mo !

synopsis : yn, a graphic designer battling a stubborn creative block, finds solace in the familiar hum of her favorite coffee shop, "the daily grind." her routine is pleasantly disrupted by the frequent, albeit quiet, presence of a certain musician – dominic fike. their paths cross in a series of fleeting moments, from shared glances over oat milk lattes to accidental brushes in the sugar aisle. as yn grapples with a looming deadline and dominic searches for a fresh spark of inspiration, an unexpected connection begins to brew, proving that sometimes, the most profound echoes are found in the simplest, everyday spaces.

parings : dominic fike x fem!graphicdesinger!reader.

warnings : none… pure fluff for once and a touch of realism lmao.

wc : 1.5k.

mon’s note ⭑.ᐟ : i decided to like finally make a dom fic because i don’t have any at all lmao, just elliot lowkey… this is so short im sorrrrrryyyyyyyy !

the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the distant clatter of ceramic on saucers were the only constants in yn’s currently chaotic life. her laptop screen glared back at her, a blank canvas mocking her creative drought. for weeks, the vibrant energy that usually fueled her graphic design work had simply… evaporated. she’d tried everything: late-night brainstorming sessions, early-morning walks, even a desperate attempt at interpretive dance. nothing.

so, she retreated to her sanctuary: "the daily grind," a small, independently-owned coffee shop nestled on a sun-drenched corner of silver lake.

she sat at her usual table by the window, nursing a lukewarm oat milk latte, her sketchbook open but untouched. outside, the los angeles afternoon was a blur of muted gold and hurried footsteps. inside, the low murmur of conversations and the soft strum of an acoustic guitar playlist created a comforting white noise.

then, he walked in.

dominic fucking fike.

yn had seen him here before, often. always in a hat, sometimes a beanie pulled low, sometimes a faded baseball cap. today, it was a worn, olive green cap, shadowing eyes that always seemed to be observing, processing. he wore a vintage band tee and cargo pants that looked like they’d seen a thousand adventures. he moved with a kind of languid grace, a quiet hum of energy that was both captivating and surprisingly unassuming.

he ordered his usual – a black coffee, no fuss – and then settled into a corner booth, pulling out a battered notebook and a pen. he was a creature of habit, it seemed, just like her. yn tried to pretend she wasn't watching, tried to refocus on the non-existent design ideas swirling in her head, but her gaze kept drifting. he was scribbling furiously, then pausing, staring into space, a faint frown creasing his brow. a creative block, perhaps? the thought brought a strange sense of camaraderie.

days bled into weeks, and their shared space at the daily grind became a silent ritual. yn would arrive, find her spot, and eventually, dominic would appear. sometimes he’d be on a call, his voice a low, melodic rumble she couldn’t quite decipher. other times, he’d just be listening to music, his head nodding almost imperceptibly to an unheard beat. she learned his habits: he always stirred his coffee with the same small, silver spoon, always left a generous tip, and always, always had that notebook open.

one tuesday, the café was unusually busy. yn, finally having a breakthrough on a client’s logo design, was so engrossed that she didn't notice the spill until it was too late. Her oat milk latte, knocked by an unwitting elbow, cascaded across her table, narrowly missing her laptop but soaking her sketchbook.

"oh, crap," she muttered, scrambling for napkins.

a hand appeared, holding a stack of pristine white paper towels. "here, let me get that."

it was dominic. he was kneeling beside her, his cap pushed back slightly, revealing a few unruly curls. His eyes, a warm hazel, held a gentle concern.

"oh, thank you," yn stammered, feeling a blush creep up her neck. up close, he was even more striking, and surprisingly, less intimidating. he smelled faintly of fresh laundry and something musky, like sandalwood.

he efficiently helped her mop up the mess, his movements quick and decisive. "rough day?" he asked, a small, sympathetic smile playing on his lips.

yn let out a frustrated sigh. "rough month, honestly. creative block from hell. and now my only good pen is probably swimming in oat milk." she gestured to the sodden sketchbook.

he chuckled, a low, pleasant sound. "i know the feeling. the muse is a fickle beast." he paused, then gestured to the empty seat opposite her. "mind if i…?"

"please," yn said, surprised and a little thrilled.

he sat down, leaning back comfortably. "what kind of work do you do?"

"graphic design," yn replied, feeling a spark of something new – genuine interest – ignite within her. "logos, branding, album art sometimes… when the ideas flow, that is." she eyed his notebook. "what about you? looks like you're in the thick of it too."

he picked up her ruined pen, testing it. "yeah, music. songwriting. trying to find a new angle for this next project. everything sounds… recycled." he tossed the pen back onto the table. "definitely dead."

"oh shit… bummer." yn said, feeling a strange lightness in her chest. sharing this mundane struggle with him made him feel less like a famous musician and more like… a person. "i usually sketch ideas here. the background noise helps."

"me too," he confessed. "something about the controlled chaos. plus, good coffee." he gestured to her half-empty mug. "let me get you another one. my treat, for the pen casualty."

before she could protest, he was up and at the counter. yn watched him go, a small, genuine smile forming on her face. this was… nice. unexpectedly nice.

he returned with two fresh lattes – an oat milk one for her, and another black coffee for himself. he set them down and then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, pulled a sleek, silver pen from his pocket. "a peace offering for the fallen comrade."

yn laughed, taking the pen. it was heavy and smooth, a professional-grade sketching pen. "wow. this is… generous. thank you."

"think of it as a down payment on inspiration," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "what kind of album art do you usually do?"

they talked for what felt like minutes, but the setting sun painting the café in hues of orange and purple suggested it had been much longer. he asked about her process, her favorite artists, her struggles with clients. yn, in turn, found herself asking about his songwriting, his influences, the stories behind his lyrics. he spoke passionately, his eyes lighting up when he described a particular melody, his brow furrowing when he talked about the pressure of creation.

he was articulate, thoughtful, and surprisingly self-deprecating. there was a genuine curiosity in his questions, a complete lack of pretension that disarmed her completely. she found herself opening up, sharing her anxieties about her stagnant career, her dreams of creating something truly impactful.

"you know," he said, swirling the last of his coffee, "i was actually looking for someone to help with some visuals for a new single. something that feels… raw, a little undone, but still impactful. your style, from what you’ve described, sounds like it could be perfect."

yn’s heart did a little flutter. "really?"

he nodded, a serious expression on his face. "yeah. i’ve been trying to visualize it, but it’s just not clicking. maybe a fresh perspective. yours."

"i’d love to," yn said, the words tumbling out before she could overthink it. the creative block seemed to dissipate, replaced by a surge of adrenaline. the idea of collaborating with dominic fucking fike was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"cool," he grinned, a flash of white teeth. "tell you what. how about we grab dinner sometime this week? we can talk about the project, bounce ideas around. no pressure, just… good food and good conversation."

yn’s mind raced. dinner. with THEE dominic fike. this was definitely not part of her coffee shop ritual. but the thought, instead of inducing panic, filled her with a nervous excitement.

"i’d like that," she said, her voice a little softer than she intended.

he pulled out his phone. "give me your number. we can figure out a day."

as she typed her number into his phone, she felt a thrill ripple through her. he saved it under "yn - daily grind." a small, intimate detail.

"alright, yn from the daily grind," he said, handing back her phone, his fingers brushing hers for a fleeting second. "i'll text you." he pushed back his chair. "thanks for the chat. and for making my creative block feel a little less lonely."

"anytime," yn replied, a warmth spreading through her. "and thank you for the pen. i think it just broke my block."

he winked, then slung his backpack over his shoulder. "glad i could be of service. see ya."

he walked out, leaving yn alone at her table, the scent of coffee and sandalwood lingering. she looked down at her laptop screen, and for the first time in weeks, an idea began to form, vibrant and clear. a raw, undone, impactful visual.

the daily grind, it seemed, wasn't just a place for coffee and quiet contemplation anymore. it was a place where connections brewed, where inspiration found its way through spilled lattes and shared smiles, and where the echoes of a quiet musician could finally meet the rhythm of a graphic designer's heart. and yn, for the first time in a long time, felt a profound sense of anticipation for what tomorrow might bring.

synopsis : elliot has spent months being the place yn runs to when nate jacobs makes her feel small. he listens. he holds space. he hurts quietly. when yn shows up at his door one night—shaking, exhausted, and breaking—elliot realizes that loving her from the sidelines is destroying him. so he makes a choice. and yn does too.

warnings : cheating (emotional + implied physical) toxic relationship dynamics ,, emotional manipulation ,, verbal conflict ,, angst.

wc : 5.6k maybe…?

mon’s note ⭑.ᐟ : this is like… extremely rushed so i’m sorry if it’s so freaking bad…💔

elliot’s room always smells like smoke and something electric.

it’s dim in a way that feels intentional—string lights draped lazily along the wall, a lamp with a burnt-out bulb flickering like it’s on its last breath. the mattress is on the floor, sheets tangled, guitar leaned against the wall like it’s waiting for him to pick it up and bleed into it.

it’s where people come when they don’t know where else to go.

especially yn.

she knocks twice, soft, like she’s already apologizing.

elliot knows it’s her before he even opens the door.

he always does.

she’s standing there in nate’s oversized hoodie, sleeves swallowing her hands, eyes glassy but dry—like she’s already cried all the tears out on the walk over. her mascara is smudged just enough to tell the story without her having to say a word.

“hey,” she says.

that one word hits him straight in the chest.

“hey,” elliot answers, stepping aside to let her in.

she slips past him, familiar, barefoot like she’s done this a hundred times. she drops onto his mattress and pulls her knees to her chest, staring at the floor like it might confess something.

elliot closes the door behind her.

another night.

another fight.

another version of her breaking herself into pieces for someone who never notices.

he leans against the wall instead of sitting next to her. distance is the only thing keeping him alive at this point.

“what happened?” he asks, even though he already knows.

yn laughs quietly, humorless. “what do you think?”

silence stretches.

elliot clenches his jaw.

“did he—” he starts, then stops himself. he doesn’t want the details. he never does. they live in his head rent-free anyway.

she shrugs. “he said i was embarrassing him. again. said i talk too much. said i make things harder than they need to be.”

elliot lets out a breath through his nose.

“you don’t,” he says immediately.

she looks up at him then, eyes sharp. “don’t what?”

“talk too much. make things harder. any of it.”

her expression softens in that way that always ruins him—like his words matter more than they should.

“you don’t have to do this,” she says quietly.

“do what?”

“be on my side every time.”

he almost laughs.

“someone has to be.”

that lands heavier than he expects.

yn looks away again.

this is how it always goes. she comes over hurt, he patches her up with soft words and music and the kind of attention nate never gives her, and then she leaves. goes back to him. pretends elliot is just a friend. pretends elliot doesn’t lie awake replaying the sound of her voice in his head.

he’s so tired of pretending.

“…why do you stay?” elliot asks, before he can stop himself.

yn stiffens.

“what?”

“with him,” elliot clarifies. “why do you stay?”

she exhales slowly. “you know why.”

“no,” he says. “i know the excuses. i don’t know the reason.”

that gets her to look at him again.

“because it’s complicated.”

“everything’s complicated,” elliot says. “that doesn’t mean it’s worth it.”

her voice sharpens. “you think i don’t know that?”

the room tightens.

elliot pushes off the wall, pacing once before stopping in front of her.

“i think,” he says carefully, “that he treats you like shit. and you keep letting him.”

her eyes flash. “don’t.”

“yn—”

“don’t talk about him like that.”

elliot laughs again, this time bitter. “you literally came here because he did it again.”

“that doesn’t give you the right—”

“what?” elliot cuts in. “to care?”

that shuts her up.

they stare at each other, tension thick enough to choke on.

“i’m in love with you,” elliot says.

the words fall out before he can catch them.

yn freezes.

the room goes silent in a way that feels dangerous.

“elliot,” she whispers.

“don’t,” he says now. “don’t say my name like that.”

she stands abruptly, pacing like a trapped animal.

“you can’t say that,” she says. “you can’t do this to me.”

“i didn’t choose it,” elliot snaps. “i just chose not to lie anymore.”

she presses her hands to her face.

“i’m with nate.”

“yeah,” elliot says. “i know.”

“then why—”

“because i’m tired,” he says. “i’m tired of being the place you run to when he hurts you and the place you forget when he decides to be nice again.”

that one hits.

yn’s eyes fill despite herself.

“that’s not fair.”

“neither is watching someone you love get destroyed by someone who doesn’t.”

her breath stutters.

“i never asked you to love me,” she says.

“i know,” elliot replies. “that’s the worst part.”

she looks at him then—really looks at him—and something shifts.

the room feels smaller.

“what do you want from me?” she asks.

elliot steps closer, slow, giving her every chance to pull away.

“i want you to stop thinking this is all you deserve.”

her voice trembles. “and if i can’t?”

“then let me show you something different.”

the silence stretches again, but it’s different now. charged.

yn swallows.

“if i stay,” she says, barely audible, “everything changes.”

elliot nods. “yeah.”

“and i’d be a terrible person.”

“maybe,” he says. “or maybe you’d just be honest for once.”

she closes her eyes.

when she opens them, there’s resolve there. fear, too. but something stronger underneath it.

she steps closer.

not touching. just close enough to feel his breath.

“i hate him,” she admits. “and i hate that i still want him.”

elliot doesn’t flinch. “you don’t want him. you want the idea of him being better.”

that breaks something open.

she leans into him, forehead against his chest.

elliot freezes for half a second—then his arms come up, tentative, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he holds her too tightly.

she doesn’t.

she grips his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“i don’t want to go back tonight,” she whispers.

elliot closes his eyes.

“then don’t.”

that’s all it takes.

she tilts her head up. their faces are inches apart. he can see every freckle, every crack in her armor.

“if this happens,” she says, “there’s no pretending after.”

“good,” elliot says. “i’m done pretending.”

the kiss is slow. hesitant. like they’re both terrified of crossing the line—and equally terrified of not crossing it.

it’s not frantic. it’s not messy.

it’s soft in a way that feels devastating.

monni exhales into him like she’s been holding her breath for months.

elliot’s hands stay respectful, grounding, like he’s proving a point rather than taking something.

when they finally pull apart, her eyes are glassy.

“i can’t believe i did that,” she murmurs.

“yeah,” elliot says quietly. “you can.”

she laughs weakly, then sinks down onto the mattress again. elliot sits beside her this time.

they don’t touch for a minute.

the weight of it all settles.

“what happens tomorrow?” yn asks.

elliot thinks about nate’s face. about the inevitable fallout. about how nothing will ever be simple again.

“tomorrow,” he says, “you make a choice.”

she nods slowly.

then she reaches for his hand.

and this time, elliot doesn’t let go.

synopsis : yn has been elliot's shadow for years—following him through late-night drives, shared cigarettes, and the kind of friendship that feels like it could be everything. But when elliot starts to see her differently, the line between devotion and love becomes dangerously blurred.

paring : elliot x fem!reader.

warnings : drug use & substance abuse ,, smoking/nicotine use ,, alcohol consumption ,, smut ,, emotional manipulation ,, toxic relationship dynamics ,, anxiety & mental health themes ,, profanity ,, codependency themes ,, unrequited feelings/pining.

wc : 7.5k.

the thing about yn was that she never said no.

not to elliot, anyway.

it started small—sharing cigarettes behind the 7-eleven after school, her fingers brushing his when she'd take the marlboro from between his lips. then it was weed, passed back and forth in his car with the windows cracked just enough to let the smoke curl out into the california night. she'd cough sometimes, eyes watering, and he'd laugh—not mean, just amused—and she'd laugh too because making elliot smile felt like winning something.

"you don't have to, you know," he'd said once, early on. they were sixteen, parked outside her house at 2 am, and she'd just taken a hit that made her lungs burn.

"i want to," she'd replied, and it was true. she wanted to do everything he did, be everywhere he was, exist in his orbit like a moon that couldn't break free even if it tried.

now, two years later, nothing had changed. except everything had.

it was a friday night in east highland, which meant the world was painted in neon and bad decisions. yn sat in the passenger seat of elliot's beat-up honda, her converse propped on the dashboard, watching the streetlights blur past. the radio played something low and melancholic—elliot's taste, always—and the air smelled like the joint they'd just finished.

"you coming to the party?" elliot asked, his voice lazy, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

yn turned to look at him. his profile was sharp in the darkness, all angles and shadows, curls falling into his eyes. god, he was beautiful. it hurt sometimes, how beautiful he was.

"whose party?"

"does it matter?"

she smiled. "not really."

"then yeah, you're coming."

it wasn't a question. it never was with elliot. he just assumed she'd follow, and she always did. yn wondered sometimes if he knew—if he could feel the weight of her feelings pressing against every interaction, every shared silence. but if he did, he never said anything. and she was too afraid to ask.

the party was at some senior's house, the kind of place where parents were conveniently absent and the bass was loud enough to rattle your ribcage. yn stuck close to elliot as they moved through the crowd, his hand occasionally finding the small of her back to guide her through the press of bodies.

she tried not to think about how that touch felt. tried and failed.

"want a drink?" he asked, leaning close so she could hear him over the music.

"sure."

he disappeared into the kitchen, and yn found herself alone, surrounded by people she half-knew from school. she recognized faces—maddy perez holding court near the stairs, cassie howard laughing too loud at something, fez and ashtray in the corner looking like they were conducting business.

this was elliot's world. chaotic, beautiful, dangerous. and she loved it because she loved him.

"here." elliot reappeared, pressing a red solo cup into her hand. their fingers touched, and she felt that familiar electric jolt.

"thanks."

they found a spot on a couch that had seen better days, squeezed between other bodies, their thighs pressed together. yn sipped her drink—something strong that burned going down—and tried to focus on anything other than the warmth of elliot's leg against hers.

"you good?" he asked, glancing at her.

"yeah. why?"

"you seem quiet."

she was always quiet around him lately. too afraid that if she opened her mouth, the truth would spill out. i'm in love with you. i've been in love with you for years. every time you touch me, i forget how to breathe.

"just tired," she said instead.

elliot studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his dark eyes, then nodded. "wanna get out of here?"

"already?"

"this party's dead anyway."

yn would have followed him into traffic if he asked. "okay."

they ended up at their spot—a lookout point on the edge of town where you could see the whole valley spread out below, lights twinkling like fallen stars. elliot killed the engine and they sat in comfortable silence, passing a cigarette back and forth.

"can i ask you something?" elliot said eventually.

yn’s heart kicked up. "sure."

"why do you hang out with me?"

the question caught her off guard. "what do you mean?"

"i mean..." he exhaled smoke, watching it dissipate into the night. "you're not like the rest of us, yn. you're sweet. you could be doing literally anything else with your time, but you're always here. with me. why?"

because i love you. because being near you is the only time i feel real. because i'd rather be your shadow than anyone else's sun. she thought but didn’t say.

"you're my best friend," she said quietly. "where else would i be?"

elliot turned to look at her, and there was something in his expression she couldn't quite read. vulnerability, maybe. or confusion. "you ever think about what happens after?"

"after what?"

"after high school. after all this." he gestured vaguely at the world beyond the windshield. "you ever think about leaving?"

the thought of leaving—of being anywhere elliot wasn't—made her chest tight. "sometimes. do you?"

"yeah." he took another drag. "but then i think about what i’d be leaving behind, and i don't know if i could."

"what would you be leaving behind?"

he looked at her again, and this time his gaze held. "you, for one."

yn’s breath caught. the air between them felt suddenly charged, heavy with something unspoken. she could feel her pulse in her throat, in her fingertips, everywhere.

"elliot—"

"i’m serious, yn." his voice was soft, almost uncertain. "you're like... the one good thing i haven't fucked up yet."

she didn't know what to say to that. didn't trust herself to speak without her voice breaking. so instead, she reached out and took his hand, lacing their fingers together.

elliot looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her face. something shifted in his expression—a crack in the armor he always wore. "yn..."

"yeah?"

"i think i've been lying to myself."

her heart was a drum. "about what?"

"about this. about us." he squeezed her hand. "about how i feel when i'm with you."

the world narrowed to just the two of them, sitting in his car under the stars, finally saying the things they'd both been too afraid to voice.

"how do you feel?" yn whispered.

elliot leaned closer, his free hand coming up to cup her face. his thumb brushed her cheekbone, and she shivered. "like i want to stop pretending we're just friends."

and then he kissed her.



kissing elliot was like every drug she'd ever tried with him, all at once—dizzying and addictive and impossible to pull away from. his lips were soft, tasting like smoke and something sweeter, and when his tongue slid against hers, yn made a sound she'd never heard herself make before.

his hand tangled in her hair, angling her head so he could kiss her deeper, and she clutched at his shirt, trying to anchor herself to something solid because she felt like she was floating.

when they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, elliot rested his forehead against hers.

"fuck," he breathed. "we should've done that a long time ago."

yn laughed, shaky and breathless. "yeah?"

"yeah." he kissed her again, softer this time. "i've wanted to for... god, i don't even know how long."

"really?"

"really." he pulled back enough to look at her, his eyes searching hers. "you didn't know?"

she shook her head. "i thought... i thought it was just me."

"just you?" elliot laughed, the sound disbelieving. "yn, i think about you constantly. when i'm high, when i'm sober, when i'm supposed to be thinking about literally anything else. you're always there."

tears pricked at her eyes. "elliot..."

"come here." he pulled her across the center console, maneuvering her until she was straddling his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs. the position was intimate, overwhelming, and yn could feel every point where their bodies touched.

"is this okay?" he asked, hands settling on her hips.

she nodded, not trusting her voice.

elliot smiled—that rare, genuine smile that made her heart stutter—and kissed her again. this time it was slower, more exploratory, like he was learning the shape of her mouth, the taste of her. his hands slid under her shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of her lower back, and yn gasped against his lips.

"you're so soft," he murmured, kissing along her jaw, down her neck. "so fucking perfect."

yn’s head fell back, giving him better access, and she felt him smile against her throat. his teeth grazed her pulse point and she whimpered, her hips rolling forward involuntarily.

elliot groaned. "yn..."

"sorry, i—"

"don't apologize." his grip on her hips tightened. "do it again."

she did, grinding down against him, and felt the hard length of him through his jeans. the knowledge that he wanted her—that this was real—made her bold. she rocked against him again, finding a rhythm, and elliot's head fell back against the seat.

"fuck, baby," he breathed, and the endearment sent heat pooling low in her belly.

they moved together like that, kissing and touching and learning each other, until the windows were fogged and they were both trembling. elliot's hands roamed everywhere—her back, her sides, sliding up to cup her breasts through her bra—and yn felt like she was on fire.

"we should stop," elliot said, even as his hips bucked up to meet hers. "we should... fuck, we should stop."

"why…?" yn panted, not stopping.

"because if we don't, i'm gonna want to do a lot more than this, and we're in a fucking car."

she pulled back to look at him. his pupils were blown wide, lips swollen from kissing, curls a mess from her fingers. he looked wrecked, and she loved that she'd done that to him.

"so take me somewhere else," she said.

elliot's eyes darkened. "you sure?"

"i’ve never been more sure of anything."

they barely made it to elliot's apartment—a small place he rented with money from dealing, though yn tried not to think too hard about that. the second the door closed behind them, they were on each other again, stumbling toward his bedroom, shedding clothes along the way.

elliot's shirt. yn's jacket. his belt. her shoes.

by the time they fell onto his bed, they were down to underwear, and yn felt suddenly shy despite everything. elliot seemed to sense it because he slowed down, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her.

"hey," he said softly. "we don't have to—"

"i want to," she interrupted. "i want this. i want you."

something fierce and tender crossed his face. "i want you too. so fucking much." he kissed her, slow and deep. "tell me if you want to stop, okay? any time."

she nodded, and then his mouth was on her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. he unhooked her bra with practiced ease and tossed it aside, and when his lips closed around her nipple, yn arched off the bed with a cry.

"sensitive," elliot murmured appreciatively, lavishing attention on her breasts until she was squirming beneath him. his hand slid down her stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties. "can i?"

"yes. please."

he pulled them off slowly, kissing his way down her body as he went—her ribs, her hip bone, the inside of her thigh. when he settled between her legs, yn's breath caught.

"elliot, you don't have to—"

"i want to," he said, echoing her earlier words. "i've thought about this. about tasting you."

and then his mouth was on her, and yn forgot how to think.

be was good at this—of course he was—his tongue working her with a skill that made her thighs shake. he licked and sucked and explored, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her fingers tighten in his hair.

"elliot," she whimpered, hips rolling against his face. "oh my god, elliot—"

he hummed against her, the vibration sending sparks up her spine, and slid two fingers inside her. the stretch was perfect, overwhelming, and when he crooked them just right while his tongue circled her clit, yn came apart with a cry that was probably too loud for his thin walls.

elliot worked her through it, gentling his touch as she came down, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs. when he finally crawled back up her body, his face was flushed and his smile was smug.

"you taste amazing," he said, kissing her so she could taste herself on his tongue.

yn was still floating, boneless and sated, but she wanted more. wanted all of him. she reached down between them, palming him through his boxers, and elliot hissed.

"your turn," she murmured.

"yn, you don't—"

"i want to," she said for the third time that night, and pushed him onto his back.

she pulled his boxers off, and for a moment just looked at him. he was beautiful everywhere, long and lean and perfect. she wrapped her hand around him, stroking slowly, and watched his eyes flutter closed.

"fuck," he breathed. "that feels good."

emboldened, yn leaned down and took him in her mouth.

elliot's reaction was immediate—his hips jerked and his hand flew to her hair, not pushing, just holding. "jesus, yn—"

she'd only done this once before, with a boyfriend who hadn't lasted long, but she wanted to be good for elliot. wanted to make him feel the way he'd made her feel. she took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks, using her hand where her mouth couldn't reach.

"baby, that's—fuck, that's so good," elliot panted, his fingers tightening in her hair. "but you gotta stop or I'm gonna—"

she pulled off with a wet sound. "i don't mind."

"i mind." He tugged her up, kissing her hard. "i want to be inside you when i cum."

heat flooded through her. "okay."

"you sure? we can stop—"

"elliot." she cupped his face, making him look at her. "i want this. i want you. all of you."

he searched her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "okay. okay." he reached over to his nightstand, fumbling for a condom, and yn watched as he rolled it on with shaking hands.

then he was settling between her thighs, the head of him pressing against her entrance, and they were both breathing hard.

"ready?" he asked.

"yeah…”

he pushed in slowly, and yn gasped at the stretch. it had been a while, and elliot was bigger than her ex, and for a moment it was almost too much. but then he was fully seated inside her, and they both stilled, adjusting.

"you okay?" elliot asked, voice strained.

"yeah. move. please move."

he did, pulling out almost all the way before sliding back in, setting a slow, deep rhythm that had yn clinging to his shoulders. it felt incredible—the slide of him inside her, the weight of his body on hers, the way he looked at her like she was something precious.

"you feel so good," elliot groaned, burying his face in her neck. "so fucking good, yn."

she wrapped her legs around his waist, changing the angle, and they both moaned. elliot's thrusts grew faster, harder, and yn met him stroke for stroke, their bodies moving together like they'd done this a thousand times before.

"youch yourself," Elliot panted. "i want to feel you cum around me."

yn slid her hand between them, fingers finding her clit, and the added stimulation made her clench around him. elliot cursed, his rhythm faltering, and she could tell he was close.

"cum for me," she whispered. "i want to feel it."

that was all it took. elliot thrust deep and stilled, groaning her name as he came, and the sound of it—the knowledge that she'd done that to him—pushed yn over the edge again. she came with a cry, her body tightening around him, and rlliot held her through it, whispering praise against her skin.

afterward, they lay tangled together, sweaty and sated, elliot's head on her chest and her fingers in his hair.

"that was..." yn started, then laughed because she didn't have words.

"yeah," elliot agreed. he pressed a kiss to her sternum. "stay tonight?"

"okay."

"okay." he lifted his head to look at her, and his expression was so open, so vulnerable, it made her chest ache. "yn?"

"yeah?"

"i think I'm falling in love with you."

her breath caught. "you think?"

"no." He smiled. "i know. i’m in love with you. i have been for a while, i just... i didn't let myself admit it."

tears pricked at her eyes again. "i love you too. i've loved you for so long, elliot."

he kissed her, soft and sweet. "then i guess we've both been idiots."

she laughed through her tears. "yeah. i guess we have."

the thing about loving elliot was that it wasn't easy.

yn had known that going in—had watched him spiral and self-destruct and push people away for years. but knowing something and living it were different things.

they'd been together for three months when she first saw the cracks.

it started small. elliot canceling plans at the last minute. not answering her texts for hours. showing up high in a way that felt different from their usual recreational use—darker, more desperate.

"you okay?" she asked one night, curled up next to him on his couch. he'd been quiet all evening, staring at the tv without really watching it.

"yeah. fine."

"elliot—"

"i said i’m fine, yn." his voice was sharp, and she flinched.

he noticed, and his expression immediately softened. "shit. i'm sorry. i didn't mean—" he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "i'm just dealing with some stuff."

"what stuff? maybe i can help."

"you can't." he stood abruptly, pacing. "you can't help with this, okay? nust... just leave it alone."

but yn couldn't leave it alone. because she loved him, and watching him hurt was like being hurt herself.

"talk to me," she pleaded. "please. whatever it is, we can figure it out together."

elliot laughed, but there was no humor in it. "that's the thing, yn. you always think we can fix everything together. but some things can't be fixed. some people can't be fixed."

"i don't want to fix you—"

"yes, you do." he turned to face her, and his eyes were hard. "that's what you've always done. followed me around, said yes to everything, tried to be whatever you thought i needed. but you can't save me, yn. i'm not one of your projects."

the words hit like a physical blow. "that's not... that's not what this is."

"isn't it?" he was being cruel now, she could tell. pushing her away because he was scared or hurting or both. "you've been in love with me since we were kids, and i've just been... what? using you? letting you tag along because it was easy?"

"stop it!" tears were streaming down her face now. "you don't mean that..."

"don't i?" but his voice cracked, and she could see the pain in his eyes. "maybe you should go, yn."

"elliot—"

"please! just go…"

so she did. she grabbed her jacket and left, and she didn't let herself cry until she was in her car, driving home through blurry vision.

they didn't talk for a week.

it was the longest week of yn’s life. she kept checking her phone, hoping for a text, a call, anything. but there was nothing.

she thought about reaching out a hundred times. typed and deleted messages, drove past his apartment, almost knocked on his door. But something held her back—pride, maybe, or the fear that he'd meant what he said.

it was fez who finally intervened.

"yo, yn," he said, catching her after she left school one day. "you seen elliot lately?"

she shook her head, not trusting her voice.

fez sighed. "look, Iidon't usually get involved in people's relationship shit, but that boy's a mess without you. like, worse than usual. and i know he said some fucked up things, but he didn't mean 'em. he's just scared."

"scared of what?"

"of being happy. of having something good and fucking it up." fez gave her a meaningful look. "you're good for him, yn. best thing that's happened to him, probably. don't let him push you away."

she took his words in, really took them in and sighed as shee went to his apartment that night.

elliot answered the door looking like he hadn't slept in days—hair a mess, eyes red-rimmed, wearing the same clothes she'd last seen him in.

"monni," he breathed, and the way he said her name—like a prayer, like a plea—broke something open in her chest.

"can i come in?"

he stepped aside wordlessly, and she walked into the apartment. it was a mess—empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays, evidence of a week spent spiraling.

"elliot, what—"

"i'm sorry." the words tumbled out of him in a rush. "i'm so fucking sorry, yn. i didn't mean any of that shit i said. i was just... i was scared, and i lashed out, and i hurt you, and i'm sorry."

"scared of what?"

"of this. of us." he gestured helplessly between them. "of how much i love you. because everyone i love leaves eventually, and i thought... i thought if i pushed you away first, it would hurt less."

"did it?" she asked quietly.

"no." his voice broke. "it hurt so much worse. this whole week, i've been miserable. i can't sleep, can't eat, can't think about anything except how badly i fucked up. you're the best thing in my life, yn, and i almost ruined it because i'm an idiot."

yn crossed the room to stand in front of him. "you are an idiot," she agreed, and he laughed wetly. "but you're my idiot. and i'm not going anywhere, elliot. even when you try to push me away. even when you're scared. i'm staying."

"why?" he whispered. "why would you stay with someone like me?"

"because i love you." she cupped his face, making him look at her. "all of you. the good parts and the broken parts and everything in between. uou don't have to be perfect, elliot. you just have to let me in."

he pulled her into his arms, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. "i love you," he said into her hair. "i love you so much it scares me."

"i know. it scares me too." she pulled back enough to kiss him. "but we'll figure it out. together."

"together," he echoed, and kissed her again.

they made love that night, slower and more tender than before. elliot touched her like she was something precious, something he was afraid of breaking, and yn poured all her love into every kiss, every caress.

"i missed you," he murmured against her skin, mapping her body with his hands and mouth. "missed this. missed us."

“i’m here,” she promised. “i’m right here.”

when he finally slid inside her, they both sighed like coming home. the rhythm they found was unhurried, intimate, more about connection than release. elliot kept his eyes open, watching her face, and yn held his gaze, letting him see everything she felt.

"i love you," he said as they moved together. "i love you, i love you, i love you." he whined pathetically as he shuddered and held onto her more. (subby elliot for the win.)

"i love you too," she gasped, and when they came, it was together, holding each other like lifelines.

afterward, lying in the dark with elliot's heartbeat steady under her ear, yn felt something settle in her chest. this wasn't going to be easy—loving elliot would probably never be easy. but it would be worth it.

"hey, yn?" elliot's voice was soft in the darkness.

"yeah?"

"thank you. for not giving up on me."

she pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "never."

six months later, they were still together.

it wasn't perfect—they fought sometimes, and elliot still had bad days where he withdrew into himself. but they were learning. learning how to communicate, how to be there for each other, how to love each other in a way that was healthy instead of destructive.

yn had started saying no sometimes. not to hurt him, but because she was learning that she could have her own identity separate from being elliot's girlfriend. and elliot was learning to let her in, to share his struggles instead of shouldering them alone.

they were sitting in his car at their spot, passing a joint back and forth, when elliot said, "i've been thinking about leaving."

yn’s heart clenched, but she kept her voice steady. "leaving where?"

"anywhere. after graduation. i got accepted to a music program in new york somewhere… i think you’d like it."

"elliot, that's amazing!" she turned to face him, genuinely happy despite the fear curling in her stomach. "you should go."

"i want to," he admitted. "but i don't want to go without you."

"what?"

he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. "come with me. to new york. we could get an apartment, start over somewhere new. away from all this." he gestured at the town below them. "what do you think?"

yn’s mind raced. leaving east highland, leaving everything she knew, following elliot to a new city—it was terrifying. but it was also exciting. and more than that, it felt right.

"okay," she said.

"okay!?"

"yeah." she smiled. "let's do it. let's get out of here."

elliot's face broke into the biggest smile she'd ever seen. he pulled her into his lap, kissing her deeply. "i love you so fucking much."

"i love you too."

they sat there for a while, wrapped up in each other, watching the lights of east highland twinkle below. and for the first time in a long time, yn felt like everything was going to be okay.

they had each other. and that was enough.