked on his heels, teeth biting down on his bottom lip to suppress the eager grin threatening to come out. “That’s all I could ask for.”

EPISODE TWELVE: OFF THE CHARTS

YOU were late. You were extremely late, actually, and to be honest, if you had known the bus was going to break down in the middle of the stupid road, you would have gotten off and walked. But then again, you were practically buried in all of the bundles of flowers you wanted to bring for your friends performing tonight. There were four bundles in total that you bothered to pick out just about two hours ago, one for Minho, one for Jungwoo, one for Ten, and of course, you could not forget one for Changmin.

When Changmin had personally invited you to come see his performance tonight earlier in the week, you couldn’t deny that the feeling made your chest warm and fuzzy. Even as you trudged your way up the stairs to the front of the performing arts building, you were filled with adrenaline and antsy energy. You’d waited so long for this, hadn’t you?

The last time you had come to see the winter showcase was in freshman year, the year the Daily asked you to write a review piece on one of the performers debuting that year, and even that had been enough of dance for the years following. It would be nice to know, this time, that you were wanted in the audience. (Changmin would have wanted you in the audience all this time, but you didn’t know that.)

Because you were unquestionably late, the doors to the hall would be closed shut now.

That was why having a friend like Boo Seungkwan was paramount.

“Thank you,” you gasped as one of the doors to the performance hall burst open and allowed you into the warmth of the lobby. You could hear the bass of whatever song was on and the audience’s cheers from here.

Seungkwan swept half of the bouquets from your arms with a click of his tongue. “Yah, you’re insane for taking the bus all the time. Yeri even asked to pick you up!”

“I know, I know!” You cried, the two of you scurrying over to one of the doors in the hall. “I panicked at the last second to get flowers and then I had to go all the way to the shop on fifth! By the way, did you know they’re open until 11?”

Both of your voices quieted as you slipped into the darkened auditorium. The stage was the only part illuminated in blinding, searing hot spotlights. You had just walked in on a brief break between acts as performers switched on and off stage. Seungkwan led you to one of the rows of seats in the nosebleeds that was relatively in the middle.

All of your friends practically occupied the entire row, and they lit up in delight at the sight of you.

“Yo Yn!” Mark whispered as he leaned over Yeri. “You’re actually here!”

Yeri reached over to squeeze your hand as you took the open seat next to her, and Seungkwan took the last seat in the aisle. “I’m so happy you’re here, Yn-ie.”

Doyoung and Kun peered out from around Mark, and you recognized a couple others from the NCT frat and RVE sorority further down the row. “Hey guys,” you said quietly to them as you wrangled your purse into your lap and adjusted the flowers in your arms, “how much did I miss?”

“Not much at all," Doyoung replied. "It's just been a few of the first years."

"We've got a little while until the older batch," Kun said with a wave of the program in his hands.

You nodded your understanding and settled into your seat to get comfortable. The performances went on one after the other. There was a mix of all different genres, ranging from contemporary ballet to tap and popping. Because everyone in the final winter showcase were in some kind of dance course on campus, a lot of the acts displayed a ton of experience already, even as first-years.

The longer the night went on, the less you believed your antsiness was a result of a nervous tick, but rather the bottled up adrenaline building up from watching all the performances. At some point, you realized you weren't even analyzing the performances anymore, but rather, sitting in awe of each one.

When a brief intermission was announced, Yeri and one of her sorority sisters squeezed past to head to the restroom while a few others from the row headed out to stretch their limbs and find some other friends. You and Seungkwan lingered in your seats, discussing your favorite performances so far, as well as how your finals weeks had gone for each of you.

"I'm just so glad we have spring break now," he groaned, his head hanging with exhaustion. "I might have skipped tonight if that meant I could sleep early."

"You would have regretted it though," you pointed out to him.

He gestured with his hand. "Right, you are." He let out a sigh as he raised his head and met your smile with a tired one of his own. "Well, Yn, you did it. You're watching your first full winter showcase. How do you feel?"

Your gaze flickered back to the stage. The house lights had come on for intermission, leaving the stage drenched in darkness. You could have sworn you saw the heavy red curtains shudder as if someone had poked their head out to view the audience. You remembered when you and Changmin used to do that when you were kids.

You turned back to Seungkwan. "I feel surprisingly okay," you confessed. "I was a little nervous before, but I think that I'm doing good."

He nodded. "Good. I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks, Kwan." You exhaled. "I didn't fully realize how long this was gonna be," you mused.

Seungkwan raised a brow at you. "Well, didn't you only stay for like, Changmin's performance last time you were here?"

"Well, yeah—"

The house lights suddenly shuttered off, and people rushed back to their seats. Your friends who were coming back squeezed past you and Seungkwan, effectively cutting off your conversation from before. The last half of the night would be handed over to the students who were majoring in dance and had been a part of the program for over two years.

You were properly in awe of the next performances. They had decided to put Ten out first, dancing to a song called Baby Don't Stop. He had mentioned the song to you once, but you hadn't really thought much about it until now. It was a side of Ten you hadn't seen yet since you had never seen him dance properly, but… you were definitely going to need to gush about this to him afterward.

You were pretty sure the crowd didn't quiet down for five performers in a row, as crazy-talented dancers such as Minho and Jungwoo followed after.

Each performance was incomparable to the next, and soon, you were sucking in a breath to the sound of Changmin's name being announced.

You slapped your hands onto Seungkwan's and Yeri's on either side of you, both of whom squeezed and shook your hands back as the curtain rose.

The lighting began a deep, electric purple, painting Changmin to look like a dark silhouette on stage. You almost couldn't make out the details of his white and black suit-like uniform. It was dynamic and unique with the suit cut outs and gloves, and he paired it all with an eye look that made his eyes feel darker and smokier.

He was still at first—until a set of horns, like trumpets, blared from the speaker's and he began striding forward.

You heard Mark gasp from two seats over. "Holy shit, he's dancing to Action Figure."

You vaguely recognized the title, but if you were thinking of the right song, then the room was about to get a lot louder. Unconsciously, you squeezed Seungkwan and Yeri's hands as you leaned forward and lingered on the edge of your seat.

The performance was everything you expected and more. Changmin was, as you had expressed before, the absolute cream of the crop. Each movement was brought with sharp precision, like the blade of a knife. Even during the slower bridge portion, he somehow executed the legato-like movements with a crispness of 4K HDR quality.

Everyone in the room held their breath (or screamed it out) with each sultry gaze, each lick of his lips, each smirk—a great dancer, a great performer; he would forever be one of the greats. That, you were very certain of.

When the song came to an end and he raised his head to peer at the audience through his bangs, you and everyone else erupted into applause, whistles, yelling—all the works. Your heart palpitated so hard in your chest that you thought it was trying to mimic his own dance. You were practically shaking from all of the bottled energy, and…

"Wow," you breathed out as you leaned back in your seat as the stage was reset for the next act. Your knee began bouncing fervently, sending the flowers in your lap up and down as well.

Seungkwan murmured his agreement, "Whew. I can't tell if I'm attracted or intimidated."

You snorted, patting his hand with your palm. "Both?"

"Probably."

You laughed, your hand lifting up to absentmindedly press against the base of your throat and sternum.

You couldn't help but think about what Changmin had revealed to you that day. How could a pair of parents not be absolutely floored to have a son as talented as Ji Changmin? It was so unbelievable to you, but you couldn't imagine how it might have felt to suddenly have all that support be ripped out from beneath your feet like his support had been.

The performances following would finish off those of the solo category. Afterwards, a handful of groups performed, including repeats of a few performers. Minho and Jungwoo had performed a stage together (Finesse, if you weren't mistaken), while Changmin and Juyeon made a return to the stage with another sultry hit by the name of Light a Flame.

By the end of the night, you were eager to head backstage to see your friends who had just performed their hearts out.

Plus, the bouquets were wilting.

Once the house lights had thunked to life, and the crowd was beginning to lessen, the row you were seated in with your friends stood together. Some of them were going to head straight home, but a few others planned to stay back to congratulate the performers on a night well done.

"You guys ready to head back?" Mark asked while nodding toward the stage with his hands shoved into the pockets of his puffer vest.

The high you were on was gradually fading out, and you had to clear your throat. "Can I meet you guys back there? I think I'm gonna take a quick breather and then just go in through the backdoor."

They were more than okay with accommodating you, encouraging you to take as long as you needed. Mark and Yeri both took the remaining two bouquets from your arms as Seungkwan ushered you out the door to take that breather.

As you hit the cool, early-March air, you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself and inhaled deeply. All around you, people lingered and chatted with each other, gushing about their favorite performances and reenacting the most memorable parts. You smiled to yourself when you overheard a group of boys near you talking about Changmin's tasteful choice in music, as well as the cohesion of his entire performance, ranging from not only the music choice, but down to the costuming as well. (And the choreography, of course. Everything about his performance, as emphasized, was breathtaking.)

With a sigh, you began rounding the building toward the back entrance.

Now that you had the space to deconstruct your thoughts, you realized that although you felt an indescribable amount of pride for your friends, you couldn't help the pit forming in the bottom of your stomach. In a way, you envied the performers onstage. You wished you had held on a little longer; maybe then, you could have been one of the people on stage tonight like you had wanted when you were just a teen.

When you reached the back door, you managed to gather your strength and let yourself in.

Like that day you had taken Sumin backstage, it was all hustle and bustle, but ten times that. Pandemonium erupted as performers raced past you left and right trying to find their friends, fellow performers, and even the location of their hairspray. (They should have put their name on it, you thought cheekily, but even then, it might not have worked still, you supposed.)

You kept your arms crossed over your chest as you squeezed past people toward where you were hoping to find your friends. As you walked into the dressing room corridor, you nearly collided with a silky dress shirt.

"Yn! I can't believe I found you," Ten chuckled.

You laughed, wrapping your arms around him in an affectionate embrace. "Ten! I can't believe you found me either. It's a madhouse here." You scanned the faces and bodies buzzing about for any sign of your friends. "Have Mark, Yeri, or Seungkwan found you yet? They have the flowers I was gonna give you."

Ten's lips curled up into a smile as he pressed a hand to his chest. "Gasp, you got me flowers?"

"Yes, and please never say 'gasp' aloud ever again," you winced.

That only made his smile grow. "No promises. But what'd you think of the show tonight? I'm glad you stayed the whole time."

"It was incredible! You were incredible," you amended with your eyes likely the shape of stars. "Who gave you the absolute audacity to be so talented, sir! I swear I heard some girl faint a couple rows behind me," you joked.

His eyes narrowed into sly, little crescents. "Oh? And did you faint for mine, too? Or did you save that reaction for another special someone?"

You flushed, your eyes averting to anywhere but the nosy feline before you.

Ten threw his head back in a loud guffaw. "Okay, okay. I see how it is. He's been looking for you, by the way."

Your eyes went wide. "And you wait until now to tell me?"

"I wanted my dose of Yn affection, too," he shrugged, giggling like a schoolgirl. "Plus, the look on your face was well worth it."

"Sometimes I hate you."

"Some is not all," he pointed out.

"—you said she was over here? Yn!"

Yours and Ten's heads turned and you watched as Changmin's eyes found yours in the crowded room. He began pushing his way toward you, sweat still dampening the strands of hair and falling into the collar of the dark blazer he wore for Light a Flame.

Ten snickered under his breath. "Well, I'm gonna go find Mark to get my flowers. Text me later, 'kay? Okay!"

Before you could blink, Ten had disappeared into the masses. You swore that man was so slippery sometimes.

You glanced back in the direction that you saw Changmin coming from,but when you couldn't find him, you frowned. It really was awfully hard to find people in here…

"Boo!"

You swore your soul left your body for five seconds. You whirled around, glaring daggers at the impish squirrel man who somehow ended up behind you. "You're such a menace."

Changmin grinned so wide it looked like even his dimples were strained. "Sorry," he wheezed, not sounding sorry at all. "The opportunity presented itself on a gold-plated platter."

"You should feel very lucky that I wasn't holding lemonade this time."

"Okay, but why were you drinking that without a cap on the cup? Did they not give you a plastic lid or something?"

You felt the corner of your mouth lift. How was it so easy to recall these things? "It's just the universe telling you to end your pranks."

He shrugged helplessly. "I can't help that you are so easy to sneak up on."

"You're gonna say that when I somehow heard you asking if I was in here from across the room?"

"That's because I let you hear that; there's a difference," he said, leaning against the corridor wall next to you. He looked you up and down, tongue darting out for a moment. "Thanks for coming tonight."

You leaned your shoulder against the wall next to him. "I enjoyed myself," you said in reply. "You did really well tonight though, Changmin. It was a great performance."

He grinned, and his tongue had to poke the inside of his cheek. "Just great?"

You raised your eyebrows at him and decided to bypass that question for the moment. "Did my friends give you your flowers?"

Changmin showed his empty hands and you deadpanned.

"What?" He giggled. "I'm just stating the obvious."

"You're so infuriating sometimes."

He gently bumped your shoulder with his. "Nothing new."

Nothing new, indeed. It was strange, actually, falling into this kind of easygoing, light-hearted banter. You'd seen how easy it was that night in the lab, but this was nice, you had to admit. Banter and arguing were two different things, you learned, and the latter always took such a toll on those involved.

How did the two of you stay away for so long? Maybe you were both too prideful, too afraid to break the ice.

Changmin's expression sobered a little as he observed your expression. "What're you thinking about?"

You blinked, glancing over at him. "Nothing, just…" Your voice lowered to something like a whisper, "I missed this." I missed you.

And as you met his eyes again, you knew that he had heard you. He swallowed, roughly. "Me too."

EPISODE THIRTEEN: OFF THE CUFF

THE quad was in bloom with the coming of spring and spring break. It was tradition at your university to take pictures and to take a stroll through the freshly bloomed cherry blossom trees lining the rectangular lawn. Only in spring did the trees reveal their beautiful, baby pink flowers, so it was optimal to go frolic amongst them while they were full.

Changmin had been dragged out by Chanhee. Well, he liked to say that Chanhee forced him outside, but in reality, Changmin had put just as much effort into his appearance today as Chanhee did, just not as formal. And luckily, it wasn't just the two best friends who were out with them among the crowd of people, but also the entirety of their friend group—plus the significant others, too.

"I hate this more than Valentine's Day," Sunwoo grumbled as he blew a curl out of his eyes. He was referring to the couples all around them taking pictures and holding hands and kissing.

"You're telling me," Kevin sighed as he messed with the settings on his camera for the pictures he wanted to take of the scenery. "At least on Valentine's Day, people won't photobomb you."

Sangyeon had his phone out and was already taking photos of the blooming flowers around him and in the trees. He suddenly turned his phone around, set at point five zoom. "Hey guys, look here and smile!"

Everyone in the shot (all the singles: Chanhee, Changmin, Sunwoo, Kevin, Juyeon, and Hyunjae) slapped smiles onto their faces. As soon as Sangyeon put the phone down, their smiles dropped.

"Who was that for?" Juyeon asked as he slung an arm around Sangyeon's shoulder to peer at the eldest's phone screen. He made a groaning noise before peeling away. "Ahhhh, 'The Girlfriend'. I see."

Sangyeon cocked a brow at him. "Have you finally accepted that I have a girlfriend?"

"Nope."

Sangyeon's eyes looked up and away in exasperation, before he shook his head and returned to doing whatever he was doing.

Changmin surveyed the crowded quad with disinterest. He scanned all of the faces present around him; too many to count that was for sure. Jacob and JC!Yn had separated from them almost immediately; Eric and his girlfriend were off being cute or something; Younghoon and his partner hadn't even traveled here with most of them; but at least Haknyeon and his significant other stayed with them for the first five minutes to make conversation about the dance showcase a few nights ago.

He sighed. That was how long ago it had been since he last saw you. (My god, he sounded like some kind of lovesick teenager, waiting by the landline for his lover to ring him up—)

On the other side of the quad, you and your friends had just arrived to do the same exact thing Changmin's friends were. But as soon as you saw the crowd, you were five seconds from simply giving up.

"We'd get like, one flower, and that's it," Seungkwan argued to Yeri who was trudging forward despite the load of people around.

Yeri huffed. "Not if you don't try, Boo Seungkwan."

He made a noise of disgruntlement, his head lifting up and nostrils flaring. "Oh my god—"

"Yn, my wife, defend my honor!"

You snapped up straight, tuning back into the conversation. Mark and Jungwoo trailed somewhere behind the three of you and if you weren't careful, you'd lose them, too. "Huh? Oh, well, Seungkwan…" Your voice trailed off, and your eyes wandered to a specific gathering of trees further down the lawn from where you currently were.

It was unfair how he was framed like a K-Drama shot: the slow motion pink petals drifting around him, his lithe body gracefully leaning against the dark bark of the cherry blossom tree, the green sweater vest layered over a white shirt and pants. You gulped—he looked way too pretty to just be standing there—

"—hello? Earth to Yn?" A hand was waving in front of your face and someone was poking your shoulder.

You shook away from them, eyes wide like a child with your hand caught in the cookie jar. "Huh?"

Seungkwan and Yeri sent you curious looks. "You were staring at Changmin," said Yeri, arms crossing over her chest.

Seungkwan let out a dramatically wistful, little sigh as he scratched the side of his head. "You're so lucky that Ten's not here; we are so very merciful compared to him."

You rolled your eyes, even though they were right. "I wasn't staring! I just—I couldn't tell if it was really him or not."

"Because I'm just so breathtakingly beautiful?"

"Definitely n—what the fuck," you yelped, nearly leaping out of your skin again at the right of Changmin's dimpled smile as he seemingly appeared out of thin air right next to you.

Changmin erupted into howling laughter, folding over onto his knees as he slapped his leg once, twice—

"You're not even that funny," you grumbled, side-eyeing both him and your friends. (Guess you really did lose Mark and Jungwoo…)

Seungkwan and Yeri did not hide their own laughs very well, but they definitely weren't knee-slapping themselves.

"How'd you even cover so much ground that fast?" You queried, whirling back on Changmin.

He lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, his hands resting in the pockets of pants as he stood in a relaxed posture. His skin was unfairly pretty in this lighting, like his smile. "I harnessed my inner squirrel."

"You mean your inner furry?"

Seungkwan and Yeri chose this moment to slip away, calling out something like "we're just gonna go walk a tree" before bowing out. Changmin feigned an expression of offense, pressing a hand to his chest. "Rude! It's called athleticism."

You wrinkled your nose. "Like you know what athleticism is."

"I'll race you to the stairs over there right now—HEY, CHEATER! I DIDN'T SAY GO—" Despite his indignant squawk, Changmin's cheeks hurt from how hard he grinned as he raced after you toward the stairs at the other end of the lawn.

— ✶

"So… no Ten today?"

After a daring race, you and Changmin settled on top of the stairs overlooking the entire lawn. The sun hung at golden hour position and painted the landscape and people below in beautiful, buttery gold wash. You even swore you saw Chanhee chasing after Sunwoo with a handful of loose cherry blossom petals, no doubt to dump into the latter's hair.

You looked over to where Changmin was leaning back onto his palms next to you. "This again?"

He pursed his lips. "Well, I mean," he drawled, "you guys are pretty close. I just figured you'd do this kind of thing together."

"That's fair," you conceded. "Uh, he's actually on a trip with a couple of his frat brothers this week. Something like backpacking in Switzerland."

Changmin gave an indulgent nod of his head. "Wow. Switzerland."

"I know, right?"

He peered out into the distance, eyes squinting against the strength of the sun, but he looked like an art piece nonetheless. “You and Ten aren’t, like, together? Are you?”

You tilted your head to the side. Interesting question. “No, we’re friends. I think in the beginning it might have felt like something on that level, but we’ve both—I think we’re both on the same page where we stand with each other.” You didn’t know why you were telling him so much; he’d only asked you a question. But speaking of being together with someone… You coughed, “Sumin told me what happened during the interview a couple weeks ago.”

Changmin smiled sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “Oh, ha, she did? I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

“You really didn’t know?”

“That she liked me? No,” he laughed with a shake of his head. He leaned forward onto his knees then, turning his head to the side to look at you with his fingers laced over his knees. “Who do you take me for, hm? I couldn’t just assume she had a crush on me.”

You feigned a look of disagreement, and he gasped, shoving your upper arm playfully. “I’m not that bad!” He exclaimed.

“You could be that bad,” you teased.

You watched as his expression cooled and the air around the two of you shifted. There was an earnestness in his eyes now, emphasized by the brilliance of the setting sun reflecting across his smooth lines of his face. “Have you ever thought about, you know, like trying to dance again?”

You weren’t sure what prompted this change in subject, but you gave it a thought. “I definitely have,” you said honestly, “I just can’t really step into a practice room without getting nervous.” You picked at a stray thread on your pants as you spoke and felt his gaze on you. “That night—the one when you saw me in front of the performing arts hall really late at night—I was trying to get myself to go in. To at least… try, y’know. Maybe prove to myself that I could work up the courage to go in, but I couldn’t.”

Changmin was quiet for a moment. His knees angled themselves toward you, and he leaned forward so his chest practically laid over his legs. “I said a lot of bad things to you in senior year,” he said lowly. “They were stupid—I was stupid. And—and if your anxiety with practice rooms comes from me, then—”

“Changmin,” you interrupted and captured his attention. You shifted to mimic his body positioning, so your eyes were level and you were both just as small as the other. “I said really shitty things to you, too.”

“I told you that you should quit,” he rasped. He had to turn his head so you wouldn’t see the silver pooling in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Yn; I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it.”

You heard his sniffle over all of the chatter from the lawn below and you moved closer to him until your legs and arms were pressed together. You wrapped an arm around him, only for him to raise himself up and practically drape himself over you, his arms looped around your upper body and his face tucked into the side of your neck. Your heart tripped over itself in surprise, but you let yourself lean into his body heat.

“I’m sorry, too. I know you didn’t mean any of it. I didn’t mean any of what I said either.” You breathed for a moment and sighed, simply allowing him to stay in your arms for however long he needed. “I think,” you started, “even after three years, I still blame myself for letting all of that get to me. Sometimes, I want to go back in time and slap some sense into myself; maybe tell myself that I shouldn’t have let what my mom said bury itself so deep inside me. I mean… where would I be now had I not listened to her?”

Changmin pulled away then, resting his forearms on his legs again, but he didn’t back away from you. “You were just a kid, Yn. You can’t blame yourself.”

You rested your cheek against your fist. “I know. It’s hard not to, though.”

“I know.” He took another look at you, and you felt his eyes really take you in for a moment. The corner of his lips lifted. “Are you happy?”

“With?”

“With how you turned out? Where you ended up?”

You held your breath. It was a good question, and as you turned to search yourself inwardly, you came to a couple of conclusions. “In a way, I am. It’s probably just bitterness and regret I feel when I wonder what could have been, but maybe things happen for a reason.”

He nodded, his hand reaching up to pick out a stray leaf that had fallen into your hair. “We can always make up for lost time now,” he said. “We never did get to finish that duet.”

EPISODE FOURTEEN: [GET] OFF THE GROUND

THE next day, you found yourself standing outside the back door to the performing arts building. Because it was spring break, a large helping of the student population had abandoned campus as soon as their finals were over, leaving the place barren except for the area with the cherry blossoms. You stood next to Changmin, the latter holding his bag by the strap over his shoulder. You had been staring at the door for more than a minute now, trying to slow the palpitations of your heart.

“We can leave whenever you want to,” he murmured to you, the back of his hand nudging yours. “Let’s just try.”

You got yourself to nod.

The hallways were uncharacteristically quiet compared to the previous couple of times you had been back here. Since there was no one else here, you and Changmin got to pick whichever practice room you wanted. The largest one was the winner, and the lights flickered on to wash the shadows away. You immediately moved to one side of the room to set your things down, and Changmin went to his corner by the speaker. He was already hooking up his phone to the aux cord, but kept one eagle-eye on you as you inhaled the sight of the empty room around you.

As usual, your throat began closing in on itself, and you coaxed yourself into taking deep breaths.

You started out on the floor in front of the mirror, your legs crossed over each other and Changmin’s phone in your hands. Changmin had shouldered off his white athletic jacket, and began stretching as you swiped through the selection of music on his phone. The two of you collectively agreed for you to start off just watching. Once you were comfortable in the practice room environment, and if you wanted to dance, you would join him whenever you were ready. If you were never ready, then you could continue to just watch him and cheer him on during the practice.

You watched him card a hand through his hair as he peered at himself in the mirror behind you. “I always thought this mirror made you vain,” you chuckled, your hand having settled into your lap instead of at the base of your throat.

He furrowed his brows at you. His hands rested on his hips, the muscle in his forearms emboldening from the action. “Rude. I think you were the one who made me vain.”

“The fuck? How so?” You challenged.

“You always said you admired my facial expressions and my pretty smile,” he grinned at your reaction, snickering to himself. “Did you pick a song yet?”

You watched him dance. For the first few songs that played on shuffle, he was simply warming up his body and freestyling to whatever he heard. You knew Changmin was no stranger to people watching him dance, but there was something still so intimate about watching him in this space. You could watch him create things like magic, as well as watch him fumble and laugh at his own misgivings. Except, instead of doing it all by himself, his eyes would find yours and smile.

Next quarter, Changmin was supposedly signed on to be a TA for one of the dance courses, so he asked for your opinion on a few of his ideas for choreographies he could teach.

After showing you his second idea, he gestured to you then looked back at himself in the mirror. “What do you think? I’m not sure if writing something for each nuance in the beat would be a bit too much or if it’s something that should be used as a challenge routine.”

You hummed in understanding. “Well, if it’s an intermediate dance course, then I think it could be worked up to. Are these people dance majors or… maybe minoring in dance?”

He nodded when you said the latter. “Supposedly, they aren’t necessarily dance majors. But yeah, I agree—it could probably be brought out later in the quarter instead.” He made a motion with his hand as he backpedaled a couple steps to give himself more room between you and him. “Could you rewind to the first verse again? I wanna see something.”

You obliged him and rewinded the song to his desired timestamp. He tried out another possible set of choreo, but ended up stopping halfway through the chorus.

Again and again, you rewinded the song for him to try something new, but each time, he was met with his own dissatisfaction.

You suddenly stood, setting his phone on the ground with the song having been rewinded just slightly before the intended timestamp. Your hands were shaky and your heart was probably beating at an unhealthy speed, but you needed to try out something.

Changmin’s eyes opened wide as you came to stand next to him, but he said nothing. Instead, he let you loosely show him what you had concocted in your head while watching him go through trial after trial.

Before you knew what was happening, the two of you were weaving your ideas together, taking pieces of his original choreography and amending it with yours. You had watched him from the beginning so many times that you didn’t need long to pick up on the rest. By the end, the two of you had danced the entirety of the song together, your chest rising and falling fast with the speed of your breath.

Changmin released an exclamatory yell, thrusting his fist to the ceiling, then clasping your hand with his. “Let’s go! I really like that, Yn,” he said with his face split by a shit-eating grin.

Your heart was bursting again, not with nerves, but something you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. You brushed the hair from your eyes, a satisfied beam set on your face. “I like it, too.”

There was a sheen akin to pride in his eyes. “I wanna show you something,” he said, walking over to his phone with a skip in his step. “Stay there! I wanna teach you this bit of choreo that’s been living in my head for a while now.”

And so, you followed Changmin’s instructions as he put on a groovy-type beat. The routine was simple enough—looks-wise. But if you knew anything about the things Changmin choreographed, the difficulty was all in the subtlety and technique. When you were younger, the appeal between you and Changmin as partners were that you were practically foils for each other. While Changmin ruled the arena of sharp, focused isolations and movements, your area of expertise laid in bigger, fuller movements like that of a brushstroke. When you had watched Juyeon and Changmin’s performance during the winter showcase, you supposed that was why they were able to complement each other well. It was essentially what you and Changmin were, in combination.

The longer you and Changmin danced, the more your chest filled with air and warmth and love and happiness. The guilt and fear from before had melted away to reveal this suppressed portion of you that had been hidden for a long time.

At some point, the two of you were just messing around, and ended up sprawled on the polished wood floor of the practice room clutching your stomachs while choking on laughter.

Changmin rolled onto his side, eyes still squinted in delight as he tried to get a grip of his breathing. “Is your back okay?” He managed to wheeze between gasps and howls.

You wiped a tear that crept out from your eye. “No! I just tried carrying a fifty-something-kg man on my back. Do you think I’m okay?”

“In my defense,” he said, peering down at you as he rose into a sitting position and leaned back onto his palms, “you claimed you were stronger than me and could be the base.”

“A warning would have been nice!” You exclaimed. You rolled onto your stomach, laying your chin over your arms. “No one in their right mind just jumpscares people like that.”

“Have you met me?”

“Fair enough.”

A remnant of that merriment remained on his lips as he felt around the floor around him for where his phone had fallen out of his pants pocket. He caught a glimpse of the time, sighing, then raking a hand through his hair. “It’s already one o’clock. Are you hungry? Wanna get lunch or something?”

“Sure, what do you feel like?” You asked, eyes following his movements as he clambered up to his feet and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

He pressed his lips together in thought, humming, “Dunno. Fast food maybe?”

You rolled into a sitting position, similar to the one he had been in just moments before. “Okay.”

“Come on; let’s get up then.” He offered a hand out to you, and you clasped his forearm tightly.

In one fell motion, Changmin swept you upright and to your feet—but he used a little too much pulling force, and you were stumbling into him, palms pressed flat against his chest, and his arms coming around your waist. You held your breath as the two of you fought to stabilize the other.

“Shit, sorry about that,” he muttered from above you with a low chuckle.

You opened your mouth to reply, but as you raised your head to meet his eyes and not just his Adam’s apple, you lost all your breath. There was barely a hairsbreadth distance between your face and his. Changmin came to the same determination as you had and his eyes went wide.

A curious thing happened. His pupils dilated, and his eyes darted down to your mouth and his tongue swiped over his own to dampen them.

Your breath as you exhaled was as unsteady as your heart rate.

You felt his hold on your tighten slightly; his Adam’s apple bobbed. And then he was leaning forward, his eyes fluttering closed—

He kissed you then.

His lips were soft over your own with the slightest bit of pressure, nose nudging the side of your cheek.

Your hands moved up the plane of his chest to grasp his toned shoulders; he shifted his left hand to cradle the back of your head.

Wait, what is happening—

You both pulled away, as if the same thought had echoed through both of your heads at the same time.

Panic leapt into the two of you and you jolted away when the distinct sound of Boss by some group called Neo Culture Technology blasted throughout the quiet practice room.

"Fuck," you swore. You glanced back at Changmin and saw the question, the uncertainty, the—you couldn't even tell. Your mind was everywhere and nowhere at once. You could still feel his mouth on yours. "That—that's Doyoung's ringtone. I have to take this."

"Okay," he whispered inaudibly, and you slipped out from his hold.

With your back to him, he rubbed his hands down his face and an indescribable emotion seized his chest. He rubbed a thumb over his lips…

"Doyoung, you need to calm down," you said as Doyoung's voice quite literally rambled at lightspeed into your ear.

You heard your friend take one deep breath, then repeat, "I think one of these final draft files are corrupted. I'm freaking the fuck out right now, and I know you're not out of town, so if you could please—for the sake of my sanity—come to the office and help me!" He was pleading, begging, and Kim Doyoung did not beg. He sounded like one hair-pull from dropping down to his knees.

In any other context, you would have wanted to record this for the history books. Any other context.

Your eyes darted over to Changmin who was still standing in the middle of the room, hands tucked into his pockets, and gaze pinned to you.

You couldn't just—leave? Could you? Not after that—

Then you caught Changmin nodding his head in the direction of the door, his head cocking to the side in silent question. Do you need to go? He mouthed.

You pursed your lips with a reluctant nod. Something's wrong with the paper.

Then go. We'll talk after.

Talk. Yup. You started grabbing your things and you squeezed your phone between your ear and shoulder. "—okay okay, Doyoung. Can you stop wasting your energy for me, and tell me exactly what the screen is telling you?"

You began making your way to the door, but halted in the doorway. You hesitated, turning back to look at Changmin. You really shouldn't leave—but you had to.

"Yn."

You grabbed your phone and pressed the speaker into your shoulder. "Yes?" It sounded breathless.

Desperation gleamed like silver in his eyes. One did not often see that emotion from Ji Changmin. "Don't shut me out."

EPISODE FIFTEEN: OFF THE BOOKS

THE first person that came to mind was Choi Chanhee. "What—"

"I kissed her!" Changmin blurted, hand slapping over his mouth.

"You what?!"

— ✶

You were breathless, brain muddled, a hot mess of a shitshow, when you got to the Daily. The rest of the Board members were on break, including your resident tech expert, so you had assured Doyoung that you were free if he needed anything. (If you weren't deeply regretting that now though.)

You had fast walked all the way from the performing arts center to the Daily's newsroom, effectively cutting travel time down from ten minutes to seven, even with your bag of items. Though, it definitely didn't help your headspace. You could hardly think about Changmin, the kiss, and a corrupted file all at the same time. Not to mention, you finally managed to wrangle Doyoung off the phone with you so he could go splash water on his face to calm the fuck down.

The newsroom was dark when you got there, but you saw the light from Doyoung's office shining down the corridor. He was seated behind his desk, his expression a lot more calm than he sounded from the phone, but his face and bangs were a bit damp, meaning he had actually gone to wash his face. Good.

He saw you trudging down the hall, your baby hairs flying everywhere, and your breath coming out in pants. He noticed the bag slung over your shoulder and had the nerve to ask, "Oh, were you on the way somewhere?"

You sent him a pained stare and collapsed into the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

"You look stressed."

"Changmin and I kissed."

Doyoung's eyes nearly fell out of his head and his body was half an inch from falling out of his chair. "HUH?"

Your head craned back against the back of the chair. "I know."

"Girl, why are you here then?"

"You said it was an emergency!" You cried, straightening. You didn't even acknowledge the fact that Doyoung had just called you "girl". "Now, let's work this file situation out."

Doyoung moved his laptop further away from you. "Oh, nuh-uh, Missy. You're gonna just send me your copy, and then you're gonna go on your merry way back to Mr. Dancer Man and kiss him again."

Your face scrunched up. "Hello?" What was in the sink water in this building…

"Did you talk about it? Are you two dating now?"

"Doyoung," you whined, scrubbing a hand over your face, "you literally called right after we kissed."

Doyoung made a noise of disappointment. "Damn, I'm never gonna live this down."

"Seungkwan's gonna call you a cockblocker for the rest of your life," you muttered in agreement.

He snorted. "You said it, not me." He sobered then, closing the lid of his laptop so he could lace his fingers over it and fix you with a serious expression. "So how do you feel? Tell me what happened."

You twisted and dropped your bag to the ground by your feet, moving your chair closer to the desk so you could drape your upper half on top of the cool surface. "We were dancing—"

"Really?"

"Mhm," you hummed against the table. "It was… it was really nice, Doie. I actually had fun. And then we just—I don't even know—we played around a little and he was helping me up off the ground, and suddenly we were kissing."

Doyoung's brows furrowed together. "Ah, I see. Did he kiss you or did you kiss him?"

"He kissed me, but I didn't stop him." You could recall the look in his eyes with a striking amount of clarity. "I… I don't really know what it all means, or what it means to me. I'm a little confused, if I'm honest."

He sighed. "And that's okay. I think this is something you definitely need to go back and talk to him about though, hm?"

"Yeah."

"But Yn," he continued, reaching over to rub the top of your head and get you to look up, "did you ever have feelings for the guy?"

You slowly raised yourself up from the table with a frown on your face. "When I was a kid, I didn't really see anyone else but him," you confessed, almost unconsciously. You hadn't known what the feeling you harbored for him was back then, but maybe you could seek to understand it now.

Doyoung made a vague gesture with his hand as he sat back in his chair. "Well, that's a start for sure. But you and he have been on rocky terrain for years now. You're not kids anymore and a lot of things have changed." He was right, in some sense. You and Changmin had spent three years convincing yourselves you didn't need each other. Perhaps it had been the opposite the entire time, but what did it all mean?

"I'm glad to have him in my life again," you said quietly. "I think I've always felt… different about Changmin than any other friend I've had before, y'know? It was just unconscious in a way."

"Would you want to act on that then? See where it goes?"

You let his questions resonate around your head for a minute. But the more you thought about it, the more certain you became of your answer.

— ✶

The back corridors of the performing arts hall were just as dark as it was when you had left. For a moment, you were afraid that Changmin had left. But as you neared the practice room from earlier, you could make out the sounds of voices drifting from the cracked open door of the room.

You strained your ears—who was that with Changmin?

You reached the door, quietly pressing yourself against the wall to peer in through the cracked doorway. There, sitting opposite Changmin on the practice room floor, was Chanhee.

"—think about it, Changmin," said Chanhee as he dropped his friend by the shoulders to keep him from sulking. "She kissed you back. Don't you think that means something?"

"She could've just been caught up in the moment," Changmin countered. "She could've—" He made a frustrated noise and threw his hands out in front of him, "Maybe I just don't want to be disappointed."

Chanhee frowned. "Disappointed… that she doesn't return your feelings? Changmin, can you be honest with me for a second?"

He gave a solemn nod.

"Those feelings you had for her when you were a kid—have they ever gone away?"

You had to back away from the door and press your palm against your mouth. But because of that, you weren't able to catch Changmin's answer. Your heart slammed against your ribcage, your hands shaking as your thoughts raced in your head. You had to open the door now. You'd already intruded when you eavesdropped on their conversation.

Sucking in a breath, you pushed the door open wider. No going back now.

Changmin and Chanhee were both frozen in place when you poked your head into the room. The former paled in the warm-toned practice room lights, and you saw him gulp.

"Yn!" Chanhee laughed nervously as he and his friend both scrambled to their feet. His car keys jangled noisily from where they hung on a clip from his belt loop. "Uhm, I think I should leave," he said, clearing his throat and brushing past you.

You grabbed your arm as you shuffled into the room and gently kicked the door closed behind you.

Changmin cupped the back of his neck. "How much did you hear?" He asked, not even bothering to hide the open glisten in his eyes, the pure vulnerability lying stark on his face. It felt like you were seventeen again, standing alone together in the practice room, not really sure what the other person would say or do or feel.

"What did Chanhee mean by you having feelings for me when we were kids?" You asked.

The silence was palpable. "You really didn't know?"

No, you shook your head, definitely not. "I—I mean, no. Not really. I guess I always thought… I don't know what I thought."

He braced both hands behind his head now, his eyes tilted back toward the ceiling. "Yn," he said before looking you in the eyes again, "every time I saw you, I saw someone who put the fucking stars in the sky. If you watch any of our videos from back then—" He pushed out a haggard breath from his mouth. "I could never not care for you, could never stop caring for you. It hurt a lot when we stopped being us because I thought I…"

His hands fell to his sides, helpless. "I thought I lost you. And then it felt like you hated me, so I tried to hate you, too. And then we worked shit out. And then…" Changmin brushed his bangs back and was unable to look you in the eyes for longer than a second with each glance. "I'm sorry I kissed you. I don't want to lose you again, Yn."

Your heart thundered in your ears so loud that you almost thought he could hear it, even from so far away. You got yourself to take a step forward, and then another.

Changmin waited as you walked closer to him, his lips pressed together.

You inhaled. "Changmin, I can't say for sure what I felt for you back then, and I definitely can't articulate my feelings for you as well as you just did—" His eyes clashed with yours, that energy colliding, "—but I'm not sorry you kissed me, or that I kissed you."

You thought you heard his breath hitch for a moment.

"I don't want to lose you again, either," you said and tentatively reached for his hands. Never in your years of knowing him had you known a moment where his fingers trembled like they did now. "And I—I really want to see where this goes. Would you want to see where this goes with me?"

His fingers curled around yours as he nodded. "Yes."

EPISODE SIXTEEN: OFF [MY] FACE

"WHAT about that one?"

"Don't touch that one."

"Will it burn my skin off?" Changmin asked in a sleepy daze as one hand rubbed his eye and the other reached for the gallon of liquid that sat behind a locked cabinet with a clearly marked DO NOT TOUCH. DANGER. plastered on the side.

"Yes," you said without looking up from your organic chemistry textbook.

Changmin's hand dropped immediately and he turned to send a look your way. "Well, that's not very safe."

His hoodie-covered head began bumbling back over to you through the maze of workbenches. It was the first week back to school from spring break, thus, the very first week of the spring quarter. You and Changmin were currently in your regular lab space that you unofficially dubbed your study area. Kun was in the break room probably half asleep over a bag of shrimp chips, and Ten… Ten was somewhere around here. Maybe he got lost down the hallway looking for the bathroom or something.

Changmin had come to hang out with you though, even though he was practically a walking baby giraffe as drowsiness possessed his whole being. But he insisted on staying until you went home.

"It's actually just distilled water," you said with a chuckle. "The lab professors just don't want people using it because for some reason, the convenience stores around here are always out, and they don't want to go hunting for more."

You felt him drape over your back with a fwump. "I love when you talk dirty to me," he said through a rather large yawn.

You grinned to yourself, shaking your head. "Okay, I think we need to get you home."

"Not before you take me to dinner first."

"Are you sure you're not drunk?"

You packed your things up quickly, especially when you saw Changmin nodding off while standing upright. It was already around nine o'clock by the time you said good night to Kun and located Ten (yeah, he'd gone looking for the bathroom and almost gotten locked in a supply closet instead).

Changmin tried to convince you he was okay to drive, but by the way he couldn't even figure out that his keys were hanging on his belt loop, it was safe to say that you were driving tonight. The drive over to Changmin and Chanhee's apartment was an easy one since they lived in the university district and the streets were quite barren at this point. You helped him up to the apartment, greeting Chanhee who was in a fluffy pink robe and matching headband.

"Hi Chanhee," you sighed as you pushed Changmin into the bathroom to shower.

Chanhee looked on in ill-concealed amusement. "He'll be much better after he showers," he reassured you from his perch on the couch. You saw the page-long math problems spread out on the coffee table and held in a gag.

"Dear god, I hope so."

Chanhee directed you to where Changmin's room was and you dumped both yours and his backpacks on the floor by his desk. You actually had yet to step foot in here until now, so while Changmin was doing his thing in the bathroom, you let your eyes roam all around the room. It was relatively clean (emphasis on relatively) with walls that were minimally decorated. There was a whole separate rack of shirts and jackets left outside the small wardrobe, and you recognized a couple of them.

You leaned over his desk to see what he had posted on the wall above it. There were a couple dozen printed photographs of him and his friends, as well as an award or two that were big in name and no doubt special to him. You felt yourself smile; you didn't have to be up here, but you liked seeing his smile in all of these pictures.

And then you saw it.

There was a printed copy of a review pinned amongst the pandemonium of memorabilia. The layout of the page was incredibly familiar, and with widened eyes, you realized that it was a review from the Daily's Opera Glasses.

In fact, as you squinted and skimmed, it was your review from freshman year. It was your (anonymous) review about his debut winter showcase performance.

Wow.

You barely registered Changmin shuffling into the room in slippers and a bathrobe of his own, his dark hair still dripping with water.

He passed you a glance while heading for his wardrobe. "Hey, do you wanna stay over?"

You definitely weren't prepared for that question. "Stay over?" You parroted dumbly. "Also, you have an Opera Glasses review printed out?" Your hand gestured to the sheet of paper pinned to the wall.

Changmin's head turned and he abandoned the wardrobe to walk over to you and his desk. You pressed yourself against the wall to the side to give him space to look. "Ah," he said with a boyish grin, "that was yours, wasn't it?"

"How the hell could you tell?"

He leaned in close to you, bracing an arm above your head. The smell of his shampoo was strong and you came to the realization that he was still in a bathrobe. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "You don't think I could tell what your writing voice sounded like?" He asked, his voice suddenly lowered.

You inched forward, a dare. "Are you gonna get dressed, Changmin?"

His smile widened. "I could," he teased.

"Hey! Can you guys close the door or keep it down? Some of us are single and have math homework!"

Both you and Changmin laughed at Chanhee's outburst even though your face was definitely heated up.

Changmin took advantage of your unassuming state and pressed his mouth to yours, tasting your laughter on his tongue until you could only taste his in return. It was a dizzying sort of kiss, his arm still above you and his other curled around your waist.

When he pulled away, he bit his lip around a smirk. "I'll get changed now."

Criminal. Absolutely criminal.

He indeed got changed. And so did you. Apparently, he was being serious about you staying the night, and soon enough, you found yourself buried beneath his covers and swept in his very clingy arms. Not that you were complaining; he smelled nice.

You and Changmin laid facing each other in the darkness of his room. Round spectacles sat awkwardly on his nose bridge since the side of his face was pressed against the pillow, but he said he wouldn't take them off until he was just about to drift off.

"Yn-ie."

"Hm?"

He giggled, turning over and reaching over the side of his bed for something. You were about to question what he was doing until he quite literally shoved his wretched Chucky doll into your face.

"What the flying fuck—" You glared at the toy and its creepy stitched face. You had been startled by it, but you had grown used to it after having to deal with his obsession with the damn thing in the last two years of high school.

Changmin hugged the abomination to his chest as he snickered loudly.

"I thought you got rid of that thing."

"You clearly don't know me well enough."

You began to sit up and make a show of throwing off the covers. "I'm leaving—"

"Wait, wait, wait!" He blubbered, grabbing your upper arm and yanking you back down onto the bed next to him.

He leaned over you, his Chucky doll still tucked in the crook of his arm, as Changmin pouted. The glasses were practically sliding off his nose and his hair was sticking up in the back. What a duality. "I don't want you to leave."

"I'm not cuddling with Chucky, Changmin."

"But—"

"I will go ask Chanhee for an extra blanket."

Changmin's pout contorted into a scowl. "I'll murder him."

You wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of this conversation. "I think you need to go to sleep."

He flopped back onto the bed next to you, reluctantly setting Chucky back down on the floor next to the bed where the wretched thing had been hiding this whole time. You suppressed a shiver.

Finally able to breathe easy, you settled back into Changmin's arms. He tucked you against his chest, his chin settled on top of your head. You felt him shift as he took his glasses off and reached behind him to set them on the nightstand.

You were just drifting off to sleep to the melody of his heart beat when: "Yn?"

"Hm?"

His lips pressed to the crown of your head. "I missed you."

You knew what he meant. You pressed a kiss to his chest and heard the shuddering breath that fell from his lips. "I missed you, too."

EPISODE SEVENTEEN (EPILOGUE): [ON OUR TERMS]

THE problem with the restaurant was that it reminded you of something like the word "home". The sign above the door was made with some common font that one could find on Microsoft Word and you were pretty sure they only took cash, too. There was a reason you had chosen this restaurant in particular, and it was because you thought that eating at a place with your comfort foods would, well, comfort you. But you had been staring at the front for a minute or two now, and you weren't sure it was working.

From beside you, you felt someone take your hand in his. "We don't have to go in," said Changmin, his expression blank and reserved as he looked at the eatery, but softened a considerable amount when he looked over at you.

Your mother was waiting for you in there, somewhere. You wanted to finally talk to her—maybe make some peace with yourself. You'd told Changmin about it, and he insisted on coming as moral support.

You squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. "I can't just not go, Changmin."

His touch was gentle as his thumb grazed over the back of your knuckles, just as gentle as his voice was, "You don't owe her anything, Yn. You deserve an apology from her and you deserve closure, but you don't owe her anything. Not after what she put you through."

You were quiet for a moment and your free hand brushed over the hollow of your throat where the tightening sensation was.

Changmin added, "I'll support whatever decision you come to."

You considered the restaurant again. It had always held a great amount of significance and comfort for you. Did you want to ruin that with a potentially sour conversation? For all you knew, this could end incredibly poorly.

But… there were some things that needed to be done.

You steeled your resolve. "Ready?"

Changmin, all dapper in his dress shirt and pants and styled hair, flashed you a dimpled smile. "Whenever you are."

a/n: wow ... anyways lol thanks for getting through that madness, and hope u enjoyed!! pls do consider reblogging, commenting, or sending an ask to my inbox teehee i would really appreciate it ! now, onto hyunjae's ! >:)

permanent taglist: @honeyhuii @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @ethereal-engene @mingiholic @ja4hyvn @vatterie @yogurteume @justalildumpling @hyunjaespresent-deobi @hongyangi @pxppxrminty @nerdypastacalzonespy @jcmdoll @kflixnet

taglist: @oi-miya @loveliestfelix @sickvision @jaerisdiction @stealanity @magnificentjudementmoneyhands @inthesunnn @igotkpoopsss @letsnotdoanything @starryjww @sodafy @rreneeeeee @dajanxekiwi @sseastar-main @jenowithjaem @moonyswolf @sleepymoon27 @floatingpluto @fictionlover100 @winterchimez @softie00 @sseuyeon @qkyuscult @hwanunjin @zlebooks @mcu-incorrect @nctzennikki09 @hrt4cheol @moontyuns @quill-ink

#kflixnet #the boyz x reader #ji changmin x reader #changmin x reader #q x reader #the boyz fanfic #the boyz drabble #the boyz fluff #the boyz oneshot #the boyz angst #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #ji changmin oneshots #ji changmin drabbles #changmin imagines #changmin oneshot #changmin fluff #changmin angst #changmin scenarios

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nishimiyachan55 · 2 months

Text

My curse boyfriend

(chapter 2)

Pairing: Mahito(jujutsu kaisen)x reader

Chapters: 2/?

Other chapters: chapter 1 , 3

Human?

The sound of the alarm wake you up from your sleep with a shudder. Burying your face in to your comfortable pillow you reached your hand to the table beside your bed, searching for your phone. When your hand touched on it, you grabbed it and turned off the alarm. Your head still refusing to get up from the bed, you pushed your self up placing two palms on the sheet. Sitting up on your bed, you scratched your messy hair with a yawn. After stretching up your arms you jumped out of the bed. Still with a sleepy head, eyes half closed you walked towards the bathroom door . The first thing you do in the morning is looking at yourself in the mirror. splashing water on to your face you started your morning ritual. Brushing your teeth, taking bath and obviously doing your skincare routine. After freshening up your self you came back to your room.

It was too early for you. You never wake up this early everyday. You always sleep late after watching anime or series eventually to wakeup late in the morning. Taking your phone in one hand, you walked to the kitchen to make your morning coffee. While making it you started scrolling through your phone. There were so many texts and calls from your friend.

"When did i put my phone on silent mode?!"

You were so tired from yesterday. So you rushed to your bed as soon as you got home, even skipping the dinner. You read your friend's messages. She was definitely mad at you for not picking up her calls and for not answering her texts. After all she is the one who helping you to complete your assignment. You always finishes your assignments on the deadline and she was always there to back you up.

She send pictures of study materials you needed for your work. You scrolled through them opening your phone gallery. So many pages from articles. Scrolling through them, at the end of it you saw it. his picture...The one you captured yesterday...the picture of Mahito holding the coffee cup. The moment you saw it, your lips subconsciously curved into a smile. The moments you spend with him....his cute smile, his soft voice, that mesmerizing eyes..... everything came to your mind. You stood there smiling at his picture, forgetting about everything around you.

The sound of your door bell break you from your thoughts with a jerk. You closed your phone and walked to the door. Opening it you saw your friend standing in front of you. Her face didn't look pleasant. Of course she would be mad at you.

"Where were you last night!? Why didn't you pick my phone! I was so worried if something happened to you. So i couldn't hold back coming this early to your apartment"

She yelled at you. How lucky were you to have a caring friend like her. Struggling to make a smile on your face, trying to calm her down you said

" ha..ha..ummm.......ahh... l-i....were in a d..date..."

Hearing this, her face turned red with anger and she yelled at you with big mouth

"huh!!!! You went on a date while i was struggling to find materials for your WORK..... What is wrong with YOu..!! Will you ever take your works seriously....."

You couldn't utter a word against her anger. Even if you could, you knew you don't deserve to say a word against her. Holding on to her hand you tried to calm her.

"i..am sorry......im really... really... sorry...i swear i won't do it again...now please calm down... please...."

The last word came as a faint breath. Taking deep breaths she tried to cool herself down.

"okay fine. I forgive you this time. Hmph...!"

Still holding an annoyed face she walked into your apartment. With a big sigh! You wiped the sweat formed on your forehead. She is so scary when she is mad.

You walked to your room holding two coffee cups in your hand. Your friend was sitting on your bed looking on to the laptop screen, papers scattered on the bed. She was arranging materials she found for you. She always help you on your assignments. Maybe because of that reason you always didn't give much importance to your assignments. Even if you run late, she was always there as a backup for you.

You sat next to her. She was still looking into the screen. But now she doesn't look mad, just focusing on what she is doing

"so...how was it?" She asked in a low voice not taking her eyes off the screen.

"what!?" You gave a confused look

"The date. was it good? Who was the guy?"

She asked curiously.

"oh...! It was really nice. I mean really....nice. i enjoyed it so much. We went to the movies, coffee shop and he even walked me home. He was such a nice guy" your exhilaration was clearly visible on your face and voice.

She silently listened to you, typing on the keyboard. "Really! Is he around from here?"

"um...i don't know. I didn't ask him. I met him yesterday at the library. Oh!! You should see him. He is super hot...like extremely hot....still couldn't get his number though..." You pouted at the last line.

"Ah...but i got his picture......" You said that in a singsong tone with sparkling eyes. You opened your phone gallery and showed her his picture "here...see..." .

She looked to the picture and looked back at you with a frown on her face, eyes hooded "see what!!? Picture of the wall of a shop!!?"

She couldn't see anything besides the wall. How is she suppose to see him, he was a curse. Not all people could see him. And here you were so dumb that you couldn't even understand that he wasn't a human. Maybe you were so flattered by his looks that you didn't even care to think about his weird appearance.

"what...!!? Look at the picture...the person" You pointed it to her as if she didn't notice him.

"what! Are you mocking me?? Ughh... it's not funny.. I don't have time for your silly play. If you have time then just help me...how annoying"

Hearing her saying this your smile faded from your face. You started feeling a little pressure on your chest. Your heartbeat slowly raising, drops of sweat started to foam on your forehead.

"are you serious...!? Really you cannot see....him!!?" Your voice cracked asking her one more time hoping she was trying to fool you. But she wasn't.

"how many times i have to tell you.... there is nothing, but a wall...now stop annoying me" she said it clearly showing her irritation.

With that look on her face, you knew she wasn't playing with you. You couldn't move your self from there when the realization hit you. All those memories came to your mind, people looking at you when you were walking and talking with him, the employee on the coffee shop, his weird look, it wasn't from your wet clothes...it was from your actions. This whole time you were talking to yourself like a mad person. No one could see him. Probably they all might thought you were crazy.

You sit there still for some time like you were frozen. Then you slowly raised your self from the bed and walked to the washroom. "I'll be right back" you said to her.

You walked trying not to collapse from shivering and you closed the washroom door. Looking to your reflection on the mirror you opened the tap. Your hands shivering, your eyes filled with water, clinging your teeth so hard, you stared into your face. He wasn't human!?...then what was he!?.... Your brain couldn't handle it. Your vision blurred,You felt dizzy You thought you will pass out on the floor. But you didn't. You started to breath heavily, trying to calm your self. Good for you it worked. Heartbeat slowly turned to normal as you swallowed air. You curled your fists trying to stop shivering. After some minutes your body came to normal.

Closing the tap you walked out of the bathroom like normally. You joined your friend, trying to work on your assignment. Shifting your thoughts from him to your work. But then there were the book, the book...he gave you. You tried to hold on to your self again concentrating on your work.

Fade sunlight hit your face through the window when you were laying on your bed, your wrist resting on your forehead. Staring onto the cieling, your mind replayed all the memories you spend with him. What was he....? The same question echoed in your mind. But then you remembered it....his last words. "hm….. contacting me huh…well don’t worry. If I wanna see you again I’ll definitely find you". Thinking about it made you shiver. Find me! He said he will find me. What if he really finds me. He didn't see my apartment though. So he won't come here. Maybe im just over thinking. Its all over, he is never going to find you. Maybe he might forgotten you and moved on with his daily life.

You tried to convince yourself that everything is fine. Shifting your eyes from the cieling to the laptop screen on your side you pushed your self to sit. With a wandering mind You scrolled through the work your friend had done for you before she left. Closing the laptop you throw your head back against the pillow. Closing your eyes you slowly fell to sleep.....

Closing the door of your professor's room, you walked outside the corridor. Lowering your head you slipped your hand into your bag. Walking straight to the library you took the book out from your bag and slowly started walking up to the stairs. It's been a week since you met him now. You finished your assignment and now you're going to return that book to the library.

Seriously it was a tough week. All that heavy load of work made you really stressed out. but it wasn't that stressed you more, it was the memories of him. You were so scared you didn't even sleep well. Nightmares wake you up from your sleeps. But still....even if you were scared.... Even if you knew it wasn't right.....you couldn't push back this feeling..... this feeling of wanting to see him again. whenever you thought about him, you couldn't stop the smile formed on your lips.

You reached the library room. The lady on the counter was there smiling and greeting to you. You gave the book to her. that's when she asked

"what about the other book you took, are you going to return it anytime soon?"

The other book!! That's when the thought clicked, The book you took for Mahito. What were you thinking at that time. Why did you took that book on your responsibility for a complete stranger. You were not even sure if you could meet him again. Maybe you were so happy at that time because he helped you by giving that book to you. You were so eager to help him back that your stupid brain didn't even think.

"Ah....i will return it as soon as im done reading it"

You answered her with a fake nervous smile. The library was quiet because it was late evening and most of the students left home already. You slowly walked to the aisle randomly skimming through the names on the book stacks. When you reached to a dark corner of the library you stopped your footsteps. It was more quiet there compared to other parts of the library. A place more dark and nobody could find you from there that easily.

Standing before a shelf your fingertips brushed though the stacks. Your first meeting with him, the way your eyes locked with his through the shelf, all came to your mind. With a smile on your lips you slowly lifted your hands, looking up the shelf above your head you tried to pull back a book. It was a little high so you lifted your self balancing on your toes struggling to pull it out. That's when a hand came to your sight. A pale hand with stiches on the wrist. Holding on the back of your palm he pulled the book out. You jumped back from the sudden touch. But only for your back to hit his chest.

You peered up tilting your head. Your eyes met with his heterochromatic ones, staring into you with a soft smile. His one hand was still held up holding that book up and his other hand wrapped around your waist. You couldn't blink your eyes from the sight of his face. It felt like you skipped a heartbeat. Your eyes were glowing from happiness, excitement and also a hint of fear.

"i knew i could find you here Y/n" he smiled at you, his innocent smile told you how happy he was to see you. "Are you happy to see me..? I told you i would find you if i want..." He wrapped his other hand on your chest and pulled you closer to his chest giving you a tight hug. He pressed his cheek on to yours rubbing like a child adoring a plushie he like.

"why were you smiling Y/n..? Were you thinking about me??" . Loosening his hand Mahito turned you to face his side. He planted his two arms on your shoulder holding you straight to his body still holding that book in one hand.

"i.....uh.....no....i...was thinking about something else.." you lied to him trying not to show your blush.

"hmm.... really! Haha... You are such a bad liar Y/n. I know you were thinking about me and... you were smiling" he leaned his face closer to yours almost touching your lip. You tried to pull your self back but his hand held you in place with a strong grip.

"i really enjoyed our last date. I couldn't stop thinking about you after that." He told this with a soft soothing voice almost like a whisper. Leaning back taking his hands off your shoulders he examined the cover of the book which he held in his hand.

" i tried finding you on that street near your home where we last saw each other. But i couldn't find you. I came here too....but still couldn't find you... until now"

He was looking for me??!! You felt a cold feeling in your chest. Your brain trying to steady your self.

"why!?....why were you looking for me?" You looked to the side floor and asked him.

"Because i wanted to have more fun with you..." moving his eyes up and down, he observed your body from top to bottom with a sinister look in his eyes. "You know trying new things....and also....i wanted to give this book back to you" he took a book out from his back and held it in front of you. The book you took for him.

"Huh....!!!". You stared blankly at him then reached your hand to take it from him. You wondered where did he hid that book! His back!? sheesh....what are you thinking....he is not even a human. So why questioning that. You closed your eyes and put your curled up fist on your mouth trying not to giggle.

"so....are you gonna take this one for me next Y/n?" Pointing at the new book which he pulled from the shelf, he asked.

"ah....if you want it then..... maybe i can take it for you" you smiled at him. At this point the pressure of fear had completely disappeared from your chest. Even with that sinister look in his eyes you tried to convince yourself that he is not dangerous.

"okay,...so, what are we going to do today?Hmm.......We already watched a movie together.....and drink coffee....so! What's next!?do you have anything in your mind Y/n??" He started walking to the library counter looking on your side over his shoulders.

"hmm..... I don't have anything particular in mind..." You said thinking about what to do. You returned the previous book to the staff lady and took the new one. Mahito stood beside you leaning against the counter resting his elbow on the desk, placing his hand on the side of his cheek a thumb pressing on to his lips. His eyes flickering to your side and the staff lady's, simply observing your conversation. you walked out with him to the stairs after you done with her.

"what about i come with you to your home?" His question made you jolt. You stared into his face. Taking him home with me??? That's not a good idea. He is not a human. He is something else. You can't bring him home. He could be dangerous even if he doesn't look like one. But still.... something screamed in your head to say no to him. But....

"okay...." That word came from your mouth, even when your mind screamed the danger to you. How could you say no to him looking at that innocent face.

When you two reached downstairs he walked ahead of you, thinking about all the experiments he could do with you. his smile turned into an evil grin, "I'll make our this date even better than last one Y/n...so better....that you'll never forget it in your entire life...."

#mahito #jjk #jjk mahito #jujutsu kaisen #mahito x reader #jujutsu kaisen anime #jujutsu kaisen manga #cursed spirit #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #mahito x y/n

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thrawns-babygirl · 1 year

Text

Caught (Crosshair x M!Reader)

decided to try and rewrite the last prompt i completed for a male reader. I haven't written male reader insert EVER so let me know if there is anything that can be improved. I will hopefully be writing more M!Reader stuff in the future as being a Crosswhore is an experience that isnt defined by gender and I hope to feed all of my loyal subjects.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Mutual masturbation, fleshlights Word Count: 1200+

Masterlist

didnt tag my usual taglist as im not sure how many of you would be interested in m!reader lmao

The Batch were avoiding you. Not an uncommon occurrence when they returned to Kamino after missions, who wants to get poked and prodded by a Doctor before you even get a chance to relax and unwind a little? But orders are orders and the Kaminoans are relentless when it comes to the health of their prized unit.

Hangar bay? Nope. Mess hall? You can’t hear Wrecker from down the hall so that’s a bust. Armory? Well Tech usually sees to fixing anything himself, but it can’t hurt to look. Failing that you turn to walk towards their barracks. You had told them that you would avoid coming to their barracks as much as you could, being very well aware that it was really they only place they could relax while on Kamino surrounded by regs, bounty hunters and doctors who wanted to run scans and tests on them. You were however on a deadline, and needed to perform their routine medical check before the end of the current rotation.

You don’t even know why they avoid you so vehemently, it must take far more effort on their part to hide from you for hours or rotations at a time instead of just getting it over with. Even Tech, the paragon of logic and reason doesn’t convince the others its better to just get it over with and that genuinely surprises you.

Placing an ear to the cold metal of their barracks door you strain your ears to see if you can hear the sounds of the absent clones behind the door, only to be met with silence. Standing back up straight you ponder your best course of action, if you com them and tell them to come back to the barracks they will know you are here and continue to avoid you, if you wait out in the hallway for them, you run the risk of Hunter sensing you’re here before they return and diverting his brothers further. Why couldn’t they make life easy for you?

You finally decide your best course of action is to let yourself into their barracks and simply wait for them to come to you, they had to sleep eventually, right?

Inputting the medical override code into the door panel, you brace yourself for the ever-present stench that lingers in the Batch’s barracks before closing the door quickly behind you as you take in the sight before you.

Laying on his bunk, head thrown back on his pillow naked as the day he was decanted is Crosshair, thrusting himself up into a clear sleeve that’s wrapped around his cock. There is a thin layer of sweat covering his body, his chest his rising and falling as he releases ragged breaths. You can see the tip of his cock appearing and disappearing as he works himself with the toy, eyes screwed shut totally oblivious to your presence.

You scramble to figure out your best course of action, do you risk leaving and having the door alert him to your presence? Do you finally act on your poorly hidden attraction for the man?

A shuddered groan of your name makes your decision for you. You cross your arms over your chest and clear your throat causing the sniper to jolt upright on his bunk.

“W-what are you doing here?” his eyes are wide, ears tipped pink as his wide eyes lock with yours. He’s desperately scrambling for something to say, to try and get the upper hand but he knows its futile. He knows you’ve seen and heard too much.

“Oh don’t mind me, just enjoying the view” you smirk at him, he still looks like he’s on edge, but he relaxes slightly as he takes in your relaxed stance.

“You could enjoy more than just the view if you want doc” he’s breathless, hand still wrapped around the toy that’s caging his cock, the dark head of his length peeking through the clear silicone that’s choking his shaft.

“Maybe later, I do have a job to do after all and you and your squad are making my life very difficult. So I’ll cut you a deal, you give me more of those pretty sounds you were making, finish yourself off and get your squad here” you walk towards him, moving a chair out from the table in the centre of the room and bringing it over towards his bunk and plopping yourself down “and I’ll let you do whatever you want to me later tonight” he swallows, throat bobbing as his hand slowly resumes its motions over his weeping length.

He closes his eyes, head falling back into his pillows as he slowly picks up the pace. Lewd squelching sounds fill the room as the silicone glides effortlessly over his slicked-up cock. You can see beads of precum forming at the tip before being wiped away with each drag of the toy up and down his shaft.

He hears shuffling coming from the direction of your seated form, prying open his eyes he finds you opening your pants to release your half hard cock, a hand wrapped around the base as you begin to stroke yourself in time with him.

“You said my name” your voice is a sultry whisper, your eyes never leaving his length as you speak, “what were you thinking about?”

“K-kark doc, everything-” another low moan falls from his mouth as his hips begin to rise up off the bed slamming himself into the toy. He’s close, you don’t know how long he’s been going at it but with the way he’s panting you can tell he is at the end of his rope.

“Specifics” you speed up your speed on your own shaft, bringing yourself closer to your own peak as you watch the sniper come undone in front of you.

“Thinking about- Hng- about cumming in that tight ass of yours” he hisses through clenched teeth, his eyes locking with your hard length again, watching your hand stroke up and down as you stand up off the chair and approach his writhing form.

With a ragged moan of your name his cock twitches as he releases ropes of hot cum all over the toy and his abdomen, continuing to run the silicone over his still throbbing length to the point of overstimulation as he watches you move towards him.

“Open” you demand, and he glares at you before reluctantly obliging, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out. You place the tip of your length on his tongue before spilling into his mouth with a groan of his name, watching as he swallows every last drop.

You put your pants back on, smoothing over your uniform before placing the chair back where it belongs at the table in the centre of the room. Crosshair pulls his now softening cock out of the toy with a slick sound before rising on shaky legs to head to the refresher and clean himself up, glancing at you before wordlessly entering the ‘fresher and locking the door behind him.

Just in time too, when you hear the water start running, the door to the barracks slide open and reveal the rest of your wayward patients. You greet them with a smile as they stand at the doorway, startled to see you sitting in their quarters in wait for them.

“Boys, I’ve been waiting for you” you give them a look that hopefully conveys your irritation.

Crosshair did help you kill time before they got back so maybe you would still reward him later anyway…

#Crosshair x reader #crosshair smut #crosshair x reader smut #tbb crosshair smut #bad batch crosshair x reader smut #bad batch smut #the bad batch smut #tbb smut #bad batch crosshair #bad batch crosshair smut #bad batch x reader smut #tbb x reader smut #crosshair x m!reader #crosshair x male reader

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

Note

hi hi hellooo is the milestone event still open..... im a new follower and just saw it (if requests are alr closed it's alright!) may i request blood root, bleeding heart, and calla lily for doffy or law: first kisses, slowly kissing down the body with 36, 53, 58 as themes? thank you!!!

so sorry this took so long, i had too many ideas bouncing around haha ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡ i hope you enjoy!

4.6k words, fem reader, nsfw - 18+ mdni, angst angst babey, fluff if you pretend hard enough (it's doflamingo, pls), smut obviously; cute stuff includes fingering, a little degradation, doffy being a bastard, oral (f receiving), etc. etc. etc. y/n is a baker and doffy is an absolute menace and the worst kind of obnoxious client.

💖☁️ la vie est drôle ☁️💖

starring: "heavenly demon" donquixote doflamingo x reader.

blood root (fluff), bleeding heart (angst), & calla lily (smut) with first kiss & slowly kissing down the body; #36, 53, & 58 (blush, masquerade, & denial).

a light dusting of powdered sugar floats slowly through the air —magic you once told a young customer on a particularly cold morning — landing on various surfaces in the kitchen, the heat from the oven forcing sweat to pool at your temples. your aunt’s voice wafts in from the front desk, no doubt she’s trying to entice a new customer with some discount she makes up on the fly. after washing your hands, you head up front, a teasing smile on your lips, words knocking against your teeth before you freeze, arms dropping to your sides.

your aunt glances over her shoulder at you, a stern look on her round face, almost as if she’s telling you to get it together. you blink a few times and adopt an amiable, pleasant smile. normally, this wouldn’t be difficult for you — but you recognize the man’s uniform; he’s from the palace, which means that a particular, pain-in-your-ass monarch is making an outrageous order. one that’ll have you baking for days. your eyebrow twitches at the thought, but you remain calm and assist your aunt with his order.

as you suspected, he’s given you an impossible deadline; at first, you refuse and pull your aunt aside to tell her as much.

“there’s no way we can make that much in four days, he’s being ridiculous.” you glance down at the list and roll your eyes again. 300 macarons. 300 cupcakes. 300 cookies. 300 strawberry sponge cakes. crumbling the paper in your hand, his messy scrawl pissing you off — he’s doing this on purpose, you know he is — you sigh loudly, ready to pull your hair out and maybe your aunt’s too.

“oh, stop that,” she chides, tutting her tongue at you like you’re a child, “we’ll just close up early and work in shifts. your brother can help.” you want to laugh at that, but you refrain, press your lips together and just hum in agreement. “wonderful!” she claps her hands together and scurries back up front, collecting the hefty payment from the man before locking the front door. because of your aunt’s blind loyalty towards him, she’ll never take notice of any of his nefarious ploys — no matter how small.

but, you know better than to burst her bubble, so you choke back your comments and tie your hair up. it’ll take a miracle for you to make it through this ordeal in one piece.

after three days of tirelessly working, of pestering relatives and friends for assistance, you finish the order. you’re exhausted as you quadruple check the quality of the baked goods; everything is neatly packed into cute boxes, pretty ribbons wrapped securely around them. you help load everything into the carriage and offer to ride with the order to the palace in your aunt’s stead — her exhaustion is more noticeable than yours, so you sacrifice your rest for her.

she kisses your cheeks sweetly before you go and urges you to mind your tongue in doflamingo’s presence. you make no promises, the man actively works hard to piss you off whenever he can. you have no doubt that if you run into him again, it won’t end as smoothly as you want it to. still, you’ll try — at least for your aunt’s sake and her bakery’s reputation.

donquixote doflamingo is every bit as enigmatic as he is persuasive, often finding himself charming others without really meaning to — but not really caring about it, either. it comes with the territory, he’s often told. and now, he sits, bored out of his mind, while trebol takes over in their morning meeting. a grave mistake on doflamingo’s part; he should’ve told everyone to get out while he had the chance. now if he does it, he’ll come off as an even bigger asshole than he would’ve before. comically enough, this isn’t something that should’ve ever crossed his mind as marginally relevant, but a certain someone’s voice pops back into his head with a vengeance, setting off his irritation all over again.

as someone who prides themselves on having self control, he’s doing a pretty damn shitty job of appearing aloof. he should’ve ordered 3,000 macarons, instead.

the thought is equal parts comforting and irrelevant; and he refuses to dwell on it.

casting a glance trebol’s way, the meeting is concluded prematurely — doflamingo is the first to leave the room, his long legs carrying him up the winding staircase and to his office. he pinches the space between his eyes, right above the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply through his nostrils and trying not to do something reckless.

the palace always gives you an eerie vibe, but you can’t really complain too much, since they pay well whenever they make large orders like this. you can’t imagine living on such an impressive estate, and every time you visit, you’re reminded of the vast difference in the normalcy of your world versus the extravagance of his.

shaking the thought away, you chalk it up to your overactive imagination getting the best of you; the trip takes longer than you thought it would — or, maybe it’s because you’re eager to get back to bed — but when you do finally arrive, you hop out of the carriage swift as ever, giving instructions on how to carefully carry the boxes. you refuse to let doflamingo find a reason to criticize all the hard work you put in.

you’re whisked off to an office off to the side of the main foyer, waiting for the man of the hour to appear so he can sign off on the contract that you brought with you. after ten minutes, you lose whatever’s left of your patience. they told you he’d be down soon — with him soon could mean anything; but you don’t have the same luxury as he does to play around with time.

it’s a terrible idea, snooping around, allowing your anger to dictate your movements as you tug on a forbidden memory. on a hunch, your feet carry you up a staircase and after losing your bearings, you end up in a corridor that may or may not be familiar to you.

“shit,” you mumble to yourself, clutching the envelope in your hand tightly as you think of what to do next. “this is stupid, i’ll just leave it in the office downstairs and fucking leave.”

in the near future, both of you will reflect on this moment and come to the agreement — begrudgingly, at that — that there were better ways to handle things. because he’s keen and hyperaware of his surroundings at all times, he yanks the door open rather quickly, startling you.

eyes wide as you stare up at him, his height every bit as imposing and fearsome as you remember, the envelope slips from your fingers and lands on the stone floor with a soft thud. on his face are his infamous red sunglasses, so you’re not exactly certain, but you’re sure he’s narrowing his eyes at you. he lifts a brow, his broad frame taking up so much space you almost want to ask him if he’s real.

“trespassing is a punishable offense,” he says with a tilt of his head, mouth curving into a wicked grin, “i thought i made that abundantly clear the last time.” you swallow hard, throat drying at the memory and drop low to pick up the envelope off the floor. his words prompt your hands to shake, so it takes longer than necessary for you to grab it. you told yourself sternly that you wouldn’t be alone with him again, and yet, here you are, trapped in his infuriating orbit.

“and i thought i made it clear,” you stand up and shoot him an irritated look, “that you can’t intimidate me the way you do the others.”

a tight smile forms on his lips, your attitude has yet to improve, he realizes — which only makes him laugh, openly mocking you, enjoying the way your face morphs from confusion to understanding. you promised your aunt you’d stay out of trouble, and there you go, doing the one thing you promised you wouldn’t do. stupid, foolish, pitiful.

you berate yourself when he wraps a large hand around your forearm and unceremoniously pulls you into the room with him. your brows slope downward as your mouth is on autopilot once again, cementing your place at the top of his shit list for the day.

“what is wrong with you?” you place the envelope onto his desk and put some distance between you; not that it matters, it never matters with him. “honestly? don’t answer that, i don’t care. just please sign those papers, i have things to do.” you don’t have anything else to take care of today; you just want to go to sleep and forget any of this happened.

“you’re a shitty liar,” he remarks carefully before making his way to his large desk chair, plopping down carelessly, legs spread as he watches you pace around his office — a skittish creature trapped with nowhere else to go. “i told you to get better at it or don’t bother lying to me at all.” he didn’t actually mean it; he has an uncanny ability to sniff out bullshit without even trying, and since people were usually too afraid to go against his commands, they rarely were dishonest. and if they were, it’s because he let them be.

pressing your lips together, you consider your words, but your anger boils over and you’re taking fast strides to get closer — you won’t back down, there’s too much at stake. your pride, for one — and you know if you let him see how easily he rattles you, you’ll never hear the end of it. your presumptuous attitude is hilarious, but he keeps that opinion to himself as he watches you, the way your eyes narrow at him sharply, the way your plump bottom lip juts out slightly, the way you’re moving your hands around animatedly as you talk.

he barely hears a word you say — something about him needing to humble himself or another — instead, he focuses on the shape of your mouth, the curve of your cupid’s bow, the roundness of your flushed cheeks, and on how he’s sure you’d look even better on your knees in front of him, putting that pretty mouth to good use by sucking his cock.

choices, choices; there were simply too many choices. he really doesn’t have time to waste — he was warned earlier, and with the masquerade party in less than twenty-four hours, he still had things to take care of — but he finds it terrifyingly impossible to leave your side right now.

“are you even listening?” you ask after a moment, chest rising as you inhale deeply.

doflamingo fixes you with a steely glare, “no.” because why the fuck would he need to? you weren’t saying anything remotely worth listening to, and he was tired of you acting like he wasn’t the one currently in control. you scoff at his blase attitude, but you were more annoyed with yourself. getting riled up so easily, letting him derail you from your mission.

“figures,” you mumble, unsure of why you’re even bothering in the first place, but those thoughts are interrupted when he pulls you onto his lap, annoyance evident on his face. he can’t believe he let you run your mouth like that for that long, and for what? for him to remain frustrated, still? ridiculous. he refuses d to let you carry on like this.

you straddle his leg, hands landing on his chest as your eyes widen in shock. foolish, foolish, foolish. your tongue darts out and briefly runs along your bottom lip. all of your logic disappears, your dress riding up your thighs, exposing more of your skin. you’re not thinking when you scoot closer; you’re not thinking when you inhale sharply, enjoying the warm scent of his cologne more than you’d like to admit; and you’re definitely not thinking when he grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking hard, where you respond with a pleading whimper.

you’re reminded of another time, where you’d delivered yet another rush order, and he insisted on having you near him while he sampled the pastries. before you left, he offered to triple his payment if you fed him one of the tiny strawberry pastries. you considered telling him off, but the idea of taking more money from him tempted you terribly. so you agreed; what you didn’t count on, was him licking powdered sugar off of your fingers, nor did you anticipate him licking the inside of your wrist. it happened so fast, your mind spun around several times over, and then his lips were on yours. a man like doflamingo takes, and takes, and takes. and in that moment, you were okay with it, and kissed him back like it made all the sense in the world.

you never imagined he’d have his hands on you again, especially when you tried so hard to avoid him as much as you could; but you’re much more pliant than you normally are, back arching when his lips drag down the length of your neck. there are a lot of things you want to tell him, but your mind goes blank; all of your resolve dissipates, and now all you can think about is kissing him again. it’s maddening, that desire, creeping through you at an alarming rate, making you roll your hips forward and rub against his erection.

a pain in his ass, that’s what you are; especially now. he bites you in warning, leaving behind a reddish mark on your exposed shoulder. you’re well aware by now just how effective he is at doling out punishments for disobedience. not that you ever really know, his whims are notorious for being deadly, unpredictable, and inescapable. so it shouldn’t surprise you when he grabs your chin roughly, or when he lifts you onto his desk, or when he pushes you down, your back hitting the wooden surface hard enough to make you gasp, while his large hand holds your hip tightly.

“i think you’re misunderstanding your predicament, here,” he drawls, his voice deep and husky, curling around you wickedly. he hadn’t anticipated he’d take things this far, but if he let you go without teaching you a lesson, he’d never forgive himself. “what did i tell you the last time i caught you?”

lips trembling, thighs rubbing together, you say nothing; and how can you? a flurry of images infiltrate your mind — scenes from a memory, tucked safely into a dark corner of your heart, out of order and sporadic; a dream that easily turns into a nightmare whenever you think about it too hard. as if on cue, his hands coast along the curves of your legs, the softness of your thighs — unmarred, like a blank canvas waiting to be conquered — tempt him; he yanks up your dress, annoyed that you’re laying there acting as if you don’t know what to do.

when he manages to tug it up high enough, bunching up the fabric around your waist, you, at the very least, have the sense to pull it off of you. it’s the least you can do, to make up for your sluggish movements from earlier.

you still haven’t answered him, even as he spreads your legs apart, even as his long fingers tease you through your panties and pinch your clit mercilessly. the yelp you let out is melodious and hypnotic; he wants to hear you do it again.

“what’s the matter?” he asks, faux-concern lacing each word, but you know better than to trust that, “you were so eager to run your fucking mouth earlier.” doflamingo grabs your face with his hand, fingers sinking into your skin roughly, your lips parting but, again, words fail you. it’s then that it occurs to him that maybe you want to get under his skin as much as he wants to get under yourself.

well, so be it.

his mouth latches onto your throat, tongue licking down the length of it, your skin burning the longer he touches you. your whimpers aren’t enough, he wants to hear you lose yourself, writhe underneath him, and beg him to fuck you — if he bides his time, he knows you’ll get to that point. he just has to break you in a bit, first.

you’re not sure why you’re letting him dictate the pace of things; maybe it’s because you know that in the end, you covet the obsessive quality of his focus whenever he’s around you; maybe you don’t actually dislike him, and maybe you like the rough way he handles you. his teeth graze your skin as he continues kissing and sucking on your skin, your soft pants and moans aren’t enough — he wants more, more more. your hips lift up to meet his again as he trails kisses onto the curves of your breasts; he means to ask where your bra is, your nipples harden under his tough, fingers rough against the soft nubs, your thighs shaking as you feel the front of your panties dampen.

it’s all so embarrassing, but you’re too far gone to let that stop you. it’s when you deliberately rub yourself against his erection again — his cock stiff, precum leaking out of his slit angrily, the liquid seeping into the fabric of his underwear — that you realize you’re not the only one suffering from arousal. it’s aggravating, the way his body reacts to you — you don’t have to do much, and that’s a damn problem that he needs to rid himself of. quickly.

because he has no tact or decorum, doflamingo doesn’t think twice before biting you over and over again, leaving bruising marks down your stomach, tongue savoring the taste of your skin. your panties are torn off of you before you can protest, and he steps back to admire you, that devilish grin returning when he sees how eager you are for him to continue.

“pathetic,” he remarks callously, an idea popping into his mind as he instructs you to hold onto the backs of your thighs. once you follow his command, his fingers twitch and you feel thin strings — practically invisible to the untrained eye — dig into your skin; they wrap around your wrists, securely binding each hand to your thigh. “much better,” he actually sounds pleased with himself and you for cooperating.

he spreads you apart again, your cunt bare, exposed, dripping and aching with need; he knows what you want, he just doesn’t know if he wants to give it to you.

“tell me,” he says slowly, his fingers slipping between the folds of your pussy, your slick clinging onto his skin, “should i leave you here, like this?” on his desk, unfulfilled, as he carries on with his day. you can’t spend your day cooped up in his office, so you shake your head, curls bouncing everywhere. panic fills you when gives you the sort of smile that makes you think he’s absolutely considering doing just that. when his fingers tease your entrance, you can’t take it anymore.

“please,” you whisper, face flushed, heart beating out of control, debilitating and desperate. “i…please.”

again, he tilts his head at you, his confusion isn’t real, neither is his curiosity — doflamingo is mocking you, but you don’t seem to care.

“‘please’ what?” whatever patience he pretended to have earlier is completely gone, his own breathing much too loud in his ears, his cock obnoxiously reminding him that it’s still very much hard and if he doesn’t do something about it now, he’ll live to regret it later.

you hate that he’s going to make you say it; shame eats at you, makes your face grow hot, your eyes shutting as you muster courage. “d-do something.” you don’t know what you want him to do, honestly; but you know that if he doesn’t help you alleviate that ache, you might actually die today.

“why should i?” his voice is calm as his fingers plunge inside of you recklessly, filling your pussy without remorse, the intrusion a welcomed distraction, even as your hands tug on your restraints foolishly. he reminds himself that he really should get going, that he has another meeting to attend, but instead he hovers over you, a menacing presence that won’t go away, his wrist flicking as he thrusts his thick fingers in and out of you, admiring the way your wetness spills onto his palm, your moans encouraging him to keep going.

“answer me,” he halts his movements, your hips bucking against his hand, silently begging as you swallow hard.

“doflamingo,” you say his name like a curse, like you’re angry that it’s his fault you’re out of breath and panting like that; you say his name again when he resumes fucking you with his fingers, your pussy clenching around him, the squelching noises making you tremble like a fragile animal. you’re so annoyed at yourself, at the way you crave his touch so much, at how you don’t want him to stop anytime soon. he extracts his fingers and runs his tongue along the inside of your thigh, mouth and teeth leaving behind more marks — love bites, he’ll say later — before he gives your pussy the sort of lick that has you stuttering around the syllables of his name.

again, he only means to tease you — a lie he keeps telling himself — so it’s really not his fault that he finds it difficult to ignore the way your cunt keeps calling out to him. each swipe of his tongue brings out more lewd sounds from you; breathy moans, loud whimpering, your cries put him in an unshakeable trance as his tongue slips into you. hips bucking up against his face, he pauses and tells you to behave before carrying on again, eating your pussy like he’s a man possessed. your taste is something he couldn’t get off of his mind for months before, and now? he’s sure he’s on a path to a different level of madness; ridiculous thoughts bouncing around his mind as he considers whether or not to keep you here with him, where he can play with you as he pleases.

you want to touch him too, but he won’t let you, almost as if touching him is a privilege that you won’t acquire anytime soon. in reality, it’s because he knows if he lets you free, he might not have the upper hand anymore. and he can’t have that. doflamingo slurps your pussy messily, your moans turning into high pitched cries, and even though you know he wants you to keep still, you just can’t. especially when his tongue glides up higher and flicks against your sensitive clit repeatedly — and your body reacts accordingly, back arching off of the desk, the papers you’re laying on are stained from your slick, but you can’t think about that now.

all you can think about is how his mouth is hot against your pussy, how his teeth bring about a bit of pain that you can’t get enough of, and how he still refuses to kiss you. instead, he kisses your pussy sloppily, tongue lapping at your wetness as an orgasm builds inside of you, threatening to make you implode at the rate he’s going. you feel so helpless, like a doll, commanded by his tongue, hips jerking up as your ride his mouth, a feverish desire overwhelming you immediately. your vision blurs, you can hardly keep up, and doflamingo takes pleasure in ripping an orgasm out of you, one that has you thrashing against him wildly, your body convulsing, crying out his name until your voice grows hoarse.

a loud knock on the door has you clamp your mouth shut, making him laugh and laugh, lips glistening with your arousal as he smiles slyly at you. you’re absolutely perfect like this, he wishes he could capture this moment so he could revisit it later. the knocking persists, making him grunt in annoyance, and you watch him, through your eyelashes, lids lowering before your eyes widen at the impact of his slap — your pussy throbs incessantly, the pain too good to ignore.

it only takes a few strides before he’s prying the door open, fingers coated with your wetness. the event planner asks him unnecessary questions, her eyes darting to his hand before moving back up to his face; his body blocks the sight of you, for some reason he feels possessive — protective, even — although he doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he enjoyed eating your pussy, taking his time to lick his fingers in front of the woman, making her take a half step back, face flushed in embarrassment.

he doesn’t get her apprehension and discomfort. “you’re interrupting my meal,” is all he says, which prompts her to apologize profusely. you hate how you still want him to fuck you, even as he more or less keeps you bound like that for longer than you want to be, even as he reminds the stupid woman that she’s wasting his time, going so far as to say his food will spoil if she doesn’t wrap things up. you hate the way your pussy clenches around nothing, at how you’ve found yourself in an impossible situation all over again. he has half a mind to leave you like that, the thought getting stronger with each passing second, but that wouldn’t do; too many people bother him throughout the day and he refuses to let anyone else see you like this.

his benevolence knows no bounds when he slams the door in the woman’s face, cutting off their conversation after he tells her — rudely — to figure things out for herself, knowing damn well that he’ll have her head if his party isn’t perfect. you shift around, papers rustling underneath your body, ink bleeding through a few of the pages — and if you knew, you’d never be able to look at doflamingo ever again.

“we’ll have to pick this conversation up another time, kitten,” he says suddenly, all hints of playfulness now gone. he releases you from you from your bindings, your wrists an angry shade of red, the indentations from the string visible enough to anyone who cares to look closely. “i’ve got a party, and you have…things to bake.” or whatever it is that commoners do with their free time.

teeth clenched, you quickly hop off of the desk, legs wobbly but you refuse to let him see you stumble around. you pull your dress back on, fix your hair as best as you can, and glare at him sharply over your shoulder.

“whatever it is you want to say,” he cuts you off, a frown settling on his lips, “save it. you don’t want me to get angry, do you?” you don’t, and you know better. so you sigh bitterly and leave; walking as fast as you can, your thighs wet from your cum, you know there will be questions when you get back home, but you don’t care. you need to get far away from him, you need to forget about him, about the way he caressed your skin last time, and forget about the way he kissed you — like he couldn’t believe he’d crave your lips like that. likewise, he’s having a similar conversation with himself, annoyed he let you escape like that, but he knows that if he stayed with you any longer, neither of you would leave his office the same.

he knows the best course of action is to purge himself of any and all thoughts of you, but, if he’s honest with himself — and he’s not very honest — he knows it’ll be impossible, especially now that he’s had a proper taste of you, after he’s committed your reactions and pussy to memory, and after he almost found himself kissing you.

🌙 credit to leafsea for the cute crescent moon divider 🌙

#if i kept writing this fic would've never ended #fic request #🌙 la vie est drole event 🌙#one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo smut #‘i can change him’ 🥴

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sexyinaratkindaway · 6 months

Text

Day 29: Cockwarming

Pairing: Pix/Sloy

If you're sloyxp please dont read this im shy

unless yr into this sort of shit idk

There is a special kind of bond between a writer and his Voice.

Usually it's a lovely thing, adoration and love and praise and despair and hatred and destruction.

Where was he going with this?

Pix shivers on his lap, lets out a slow whimper of a moan, resonant and clear in their cluttered newsroom, and Sloy is madly in love with him.

He gives a thrust, shallow and quick, and it's a little bit difficult to do when he's sitting on a chair and he's got a lapful of Pixlriffs, but it's worth the way his breath quickens, his hands fist in the papers on the desk.

“S–Sloy,” he mutters, and Sloy loves the way his voice—beautiful, smooth, tender voice, their Voice, his Voice—cracks, “Sloy, come on, we–we’re on a deadline.”

“We’re not getting anything done before Lyarrah gets back with our Friday recordings, anyway,” Sloy murmurs against his nape, before biting a mark in soft, tan skin. “Plus, we are working.”

They’re finishing up their script for the week, waiting for the last of their visuals to finish up the job and get to recording. Sloy likes the recording booth sessions best: loves to let Pix’s voice wash over him like magic. It makes his organs—what’s left of them, anyway—vibrate in tune with the sounds, makes him feel alive like he hasn’t felt in centuries.

It makes him horny, too, but that’s not really important. He’s learned to hide his jerking off under the mixer pretty well. Like, sure, maybe the same can’t be said for the slurping sounds, the odd time he manages to sneak in the recording booth to hide under the table just to make Pix squirm, but he’ll take what little victories he can get.

His cock twitches inside Pix, Pix groans and bucks back into him, all dutifulness gone from the curl of his spine. Sloy wants to rip the jacket off his back, bend him over the table and forget their work.

Instead he curls a hand around Pix’s bare hip, rubs his thumb along the shivery goosebumps, the little hiss, the “Ah, you’re cold–”, because he always says the same things, when Sloy slides his cock in his tight, welcoming, scorching warm hole, because he can never bring himself to take the time to warm himself up for him when he knows that something so delicious and heavenly is waiting for him.

He holds Pix tight enough to expect bruises in the morning, reaches around him on the table to write a few more words on their script. They do have to get at least something done today, even if Pix has completely given up on the pretence of working and just leans his forehead down on his forearms and arches his back into Sloy, grinds his hips in a slow circle, panting. He wants, oh, how he wants; Sloy can see it in the shivering set of his shoulders, and can’t stop smiling at the thought. Oh, his pretty Voice, wanting just as much as he wants!

Only a few words, only a few more words; then they’ll have nothing to do but wait for Lyarrah to come back, and he will finally be at complete liberty to fuck Pix into the table until all the papers they’ve worked so far on are an illegible mess of cum and sweat.

He tries to will himself still, his cock to stop twitching, his mind to sharpen and focus on the task at hand; to ignore Pix’s low little humming noises of pleasure, the way his velvety insides shift and clench around him, the way his shoulder hitches when he reaches a hand down to wrap around himself. The noise he makes, a broken little moan, when he closes his warm fist around his neglected cock jumps straight to Sloy’s brain—good thing it’s exposed, he feels like it might explode from stimuli overload—gnashing at the bars of his self-made cage.

“Sloy,” Pix murmurs, breath hitching in time with the pumping of his hand, “Sloy, please.”

“You need to make up your mind,” Sloy mutters, trying to focus on the page, and why is he out of breath too now? “First it’s all, ‘ohh, Sloy, we need to get our work done’, and now…”

He gives a shallow little buck upwards, just to show Pix that he can, and Pix moans a pretty, surprised noise that rings out bell-loud around them, a moan that peters out into a low litany of pleas, of “Please, Gods, Sloy, please—”

Sloy is done writing. He slams the pen down, sweeps the papers from the table with his arm, and immediately rises to lift Pix on the wood, hips pistoning into him like a man possessed. He’s a zombie, so it’s not too far off a guess. He’s got one hand on Pix’s hip and one on his hair, smushing his cheek into the table; his pretty moans are coming out garbled from the odd angle, but neither of them cares. Sloy is so close he can taste release on his tongue, and the breathy quality Pix’s voice has taken on means he’s in the same boat.

He’s still jerking off, and Sloy doesn’t stop him, not when his hole clenches around his cock on every upstroke, not when the clapping rhythm of skin on undead skin beats the perfect drum to his Voice’s song; Pix comes with a shuddering groan, his hole quivers, magma-hot, around Sloy’s cock. Luckily, his release sloshes on the floor, mostly, so Sloy’s own orgasm isn’t plagued by thoughts of script pages to scrap and rewrite.

He hilts himself deep in Pix and comes with a trembling sigh, mirrored by his lover, limp in his arms. His release is just a degree under warm, sloshing around his cock, and he sits back on the chair with a sigh, brings Pix with him, uncaring of the mess dribbling on their pants, on the chair.

It’s fine.

They’ll worry about it when Lyarrah comes back.

#knight's notebook #hermitnsfw #ish?#they count right #sloyxp #pixlriffs #kinktober

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vincess-princess · 1 year

Text

in darkness shall you be reborn

Chapter 10

Word count: 3763 Warnings: violence A/N: im sorry this took me so long, life got in the way. i started taking meds for my depression and got into a new relationship, and also my thesis deadline is looming... also i had to practically rewrite this one from scratch too. idk when i'll be able to update, i have exams in a month, but i'll do my best <3

When they walked out of the bathhouse and into the pub next door, night had already descended upon the town, the full moon high up in the cloudless sky bathing dirty alleyways and shabby houses in silvery light. There they found Holmes and good two-thirds of the Shout crew, who rather predictably deemed the establishment a worthy investment of their scarce time off. Holmes seemed to be familiar with many of them, shaking their hands and conversing in that hardly legible pirate jargon Vince still struggled to understand. If it wasn’t for his suit, he’d fit right in.

“Ay, you came!” He noticed Nikki and Vince at the door and beckoned them to the table he was occupying.

“I fucking wish,” Nikki grumbled, maneuvering between the chairs. The Shout crew was far from the only clients of the pub tonight, and it was messy, busy and loud. The room was soaked through with smells of smoke, cheap beer and onions, and the walls practically rattled with every roar of laughter or cry of indignation drunk sailors emitted, which they did plenty.

Holmes must have fought a hard battle to keep the chairs at his table in their places, as the sailors at the tables nearby, many of them on shaky stools, frequently shot him resentful glances. When Nikki and Vince sat down, these glances redirected their ire at them – the bastards coming in so late yet getting the good chairs! – but no verbal complaints were made. The benefit of dining with two pirates armed to the teeth, Vince almost chuckled. Holmes wasn’t a walking armory like Nikki, but didn’t make much effort to hide a pistol on his hip and a dagger on another either.

“Why’s your hair wet? You two had waste poured on you or something?” Holmes squinted when they neared the table. “Wait, no, you’re too clean for that. Was there a sudden rain that I inexplicably missed? Did you go swimming? Or worked up some sweat unloading cargo? No, Sixx, would never carry loads himself when he’s got a slave nearby. Nay, I can’t even imagine what you two were doing. Or maybe I can, but later, when I’m in private.” He flashed them a toothy grin. Vince pretended he hadn’t heard the last part.

“Done jeering?” Nikki scowled, plopping onto the chair. Vince lowered himself carefully onto his, as if it could crumple under him any minute. “We were in the bathhouse across the street.”

“Oh, there were no rooms at the inn?”

“You rascal,” Sixx said sweetly. “We were bathing. A thing you do in bathhouses, among others.”

“Now, that’s the most improbable guess of all I’ve made,” Holmes laughed. “For all I know, you’d rather suffocate on your own stench.”

“Lies and slander,” Nikki huffed indignantly.

“It was my request,” Vince said. He knew he’d have to pay for this later, but just couldn’t help it.

“Ha! I knew it!” Holmes banged his fist on the table. “He ain’t gonna let you fool anyone, right, Sixx?”

“Yeah,” Nikki said with an unnerving smile. Vince only saw a glimpse of his hand in the air when a slap on the cheek burned his skin and sent his head swaying.

“Damn, Sixx,” he heard Holmes sighing, “keep your disciplinary process behind closed doors, won’t you?”

“Won’t work with this one. He’ll behave only if he knows he can get his ass kicked whenever and wherever.”

“From my experience, all stick and no carrot never made any slave more docile.”

“Well, then your experience is clearly limited. Now, I thought I came here to get pissed, not lectured.”

“Very well.” Holmes leaned onto the back of his chair. “Hope you’re right about this. Hey, waitress! Over here! Whatcha gonna have?”

“They got any wine?” Nikki picked up a crust of bread from a plate at the center of the table and carefully bit it. He could as well gnaw on the table itself, Vince understood from his expression.

“Wine? For you?” Holmes raised an eyebrow, but Nikki’s face remained serious, so he chose not to continue with a joke he clearly had in mind. “Sometimes, when there are shipments. You can never count on it, though. A Dutch ship docked here a couple weeks ago, so I reckon they still may’ve got some left.”

“I shall have some then. Sure hope it’s not that sparkling shit the French keep pushing. I don’t want any air in my wine.” Nikki dropped the crust back onto the plate with disgust on his face. Vince last ate in the morning, and with every passing minute the crust looked more and more alluring. He hadn’t fallen so low, though – for now.

“You’re being unfair to the French.” Holmes laughed. “They hate it as much as you do. It’s the English who you should berate. You an Englishman, Vinnie?” He suddenly turned to Vince.

“I-“ Vince began, but Nikki didn’t let him finish.

“That don’t matter, Chris. He ain’t got no home anymore besides the Shout.” Nikki appeared nonchalant, but Vince could see his body tense up like a taut string.

Holmes, smiling placidly, didn’t seem to notice anything. “That’s what I tell all my slaves too. The past is in the past. It’s the present you should think about. Ya hear me, Vinnie?”

Vince didn’t reply, his throat tightening.

“You should do that too. It’ll make life easier for both you and your master. Oh, at last! It’s only been a whole day!” He lashed at the waitress that shuffled to their table, a thin, tired woman, the silver in whose hair didn’t match the still youthful face. She withstood the attack with indifference of a rock, making Vince a little bit envious of her thick skin. That’s probably what spending one’s days and nights surrounded by crude, vulgar men could do to anyone, more so to a woman.

Nikki ordered his wine, and Holmes brandy. Vince watched them detachedly, nursing his burning cheek. He had already realised that the combination of the collar and ragged clothes on him were the reason people here pointedly ignored him, addressing only Nikki, so Vince didn’t expect the waitress to turn to him after she took the orders. She did, though.

“And you? The blond fella? Whatcha gonna have?”

It took Vince a couple of seconds to understand that she was talking to him. She was probably just too tired to figure it out, much less to notice what her question did to Vince, but if he had any money, he would tip her twice her wage.

He looked questioningly at Nikki, who after a short hesitation nodded. Vince didn’t expect this part to be over so fast, moreso with such an outcome, which was why the next one - choosing the drink – took him an embarrassingly long amount of time. One part of him wanted to get so drunk that he would pass out and lie uncaring and senseless through whatever debt Nikki would want him to return. Another still buzzed annoyingly in the back of his mind, if you want to escape you need your mind unclouded by spirits. Wouldn’t Nikki get suspicious if he refused to drink, though? Maybe he could pour the drink out while no one was looking?

“Rum,” he finally said when the pause stretched for too long. He’d never tried it, might as well get a taste of this lowly drunkard experience. He was living on a lowly drunkard ship now, after all.

“Oh, he’s really in it now!” Chris laughed, and his laughter spread like contagion to the Shout crew, shaking the walls of the small pub. Other clients didn’t seem to like that much, frowning and murmuring disapprovingly, but didn’t yet dare to protest out loud. “A bottle of rum and a mug for the pretty boy!”

“I don’t need a whole bottle-“ Vince protested, but nobody listened to him anymore – nobody except Nikki, whose sharp gaze almost clawed into him when their eyes met. Damn, he was certainly suspecting something. Now, if Vince didn’t drink the whole bottle, he’d grow wary.

The tired waitress brought them their drinks, flung the mugs and the shots on the table so forcefully Nikki’s wine and Holmes’ brandy splashed over the rim of their mugs, slapped Chris’s hand off her butt and left. The bottle in front of Vince was made of dark, foggy glass, the darker liquid inside it barely visible. The bottle was smaller than he feared, though. He always handled alcohol pretty well, and the dark glass obscured the amount of liquid inside, possible to determine only by putting it against a light. Maybe he could still pull it off?

“Well, for the meeting!” Chris toasted, clinking his mug against Nikki’s. Then both looked at Vince expectingly. Vince hurried to pour some rum into his mug (only hoping its taste would mask whatever was in there before) and clinked it against theirs awkwardly, acutely sensing that they only permitted him to do so as long as this fickle illusion of their equality amused them. Then Holmes sucked in nearly half of his brandy at once, and Nikki took a few gulps of his wine – such a sophisticated drink wasted in such an inelegant manner, Vince shuddered. Not wanting to attract even more of captain’s suspicion, he followed suit and took a big sip of his rum.

Oh, that was a mistake. The liquid, somehow both sickly sweet and bitter, burned its way down his mouth and throat, making him grimace and cough. The room again roared with laughter.

“Our princess isn’t used to strong spirits!” someone shouted. Vince’s cheeks began to burn. God, why was he always so easy to turn red?

Embarrassment and alcohol got to his head then, he later figured, shame and anger muddling his rationality. For a moment, the hurt and humiliation of the insults overpowered his desire for freedom, and he upended the mug into his mouth and swallowed the rum in two forceful gulps.

His mouth burned, but there was no water in sight to wash down the disgusting taste. As the rum dissolved the remains of Vince’s dignity, the lonely crust of bread finally served its purpose, like an old, wrinkly hooker finding a client desperate enough. It tasted just as stale as it looked.

“Wow, look at that,” Nikki grinned. “How ya feeling?”

“Very well,” Vince exhaled, trying not to break a tooth on the crust. “Don’t feel anything.”

“For now,” Nikki nodded condescendingly. “Just you try to go take a piss.”

“And what’s gonna ha- oh, shit.” Vince clutched the table to stay up after he so recklessly sprang onto his feet. His mind was still clear, but his legs liberated themselves from his tyranny and now were doing their own thing, which didn’t coincide with Vince’s intentions. “It all went into my legs.”

“First time’s always like this.”

“I have drunk before.”

“Well, that’s no wine or sherry or whatever you used to drink in your villa. Its purpose is to knock you off your feet as quick as possible. Because you don’t wanna drink more of this shit than necessary.”

“It does taste like shit,” Vince nodded, his mouth still burning, and dropped back onto the chair. Time seemed to slip between his fingers, and he could only watch it run out. Maybe the spirit would clear out just as fast as it hit?

“More?” Chris pointed at the bottle, still perceptibly half-full. “Or maybe you’d like something lighter, like we unassuming folk here?”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Being the most sober person in the room is no fun, you know.”

“I’ll manage.”

“He’s a delight to have in the crew, I see.” Chris told Nikki, smiling sarcastically.

“Absolutely. You haven’t heard his best yet – not in his element today, it seems. He’s usually much bolder. I would have taught him how to talk to his seniors if I didn’t enjoy it so much. He’s like a small dog barking at dogs ten times its size.”

“Small dogs also bite.”

“Yeah, he tried.” Nikki rolled up his sleeve and showed Holmes the cut Vince dealt him in the first fight. It had already closed, though the edges were still red and inflamed. Hoping that Nikki would die of infection was too unrealistic even for Vince, though. “I was impressed, really – that was a close hit, almost cut open my axillary. Too bad it got me angry.”

Rage sparked inside Vince’s chest. They talked about him like he wasn’t there – no, worse, like he was an animal or an object, and to them, he probably was. He wanted to bang on the table and scream, I’m still here, bastards, but they would laugh at him at best and grow angry at worst.

“I won’t listen to this anymore,” he said through gritted teeth and rose from the table. Not quickly enough, unfortunately - Nikki caught him by the sleeve and pulled him back onto the chair.

“Nobody’s asking your opinion, slave,” he grinned unpleasantly. “You stay here as long as I do.”

Vince bit his lip, a bitter retort lingering on his tongue. His snarky comebacks were the only revenge he still could enact, but if Nikki enjoyed them, he wouldn’t give him that pleasure. The problem was, his tongue was often quicker than his thought.

Nikki and Holmes, meanwhile, had finished their drinks and craved more.

“Hey! Waitress!” Nikki waved his hand in the air, but the waitress, who shortly before went into the back room, didn’t answer his call. “Where’s this bitch? Were she my employee, I’d already had her flogged. Vinnie, go fetch her.”

“You sure would,” Vince murmured under his breath.

“What did you just say?” Nikki inquired sharply.

“I said,” Vince raised his voice, rum stirring boldness inside him he’s been suppressing the whole day, “my legs won’t let me, remember?

“That’s definitely not what you said.”

“Maybe you misheard.” Vince smiled into Nikki’s frowning face. Holmes stifled a laugh.

Nikki narrowed his eyes, eyeing Vince for a while, counting pros and cons of lashing out. The cons seemed to have won, because he exhaled and leaned back onto his chair.

“Maybe I did,” he said with a one-sided smile. “Anyway, you heard me. Go fetch the waitress. And don’t you veer off somewhere I can’t see you.”

“If I fall down halfway, I deflect all the blame,” Vince dropped, rising from his chair. He didn’t catch Nikki’s reply – maybe he didn’t reply at all. This would have alarmed him were it not for the rum.

Vince staggered between the tables, leaning on chairs and sometimes on someone’s shoulders, eliciting angry cries from their owners, though the offence wasn’t considered serious enough to warrant use of force. He peered into the back room and found the waitress there, leaning onto the counter, staring at the wall with empty eyes. For some reason, a shiver went down his spine.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said into her back, “my… companions there would like a refill.”

She turned to him quickly, startled, and eyed him warily from head to toes. Then recognition appeared in her eyes.

“Of course,” she said, making an effort to smile. “What did they have?”

“Brandy and wine.”

“Very well. And you?”

“Nothing, thanks.”

“All right. Tell your companions I’ll be back in a moment.”

She disappeared behind a small door in the other corner of the room, probably leading to the cellar. Vince backed away a bit – look at me, Nikki, I’m behaving, I’m keeping in your sight – and leaned onto the counter. Being away from crude jokes and sleazy glances of the pirates felt nice-

A slap so strong landed on his ass that it rang throughout the entire pub. God, why couldn’t Nikki leave him alone just for a second…

“What’s a pretty lass like you doing in the place like this?“ leered some sailor, long-bearded, bald and reeking of cheap beer. When Vince turned to him, sporting his two-day stubble, his mouth fell open.

“You’re- you’re-“ the man didn’t get to finish, because Vince punched him right in the face. It was a vile thing to do – the fella just made a mistake, after all – but Vince was so wrought up from the constant mocking and taunting that this was the last straw.

Rum led his fist astray, the punch landing on the cheekbone instead of swiftly breaking the nose like it did in his good days. The sailor wavered on wobbly legs but kept his balance. His face flushed red with anger.

“You fucker!” he grunted, throwing a punch at Vince. Vince leapt back to dodge the hit, but his legs betrayed him at the worst moment possible – he’ll never drink this foul substance again, god damn it - and he had to clutch onto the counter to stay upright. The man used this moment of weakness to grab him by the collar of his shirt. The sound of fabric tearing reached Vince’s ears, although the collar held on so far. Mick would hardly lend him another shirt, a thought flashed through his mind.

Vince pulled the sailor’s beard as hard as he could. The man yelped in pain and planted a punch under his eye. Vince couldn’t dodge, his collar in an iron-like grip, and white exploded in front of his left eye, pain shooting through his skull. His head fell back, and the guy kicked him in the stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs.

His grip suddenly weakened, then released Vince entirely. He staggered back and would have fallen down if not for someone’s arms propping him up in the back. A mop of black hair flashed past his seeing eye, and then he heard the sailor’s nose crack.

“Hey, you all right?” he heard a familiar voice. It took him a few seconds to recognize that it was Holmes holding him by the shoulders. He didn’t answer - he was listening to the sailor’s pained cries as Nikki rammed his fists into his face until he was gurgling on his blood and spitting out his teeth. And when Nikki let go of the guy, letting him slide down the counter lifelessly onto the floor, and turned to Vince and Chris, his face was so distorted by rage Vince shuddered. The next second it smoothened out, but the vision stayed in front of Vince’s eyes for the rest of the night.

He grinned – no, bared his teeth, so much like a panther Vince almost expected him to growl – and, not sparing Vince another look, headed back to their table. From there they then heard a cry of a poor bastard that wanted to steal their chairs. The crew cheered and raised their mugs for a toast.

The bald sailor lay on the floor bloodied and beaten, his face a single enormous bruise, his chest rising and falling heavily. The bartender looked him over with a frown, then called his errand boys (probably his sons – same heavy jaw, same droopy eyes) and they promptly grabbed a leg each and dragged the sailor out.

On wobbly legs Vince returned to their table and sank onto the chair, avoiding looking at Nikki. The captain sat there sipping wine – the waitress must have brought it during the fight - with an indifferent expression, but Vince could see he was pleased as a cat that snatched a fish off a table.

“He almost knocked you out,” he taunted. “D’ya ever think before fighting a fella twice your weight?”

“I could handle him just fine,” Vince murmured and pressed the cold rum bottle to his throbbing eye. The pain lessened somewhat. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“Because he would have kicked your ass,” Nikki dismissed him confidently. “And I ain’t gonna drag your body to the ship on my back. I saved your ass, and this is what I get! And then you act all offended that I’m so harsh with you. Your manners leave a lot to be desired.”

“Vinnie, it’s clear he’s expecting a thank you kiss,” Holmes laughed. “Or maybe something more upon your return. Look at that face - not a single pristine thought behind these eyes.”

Nikki snickered shamelessly. Vince felt sick to the stomach.

“I have to visit the latrine,” he murmured, dropped the bottle onto the table, got up and stumbled to the door, holding onto the tables on his way. His mind was crystal clear, but his body was still under the influence of the spirit, although less so after the beating- fight, he meant fight. He expected Nikki to follow him, but he only followed him with his eyes – Vince could feel it burn holes in his back.

There was a barrel with water outside, next to the door. Vince drank from it hungrily, then washed his face. The water dripping back into the barrel was pink. Vince carefully examined the damage with the tips of his fingers. His nose wasn’t broken, and his eye could still see, although it was hard to open because the skin around it began to swell. There’ll be an ugly bruise for a while, but no permanent damage, hopefully.

He looked around, but people in this part of the street were few and far between – everybody who wanted to go to the pub already got there. The latrine – a wooden outhouse with a smell so malodorous Vince had to convince himself to breathe around it – looked exceptionally uninviting. Vince decided he would rather take a leak onto the bar wall in front of the whole street, which he promptly did. Judging by the typical stains on the walls, he was far from being the only one to resolve so. Unexpectedly, he remembered his governess, a woman of great knowledge and manners and little to no sense of humor. She probably would faint were she to see him right now: dressed in a torn shirt with bloodstains on it and dirty breeches, barefoot and collared, hair loose and disheveled, face cut and bruised, pissing on a wall outside a port bar. Here, though, nobody spared him more than a passing glance: he matched the surroundings really well.

And if he just walked away, nobody would spare him a second thought as well.

Vince pulled his breeches up, buttoned them with trembling fingers, washed his hands in the barrel, wiped them on his shirt, looked around sneakily and darted into a dark alley behind the bar.

#nikki sixx #vince neil #vinikki #motley crue #pirate au #motley crue fanfiction #yknow i. really feel better now. with the meds and all.#i have more energy and spring is coming which means the seasonal part of my depression is off for now #but idk how it will affect this fic. i used to write it to express my anguish through it. now i have little to no of it left #i still have like 16k of unedited writing in my document so maybe that will tide you over until next fall #but i also itch to write something original. so maybe i'll be doing that #in darkness shall you be reborn

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tbh-entp · 2 years

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How do i deal with procrastination as an entp? I have been trying to motivate myself but boi it aint helping im just getting back to zero everytime i tried ;_; also why are we awkward with some teachers while close with some or is everyone like that

Hey!

Yes. So I genuinely just accept the chaos at this point. Typically I load my schedule so that I don't have time to procrastinate. In high school it was clubs, college it was extra classes and jobs-- I only suggest doing this in moderation. This worked great when I was younger and I didn't have to search for things to do-- but it's always procrastination in some form.

But truly, if you can't make your own deadlines and follow them (no judgement, I cannot and don't try anymore), accept the chaos. I used to procrastinate and be stressed about it, and now I don't even consider it procrastinating. I can get things done quickly before they're due with no sweat off my back this way. And if you run out of time... you'll learn a lesson and maybe do it with a tad bit more time next deadline around.

About the teachers--- I get this with so many people! Some people think I'm so weird and others think I'm normal and I don't know exactly why. I think this is probably normal for everyone. With some people you click, and with others you don't.

#it's ok to procrastinate though #i find it hard to do things on other people's timelines #and so it's more like i do my own thing #and only respect the real deadlines #which means my boss never reads drafts lol #but it's ok because i do good work #entp #mbti #not really actually #its for everyone #answered #we all need different amounts of time so just know how you work and do your best #and also load your schedule in the way that works the best for you #i'm procrastinating by writing these tags tho tbh #lol

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frozenspots · 6 years

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baby.... don’t cry...... you are pefrect.....

#pokemon #psyduck #animation #toto draws #animation practice #gif #lmao i spent nearly 5 hours on this and haven't done any work #the deadline are close im sweating

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theheartshapedsunglasses · 3 years

Text

so i harassed 4 profs and am gonna ask my best friend’s mom (who was my teacher) to................

#do i want to throw up yes #i asked my hot prof who hated me to do it too im sweating just thinking about him being like #'ew. no. also u asked too close to the deadline'#i wanna d*E

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frogtanii · 3 years

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℗ me and my husband

atsumu x fem!reader (poker face ending)

series masterlist

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

wc. 3.2k (holy shit)

warnings. NOT PROOFREAD, v v soft domestic, marriage :00, smut!! (is marked off!!), soft dom!tsumu, hair pulling (giving), unprotected sex, slight praise kink, pretty vanilla ngl

an. can be read as a one shot but u might be confused lmfao also this took SO LONG OMFG also also heavily unedited, take things w a grain of salt lmfao anyways don’t forget to feed me ahaha m rlly proud of this so i hope y’all like it <33

it was moving day and atsumu was about to lose his mind.

today was the official day of the hyper house disbandment and while most of the members were still figuring out new living arrangements and thus remaining past the deadline, you were one of the few trying to get out as soon as possible.

makki and mattsun were so excited to have you move in, they showed up early that morning to help you pack. now, it was around 1p and it was almost time for you to go. you still had a few more boxes to go but things were speeding right along.

normally, atsumu would be right by your best friends helping you out but he was currently in the middle of a breakdown.

you were leaving. leaving. he had no idea when he’d see you again (even though you promised to meet up weekly to catch up), if he would ever see you again. for all he knew, makki and mattsun would just hide you away forever, never to be seen again.

okay, so he was panicking.

it was just... atsumu was in love with you. he’d known for a while (way longer than he’d like to admit) and he selfishly thought he’d have more time with you so that he could work up the courage to confess. but now? you were like three boxes away from a distance that he didn’t know if he or your relationship could recover from.

it wasn’t that he was bad at long distance but the tragic events that the house brought, brought the two of you closer together and he didn’t want to lose that.

atsumu let out a groan and dropped his head against the wall, his mind running with scenario after scenario, all ending in failure and utter embarrassment.

“hey, you okay?” you called out, a large box cradled delicately in your arms. as atsumu turned from the plaster in front of him, he allowed himself a moment to take you in.

you were wearing short athletic shorts, worn converses, and his t shirt. a thin sheen of sweat covered your skin, the lights above reflecting off of it, giving you a warm glow.

of course you looked hot moving boxes.

you called his name again in concern and he immediately felt his heart clench in guilt. you’d already been through so so much and here he was fantasizing about you instead of being there for you like a good friend would.

atsumu let out a sigh and shot you a wide, albeit empty, smile before walking over to you and taking the box out of your hands. the furrow in your brows told him you saw through his expression but he ignored it and made a show of lifting your box above his head and carrying it to mattsun’s car.

“see, what would ya do without these guns angel?” he joked, placing the cardboard into the trunk. you rolled your eyes and poked him in the side playfully. “die, probably.”

the butterflies in his stomach kicked up at the underlying sincerity in your voice but he tried his best to overlook it. it was much harder than it seemed, especially when you looked at him with such fondness in your gaze that made him want to kiss you senseless.

gulping hard, he quickly turned away from you, busying himself with fitting your things in the truck like a game of tetris.

“atsumu.” your voice was firm but pleading and he didn’t dare look at you for fear of spilling everything right then and there. “wow, ya sure got a lot of stuff, huh? wonder how much of this was bought with ushijima’s money,” he started to ramble but thankfully he was interrupted by makki whooping as he walked out of the house.

“last box bitches!” you shot atsumu one final worried look before running over to makki and mattsun, yelling the whole way there.

atsumu was grateful your back was to him because he couldn’t hide the affectionate look that overtook his face, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he watched you hip bump your friends while cackling wildly.

god, he was so in love with you.

what was he going to do when you moved out and away? what if you found someone, someone how loved you as much as he did (not possible)? he would wish for your happiness even at the expense of his own but... what if you both could be happy?

caught up in his thoughts, atsumu didn’t register you saying your goodbyes to the remaining members until you were finally in front of him.

“i’m gonna miss living with you tsum.” you unceremoniously launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. his heart leapt violently at the contact and he prayed to every deity above that you didn’t hear it underneath your head.

he barely managed to hug you back before you pulled away, your eyes slightly teary and red. “um, well, makki and mattsun are waiting for me so uh,” you trailed off looking back at the van and your friends who were so (im)patiently waiting for you to join them.

atsumu’s breath quickened as you scooted a bit away from him, truly getting ready to leave. no, no, it couldn’t end like this, awkward and distant. no, he wasn’t going to let it.

“atsumu?” you asked worriedly, reaching out a hand to touch him when he didn’t respond but he couldn’t hear you. he felt hot all over, like he was going to explode or magically combust if he didn’t get the words out into the air.

“tsum, are you oka-“ “i’m in love with ya.”

you paused, shock written clearly all over your face. the fear of rejection slammed into atsumu like a brick, the feeling settling in the pit of his stomach like a rock but he still didn’t stop.

“i’m in love with ya and i have been for forever. yn, yer beautiful but yer face and body aren’t even the best part of ya, even though they’re pretty damn great. yer just-“

“tsum-“

“-yer so kind, especially when ya don’t need ta be. yer badass but ya care fer others so deeply and ya make me wanna be a better person. ya make me a better person. i know ya-“

“tsumu please-“

“-ya probably don’t feel the same and that’s alright but i needed ta tell ya, before ya leave and fall in love with some other scrub, just in case we can be happy together and-“

all of a sudden, your hands were buried in his shirt and you were pulling him close to meet your lips with his, your mouths meshing together in a soft and passionate kiss.

bliss. atsumu was in sheer bliss. your lips were as soft as he thought they would be as they moved with his, his hands coming up to grip your waist and pull you even closer to him.

sooner than he would have liked, his lungs started burning for air so he pulled back but not very far, instead resting his forehead against yours.

“i was trying to tell you i liked you too, idiot,” you muttered, your eyes still closed as you spoke. he chuckled, a wide grin overtaking his entire face as he really took in what you were saying.

you liked him back. you liked him. holy shit.

but instead of saying any of that, he decided to tease you a bit. “just like? if i recall, i just confessed my undying love for ya.”

you pulled back with a faux scoff, hitting him in the arm with a huff. “shut up you ass. of course i love you too.” you couldn’t keep your real smile off your cheeks while you confessed, your soft expression bringing another wave of desire over atsumu’s body.

“can, can i take ya inside angel?” he allowed his true intentions to be heard in his words, your eyes widening when you figured out what he meant. you nodded vigorously before shooting a look to makki and mattsun. mattsun just waved you off and got into his truck while makki yelled, “get that dick!”

you heated up horribly, grabbing atsumu’s hand and pulling him towards the house and to his room. he allowed himself to be dragged along, sending winks to the other boys as he went until the two of you were standing right in front of his door.

“i love ya,” he whispered, lifting your hand to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. you grinned. “love you too tsum.”

that must have been the final straw because the minute the words left your mouth, he was on you.

••• smut begin•••

pressing you up against the door, atsumu ravaged your mouth, his tongue tangling with yours as he walked you backwards into his room, laying you down on the bed so that he was hovering over you, his hips pressing hard against yours.

instinctively, you ground up into him, rewarding you with a loud groan and a gasp of your name. “fuck angel, yer killing me here,” he laughed breathlessly, rolling his hardness against your thigh. you let out a breathy moan and tangled your hands in his hair to bring him back down to your lips.

as you continued to kiss him, his hands scrambled at your waist, pushing his hands under it to grope at your chest. you giggled at the cold of his fingers but he didn’t pay it any mind, moving down from your mouth to your neck, sucking dark marks into the sensitive skin there.

“ah, shit tsumu,” you tilted your head to the side to give him more access, just as he reached under your bra to tease your nipples. a startled gasp left you, your back arching into his careful touch. “that feel good angel?” atsumu asked, voice low and gravelly as he pinched the delicate bud, drawing another noise from your throat.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. you bit your bottom lip while he pulled your shirt and bra off, tossing them somewhere in the room. as he scanned your half naked body, he noticed you quieting yourself and he lightly shook his head. his thumb found its way to your lip, carefully pulling it from between your teeth.

“wanna hear ya angel, let me hear yer pretty noises, yeah?” without letting you respond, atsumu dove back into your chest, suckling one of your nipples into his mouth while toying with the other, a sigh of his name sending a bolt of arousal straight to his loins.

he grinded against you absentmindedly, losing himself in you, eventually switching sides to give the same treatment to your neglected bud.

while atsumu seemed to be having the time of his life attached to your tit, you were getting impatient, your arousal completely soaking through your underwear. you needed more.

tangling your fingers in his blond locks, you attempted to tug him away from your chest but his reaction was unlike anything you could’ve expected. “aahh!” he let out a strangled whine, his hips bucking against your side.

“please, tsumu, need more,” you breathed, his needy reaction not lost on you as pulled his hair a bit harder. you were not disappointed as his eyes rolled back and his mouth opened in a silent moan before dropping his head to your shoulder.

“fuck, fuck, okay angel, i got ya, i got ya.” atsumu swiftly disposed of both yours and his bottoms and underwear before lifting your leg and positioning himself at your entrance.

“tell me if i hurt ya, alright? i love ya,” he smiled down on you, your heart swelling two times at his carefulness. “i love you too,” you replied, watching as his pupils grew and a low groan broke free from his chest.

“oh angel, ‘m gonna ruin ya.” that was the last thing he said before he pushed into you, both of you letting out whimpers as he stretched you open, the blunt head of his cock just a few centimeters shy of your cervix.

your back arched in pleasure, both of your hands scrambling until they found purchase on his back, your nails digging in just when he started to thrust shallowly into you.

“f-fuck, how’re ya s-so fuckin’ tight?” atsumu growled through gritted teeth, every word punctuated with a roll of his hips. you couldn’t respond as you were too overwhelmed with pleasure, his cock rubbing against your g-spot with every slow movement.

speaking of slow, he was moving way too leisurely for your tastes. you needed him to move faster and you knew exactly how to do it.

sliding your hand up from his back, you grabbed a good chunk of hair from the back of his head and pulled. his reaction was immediate and oh-so gratifying.

an honest to god whimper poured from his lips and he instantly thrusted all the way into you, his length driving into your g-spot perfectly. you both let out twin moans as he started rocking into consistently, every movement bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

“i love ya, i love ya so fuckin’ much, angel—shit—yer so amazing, i love ya,” atsumu rambled while pounding into you, deep curses and whines of your name interspersed with his declarations of love. if you could speak, you would reciprocate but you were too busy holding on for dear life as he fucked you into oblivion.

desperate for some kind of anchor to reality, you grasped onto his locks again, gripping tightly as drawn-out cries of his name slipped from your open lips. you were close, so close and he knew it too.

“feel ya clenchin’ around me like a good girl, ya gonna cum fer me? gonna cum fer me angel?” atsumu’s hand snaked down between your bodies to rub fast circles on your clit, a shaky sob finding its way out into the open air.

“oh shit, yeah, ‘m g-gonna cum for you tsum, ‘s all for you,” you moaned, clamping down on him sporadically as you started to cum, your vision whiting out and your thighs trembling while you gushed around him.

your mind was floating off when you felt him cum with a shout, his warmth flooding you and spilling out as he collapsed onto your chest.

••• smut over •••

the two of you lied there for a while, attempting to regain your brain and feeling in your legs. you vaguely made note of the wet rag cleaning between your thighs and the following weight falling down beside you but it was only after a few more minutes that you really came back to yourself, rolling over to lay on atsumu’s bare chest.

“holy shit, tsumu,” you said in awe, your boyfriend (!!) laughing at your reaction. “i’m just that good angel, what can i say?”

you groaned and hit him in the chest but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face if you tried. “you are such a menace!”

“only fittin’ that i picked a gremlin ta be with then,” atsumu teased while playing with a piece of your hair. mock offense filled your chest as you sat up, fixing him with your ‘angriest’ glare.

“is that the kind of language you’ll be using in your vows, mister?” you were only joking but when atsumu’s eyes widened and a blush spread across his cheeks, you realized your mistake.

you opened your mouth to apologize or to make some kind of excuse but he beat you to the punch. “ya wanna marry me angel?” he asked, looking so vulnerable with hope shining in his brown irises. you couldn’t bear to lie.

“of course tsum, you’re it for me,” you reached out a hand to caress his cheek and he leaned into it, his own coming up to cup yours and hold it against his face.

“good.” and that was the end of that, that evening’s... extraneous activities having thoroughly tired to the point that you fell completely asleep with your face against one of his pecs.

if you had stayed awake a little longer, you would’ve seen atsumu pull out his phone and start a new note titled, “my angel.”

if i just said i loved you, it would be an understatement. it would be like saying the sun’s surface is just a bit warm or that the arctic is just a little chilly. it would be an injustice to you and to how i truly feel about you. love—

“-is a word that is much too soft and used far too often ta ever describe the fierce, infinite and blazing passion that i have in my heart for ya angel. ya acknowledge my strengths and ya accept my faults. ya make me wanna be a better person every day. so, today i vow ta laugh with ya and comfort ya during times of joy and times of sorrow. i promise ta always pursue ya, ta fight for ya, and love ya unconditionally and wholeheartedly for the rest of my life. ya are my best friend and i’m the luckiest person on earth ta call ya mine- wait are ya crying?"

the audience burst into laughter as you frantically tried to wipe away your tears, punching atsumu softly on the arm. “of course i am, you ass.”

the officiant cleared his throat, grabbing both of your attentions. “it is the bride’s turn to give her vows. if you may?”

you nodded and atsumu already felt like crying. again. he’d cried that morning while getting dressed and then again when you walked down the aisle in the most beautiful dress he had ever seen. now, as he watched you pull a folded piece of paper out of your bra, he knew he’d made the right decision in confessing to you, all those years ago.

he also knew he was definitely going to cry again.

“atsumu, falling for you wasn’t falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing that you’re home. today, i want to make you promises that i will always keep. i promise to never stop holding your hand or accepting your kisses. i promise to not hit you too hard when you insult me or call me a gremlin. i promise to share my food with you, to never go to bed angry, and to try and understand your obsession with professional men’s volleyball. i promise to love, respect, protect and trust you, and give you the best of myself, for i know that together we will build a life far better than either of us could imagine alone. i choose you. i’ll choose you over and over and over, without pause, without doubt, i’ll keep choosing you.

i used to never truly enjoy moments because i was always waiting for what's next. the next thing horrible thing to happen. now that i have you, i enjoy the moment. every moment.

today seems like it's the start of a new journey, but i already belong to you. falling for you wasn't falling at all—it was walking into a house and knowing you're home. i love you.”

and at least in this lifetime

we’re sticking together

me and my husband

we’re sticking together

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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waspenned · 2 years

Text

scenes from an italian restaurant • part five • peter parker

being his friend wasn’t as hard as you thought it was. knowing you both, though, it’s only a matter of time before one of you ends up ruining it • 4k

warnings: nuffin

now playing: new york state of mind by billy joel

part one / previous / next

a/n: CAN U TELL IM RUNNING OUT OF RELEVANT BILLY JOEL SONGS but we move we move we move ALSO the next part needs to be written but uni is still uni-ing BUT im making good progress w my Big Deadlines!!!! also if u want to be notified when I post fic my taglist is here!! the song pete plays is speed racer by her’s. :)

Being Peter’s friend isn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be.

It was oddly tentative and gentle, like you were some sort of rescue animal that he didn’t want to scare, but you didn’t necessarily mind. You liked that you were taking it slow, even though you’d seen Peter typing away on his phone during breaktimes, adding random questions to ask you to a list that was already miles long. The questions he did ask were mercifully vague and simple, beginner stuff like your favourite colour, and your favourite TV show; it was nice and easy, you didn’t have much of ‘nice and easy’ in your life.

The whole ‘one question a day’ thing had turned out to be quite fun, and you were now the proud keeper of Peter’s most precious secrets; such as his birthday, the existence of an Aunt May, and a phone number. You’d initially been reluctant to open things up outside of the diner, but so far it had been nothing but pictures of cats he saw on his walks, and (nearly as) beautiful photographs of the Manhattan skyline, so you supposed it was worth it. It was a lovely little surprise every time, a new stroke of paint on the canvas of Peter Parker, and it had become something to look forward to when you saw you were on shift together.

And sure, maybe he did end up knowing Spider-Man, but he’d promised you that he didn’t tell him any of the stuff you said in the pantry, and that was good enough for you. He’d assured you many times that Spider-Man wouldn’t care about what you’d said - not that you were too bothered about it, but you supposed that if you were to be on any of Spider-Man’s ‘sides’, you may as well be in his good books, just in case. You’d been tempted to ask about Spider-Man himself, as your Question, but you’d given it a good think over and decided that you’re only supposed to be invading Peter’s privacy, not Spider-Man’s.

All in all, it was going quite well. Since Christmas, you’d been promoted to manager, which meant absolutely nothing in terms of pay or responsibility, just that you were now entitled to be even bossier than usual, which was greatly welcomed. It’s great - until the rota comes out for the last week of January, and you’re on the closing shift on Saturday.

And if it couldn’t get any worse, Peter’s name is printed next to yours in what seems to be the boldest, blackest ink you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Don’t get you wrong, you like Peter, you can admit that now, freely. But it’s all been a bit confusing trying to figure out whether it’s a friend-like or a like-like - a closing shift together would ruin all of the progress you’d made. The last time you were alone together you, well, you remember it well.

That stupid kiss seems to haunt your dreams. Sometimes you wake up in a cold sweat, the ghost of his fingers tangled in your hair, your stomach sinking at the realisation you were no longer in that moment. Sure, it may have been one of your biggest mistakes, but Goddamn if you don’t think about it every day, and wish that it had gone on for just a millisecond longer. One more second, and you’d be happy, even though you wanted to be greedy and keep him there forever. There was an absence of him that you were feeling, through to your core; not all at once, but in waves that ebb and surge against your spine.

All of a sudden, he’s appeared at your side, like usual, looking at the shift schedule. You’ve learnt to just expect him to be there now, even though he’s as quiet as a fucking mouse and it makes you jump every time. He needs a haircut, you think, but you’d miss the little duck-tail curls at the nape of his neck, tickling the collar of his uniform. They’d been soft when you’d held the back of his head, pulling his lips to yours as you’d held him against the wall in the alley, wanting to grab a fistful and tug. If you’d just had a little bit more time, if you’d been thinking clearly, you would have-

“Well, lookie here.” He says and he snaps you out of whatever Campari-hazed daydream you’d been living in, all self-satisfied, holding a hand across his brow and squinting at the rota board. He’s being annoying as per usual, inching closer towards the sheet and following your name with his finger, sounding it out. “I wonder who that is. I hope I’m not all alone on the closing shift with a stranger.”

“Shut up, man.” The rest of your coworkers are clearing off, grumbling about opening shifts, and people they don’t like working with, but Peter seems to want to keep you from wiping down the tables - not that you’re complaining, that shit was boring as hell. He pokes at you, and you smack him away, watching him pull out his phone to mark the new shifts in his calendar.

“And just after I finally unlocked friendship status. This is devastating.”

“Dude, what?” Sal is staring at you through the service hatch, doused in flour, and points to the spray bottle of table cleaner on the back counter. You roll your eyes, then pick it up and pretend to start cleaning until he disappears again. Peter is still keying in his shift times when you chuck the bottle and rag down in the cleaning kit.

“‘The day I’m on the closing shift with you is the day we’re not friends anymore.’ That’s what you said at the Christmas- I mean, the Multi-faith Festive Coworker Gathering.” Huh. You don’t have much memory of saying it, granted, you’d sacrificed precious memory space for other more important parts of that night, but Peter certainly doesn’t need to know that. Still, you decide to stick to past-you’s guns, and double down on whatever spite was driving you that evening.

“And I stand by it.” He seems to think you’re joking, but you kind of aren’t. It’s been a while since you’d been left alone together; in fact, you’d been trying to avoid it, and there was no telling what would happen. It was stupid really, but there was this odd vibe between you two, humming with tension, and it was almost always worse when you were vaguely alone. Once, you’d bumped into him at the walk-in when you’d been sent to unload the grocer’s delivery, and the atmosphere had been crazy.

“Is this new?” He’d said, gesturing to your hair, before hooking those stupid, strong hands under the pine slats and lifting the weight from you like it was nothing. It was new, ever so slightly, and you’d been surprised he’d even noticed, considering your hair was stifled by the diner cap for hours at a time. You’d been a little lost for words, distracted by the way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows and how his hair fell in front of his eyes, a streak of passata across the apple of his cheek and his hands dusted with flour. Sal was shouting him from the kitchen - he must have been in the middle of making pizzas, but he’d come to help you anyway. There’s just no way he was allowed to be that pretty, and you’d still found him pretty when he’d laughed at the dumbfounded look on your face, throwing you a wink.

“Oh, what, you like the kitchen look? Eau de pomodoro?” For fuck’s sake, and now he had the audacity to speak Italian again; he had to want you dead. His accent was getting better, and it was something close to Hell for you to hear him speak it. God must have known you’d be too powerful, that’s why he had to give you a weakness in the form of being attracted to Peter Parker; just to level the field and make it fair.

But current Peter, the Peter he is when he’s around other people, and not the Peter he is when he’s alone with you, has taken up wiping down the counter for you, waiting for you to speak. You haven’t really got anything to say to him, your train of thought clouded by whatever possessed him to have a smile that may as well be illegal.

“You’re not allowed to play any of your stupid indie shit. We will suffer in silence and be done as quickly as possible; do you understand me?”

“I thought you liked my music-”

“Do you understand me?” Peter pulls some odd, sheepish face at the sudden intensity of your voice, tucking his chin to his chest. It takes him a second to answer, and he draws the syllables out reluctantly.

“Ye-e-e-es…”

“Then we won’t have any problems. It’ll just be a normal closing shift, and everything will be fine.”

Then Saturday comes and it is, most decidedly, not a normal closing shift.

Peter starts blasting his stupid indie shit the second the last of your coworkers walks out of the door. You’re armed with the keys to the diner, ready to come at him with all the force you’ve got in your exhausted, pizza-scented body, watching him use a mop as a fake microphone. Mercifully, it’s only short - some fast-paced sixties sounding thing with a fuzzy quality, though you’re not quite sure if that’s the speakers - so you don’t see much of a performance before it’s over. You like Peter, you really do, but his awful attempts at the high notes start up a twitch in your eye, and it only intensifies watching him whip around his waiter’s cloth, pretending to dab stage sweat from his face.

“Thank you very much, I’ll be here all night.”

“I hate you so much.”

“Join in!”

“Die.” He’s barely offering up a fake pout before you’re snatching the mop from him and resting it against the counter. The floor is as mucky and perpetually sticky as ever, but Sal still insists on people wiping it down, even though it makes absolutely no difference. “You have to put this all shit away, and then we have to actually clean the place, dude. I want to be home before midnight.”

He’s tailing you as you head into the kitchen again, intercepting you by scrambling over the counter and catching you on the other side, a hand on your upper arm. It’s small, a flash of contact with him, but your stomach drops at the sensation of it. Every single thing with this guy feels like a bullet to the chest, and he doesn’t even know.

“You don’t want to eat the leftover fries first?”

Well, now that he mentions it, it would be a waste.

It was a stupid decision, you knew that the second you made it, because you had now spent entirely too long sat up on the counter, devouring a plate of fries between you. And it was not worth it, those things were gross and soggy, yet neither of you could stop eating them, chewing in near silence save for the distant murmur of Peter’s music. He’s straddling the tabletop of the counter, the aglets of his untied laces clinking against the metal of the stools as he swings his legs. You have your legs crossed, shoes kicked onto the floor to prevent germs transferring to the surface, drenched in the harsh, fluorescent overhead lighting.

“I’ve always wanted to sit on the counter.” He says after a while, muffled by a mouthful of grease and salt and potato; and you nod at him, watching him shovel more of the pathetic things into his mouth. “Like in the movies.”

“I’ve only gotten to do it a few times.” It seems you've reached your endpoint with the fries, because the next one you pick up is barely solid, and you throw it back down to the plate, face wrinkled in disgust. “Blegh, why are fries always gross when they’re cold?”

“Well, they’re starches.”

“Yes, and?”

“Starches need hydration to taste good, which can only really be absorbed when they’re hot. After they cool down, the moisture leaves the starches and goes into the crust, which makes them soggy; also- what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He’s barely done with his mini science lesson before he notices the way you’re staring at him, practically speechless. It’s entertaining to see him suddenly become bashful, hiding behind the limpest fry you’ve ever seen, used as an example not two seconds prior. He only dares to probe further when you start chuckling to yourself, shaking your head.

“What? What is it? What did I do now?”

“Dude, you need to quit this job.”

“Because I know fry science?”

“No, because you deserve better. You have this crazy genius brain and you’re so nice to everyone even though they yell at you, and you decide you want to work here?”

You’ve been sitting on this for a while, since you found out just how insanely smart he was, and the extent of his college education. You were desperate to know how this man was pulling all As at one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and was still finding time to mess around on the closing shift with you. At first, you were impressed, but that soon gave way to disappointment; not towards him but on his behalf, that he’d been forced into a minimum wage job to afford to live instead of being allowed to just enjoy his time at college and invent robots, or whatever the hell it was he did. He’s frowning at you slightly, but he’s got that moony-eyed expression again, when he gets a compliment he doesn’t know how to accept.

“You’re smart, man, you’re too good for a diner.”

“But this is good!” Peter has always been far too enthusiastic about the diner as a whole, you think, to the extent where his relentlessly positive attitude severely unnerved you for the first few weeks of knowing him. He’s all animated in the body, eyes bright and warm like amberstones, like he’s just seen colour for the first time. “Joe’s is a cultural landmark - best pizza in the country!”

“Bestie, you think the job is worth all this shit because we have good pizza?”

“No- look.” He scrabbles around in his apron pocket for his phone, then scrolls for a moment, eyes scanning over the screen. It takes a second, but then he lights up with recognition, and flips the device so you can see whatever relic he’s unearthed from his camera roll.

There’s a picture of a young boy, around seven or eight with an older man, sitting in what is unmistakably the corner table by the back wall of Joe’s, the photo wall looking considerably barer behind the two of them. It must have been taken a while ago, even all of the pre-fire decor in the background looked considerably newer than it did when you’d started working there. They’re smiling over a pizza, the child expressively wielding a cutting wheel, and the man trying to subtly prevent him from slicing anyone’s eyes out. It’s only when you look closer that you see a sliver of a familiar, awful scarf among the coats and jackets in the back of the picture, that the kid suddenly bears a striking resemblance to the man sitting in front of you.

“Holy shit, that’s you?”

“That’s me and my Uncle Ben. We used to come here all the time on Fridays after school.”

“Ugly Scarf Uncle Ben?” He lets you take the phone from his hand, and you zoom in on the kid’s face, holding it up next to Peter’s to compare the two. It feels like you’ve been handed something priceless and private, worth more than anything else in the world - your own personal Mona Lisa. He was a cute kid, the same lopsided smile as the bigger version, but his hair was longer and messier now, a thatch of brown curls and fuzz where it’s been slept on funny. “You were a cute kid, what went wrong?”

“Shut up, I’m trying to give you backstory here.” He’s laughing, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, as always. Something about his laugh made you want to drop everything and just breathe it in, to witness and savour it. “It was special. Everyone here was always so happy, I mean, look at the photo wall.”

Sal has, to your very vocal disdain, printed and hung the staff photo from the party, your expression looking even redder and bashful as if out of spite. Peter makes his debut on the wall behind you, grinning away as usual, and strung between you and Sal like he’d always been part of the Joe’s family. It would have been a great picture, if he’d decided to keep his mouth shut for just a millisecond longer. Somehow, though, you still manage to look happier than last year, quite comfortable tucked under Peter’s arm, and the ghost of a smile still hidden behind the wide-eyed surprise on your face. Across from you, Peter is looking at the photo, smiling to himself, completely lost behind the eyes.

“Well, why doesn’t he come anymore? He didn’t like the Great Sauce Change of 2016?”

“He actually passed away a few years ago.”

Ah, fuck, that really does explain a lot. He’d been talking about his aunt more often these days, and you really should’ve picked up on the absence of an uncle, especially considering how much he’s been toting around that awful scarf all winter. Shit, you were so mean about the scarf - your gut twists in discomfort, fighting the urge to cringe at all the times you'd ragged on him about it. This is why you needed to learn how to hold your tongue.

“Oh, Peter.” You’re doing that tone of voice you know that you’d hate, but it’s almost involuntary at this point, and you’re not really sure what else you can say about it. It’s odd; you feel useless about it, in the mammoth shadow of his grief, but there really isn't anything you can do. There’s nothing to fix. “I’m sorry, man, I know saying that does jack shit, but-“

“No, it’s fine. I get what you’re trying to say.” He’s shrugging and fidgeting with the fries; ripping them in half, peeling the crust, pretending to stub them out on the surface of the plate like cigarettes. “I like this job because I get to give that to other kids, y’know? That time with their family or their friends. It means a lot.”

“I’ve never thought about it like that.” Peter looks up at you, gifts you a small smile, and returns to playing with his food. He’s stacking them now, building an odd-looking, greasy Jenga tower.

“It’s like I owe a lot of people a lot of different things-“

“We’re all in debt to the government, Pete, there’s no need to mince words.”

“No, not government debt it’s… different. Like a people debt.” He’s all soft in the face again, a slight knot in his brow with concentration, the glow of the streetlights casting a warm glow across his cheeks and shining on his eyelashes. The world outside is otherwise dark, but you’re safe in this little, bright cocoon with Peter, watching his hands work, as you usually are. He is, unfortunately, perhaps the prettiest person you’ve ever met, and so very, incredibly interesting to listen to. Something in your stomach turns; you need to put a stop to these thoughts, no matter how nice they might be to indulge, because you’d only just become his friend, and there was no way in hell you were ruining that.

“I get to pay my debt through serving the best pizza in the world, and I get to spend some time with my uncle. It’s a win-win. Also, my other job is stressful as hell, and it’s nice to come in here and have the biggest problem in my life be a mozzarella shortage.” He’s done with his tower, because it falls over for the third time and he seems to give up. He looks up at you, checking you’re done with the fries, then leaves the counter to sweep the rest into the trash. “It’s low risk; sure, I get yelled at, but nobody dies.”

“What the fuck is your other job? It sounds dramatic as shit.” It’s a lame attempt at brightening the mood, but it works, a smile breaking out on his face and laughter rumbling through him. “What are you, Spider-Man?-”

“I’m not having the Spider-Man conversation with you again!” Peter rolls his eyes at you, then nudges you with the rim of the plate, signalling for you to get off of the counter. You dismount, then follow him as he circles the diner, collecting the used plates and crockery. In the far corner, while you’re stacking up glasses, he gets distracted by the staff photo, grinning to himself as he looks it over. He spends a lot of time there, when you think about it, pointing himself out to customers and then pointing you out and laughing, making jokes and people-pleasing like he usually does. Once, you’d interrogated him about what he’d told them, and he just shrugged at you, miming zipping his lips like the first time you’d met him. You’d even asked the customers and apparently he’d sworn them to secrecy or something, because they wouldn’t budge.

“You gonna take advantage of your new managership to break the staff photo and blackmail me to stay quiet?” He says, tapping on the glass, and you frown at him, using your waiter’s napkin to wipe the fingerprints from the glass. Someone should dust these, the newest one is already a bit gross along the top of the frame. You hate the photo, but there’s not really any point in destroying it, because everything was digitised now. Maybe you could have gotten away with it a few years ago, before Sal had gotten his head around how phones work, but knowing him, he probably doesn’t know how to delete stuff, and it would just keep getting reprinted and replaced. Besides, it was the only souvenir you had of the party, aside from the hangover to end all hangovers you’d had to nurse for three days straight.

“Nah, I’m quite fond of it now.” One of the forks is slipping from the stack of plates in your hand, but Peter manages to catch it and put it in his own pile, without even a glance in its direction. He was weird like that, he had these creepily good reflexes, but you supposed it was just a genetic thing. He finishes his examination of the photo, then turns to catch your gaze, the moment quickly softening like syrup.

“It was a good night.”

There’s a second between you, where you’ve captured each other, and then you break from it, clearing throats and turning away, hiding bashful faces. Your heart is thrumming quick and fast in your chest, and practically rattles the dishes in your grasp, stirring the chipped, patterned ceramic into a frenzied racket. Peter takes them from you into his sturdy grip, and the brush of his fingers against yours sets your mind scrambling for something to change the subject, wiping the sensation of him away on your apron.

“Right, let’s get the cleaning supplies out before we bump into the morning shift.” You’re turning to leave, and he’s following you, making a detour to dump the dishes in the sink and practically running to catch up to you as you open the door to the pantry, calling your name. It’s odd to keep the cleaning supplies in the same place as the food, but there’s not really much space in the restaurant to do anything else with them - and it’s not like someone’s gonna accidentally put bleach in the pasta sauce. He’s fumbling with his words as you flick the light on, and then he shuts the door behind the two of you, enclosing you.

“Do you ever think about it?” Peter’s on edge, the whole sentence tumbling out of him in a haphazard tangle, and you’re already jumping to wild, inappropriate conclusions about what’s making him so nervous. You want it to be you, but you take a breath, hoping he doesn’t see the shaking in your hands.

“The morning shift? Not really, I try to think about it as little as possible. Law of attraction and all that-” The cleaning box is in your hands, you’re so close to being free of this cursed, cramped space, where all you can smell is him and his detergent and whatever he’s been helping Sal out with, but there’s the clatter of plastic as Peter sets his hands on your upper arms, turning you around to face him. The contact burns, burying into your bones, and festering into a deep ache. When he speaks, your blood runs cold.

“No. The kiss.”

Ah, so you were doing this earlier than you thought. Great.

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