#(was there a time loop fic? there might have been a time loop fic) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fxstpace · 11 days ago

Text

oh, snap!

summary: you and jake sim might have been best friends once upon a time, but not anymore. now, you barely talk to each other—so you decide to prove the universe wrong when you find out that he’s your soulmate, because there’s no way both of you are compatible.

pairing: jake sim x fem!reader genres: fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers!au, soulmate!au, college!au word count: 7.0k

↳ warnings: profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual jokes, soulmate lore i made up ↳ a/n: this is a fic i had posted on my now deactivated blog, which i’ve made minor modifications to. thanks for reading!

The universe has to be fucking with you.

You aren’t one to believe in manifestation or the law of attraction or whatever other nonsense your TikTok feed provides you with. You think it’s a total waste of time, energy, and resources.

Right now, however, you’re manifesting with all your might—eyes screwed tightly shut, hands clasped in front of your chest, only one thought running through your head: Please don’t let it be Jake Sim, please don’t let it be Jake Sim, please don’t let it be—

You open one eye cautiously. You lift up the pinkie finger of your right hand equally carefully.

Fuck.

You drop your hands and let your head fall onto the desk in front of you. A dull thud echoes around you, and normally, you would be apologetic since you’re at the library, but because you’re wallowing in self-pity you can’t bring yourself to care. A frown mars your forehead. Maybe you’re manifesting wrong. Is that even a thing? Perhaps you should ask your friend Yizhou how to do it; she’s pretty popular on Instagram so surely she’d have some idea. Maybe one of her fellow influencer friends is a manifester. (Is that what they call it?)

You lift your head up and stare morosely at the red thread twined around your little finger. It winds down the floor, swirling and looping in gentle curves. You glare at the person it’s connected to.

Jake Sim, that little piece of shit.

The object of your disdain is seated one table away from yours. He’s hunched over his laptop, occasionally scribbling something into the messy notebook in front of him. His glasses keep slipping down the bridge of his nose, and every time he pushes them back up, you feel a tug on your finger.

This brings you to the following question: Does he not know you’re his soulmate?

You have three answers. One: He knows, but he doesn’t care. Two: He doesn’t know. Three: He doesn’t care.

The second option is rare but not unheard of. There have been several cases where people vehemently deny the existence of soulmates and refuse to believe in it. Such people never get to see the red thread that is wrapped around their finger, even though it exists. Truthfully, you feel bad for the people on the other side of the thread—the non-believer’s alleged soulmate. They will forever watch from afar, never going too close, but never straying away either. It sounds lonely, more than anything else.

You push that thought away. If Jake doesn’t know, it should be a good thing, right? You don’t need a soulmate to survive. You can just continue with your life as it is—attending classes, hanging out with your friends… Yeah, you’re happy with everything you have.

Another tug at your pinkie forces out an annoyed huff from your mouth. You glare at the perpetrator, still engrossed in his work. To be fair, you didn’t know Jake was your soulmate until very recently either. You knew the thread existed but didn’t know who it was connected to. When you were younger, you and your friends would have tons of fun pulling at the thread to annoy your unknown soulmate. Getting a pull back was a source of glee for seven-year-old you. Now, it just fills you with dread.

“Oi.” Someone’s breath tickles your ear.

“Fucking hell!”

You swat at your best friend’s face, successfully smacking his cheek. Taehyun grunts in pain. “Uncalled for.”

“What the fuck, Taehyun?” You grouse. “Don’t scare me like that. Sorry ‘bout your cheek.”

The boy rolls his eyes, sitting down on the chair next to you and dumping his tote bag on the table. “I’d feel better if you actually meant your apology. Also, why aren’t you studying? Our midterms start in a week and staring at Lover Boy isn’t gonna help you pass your classes.”

“Don’t call him that,” you snap. “And I was… studying.”

“Right. That’s exactly why none of your books are open.”

“Shut up, people are staring.”

Taehyun raises his eyebrows but doesn’t comment. You’re not wrong—people are staring. Well, specifically, one person. You flex your little finger a little, straightening it out and then bending it again. If Jake feels any sort of yank, he doesn’t show it. Not that you’re interested, of course. You’re just… observing. So is he, clearly. He peers over his glasses at you both, his expression not betraying anything.

You flinch when Taehyun pinches your side. Turning back to him, you’re ready to yell at him for being an annoying asshole, when he fixes you with a pitying sort of look. You swallow.

“Hey,” he says softly, “don’t overthink, okay? He’s alone right now, you might as well talk to him about this.”

You blink uneasily, eyes flitting between your friend and the unopened book in front of you.

“How long are you gonna avoid him? You’ve been hiding this for months. And… he has a right to know,” Taehyun finishes, flicking a strand of hair out of his eyes.

You swallow again, around the lump in your throat that’s been sitting there for months. You found out that Jake was your soulmate months ago. Yet, you can’t seem to bring yourself to confront him or tell him about it. A far cry from the whole entire concept of soulmates—isn’t he supposed to be your missing puzzle piece? Certainly not, if you’re too nervous to even approach him. The universe must have made a mistake. Whatever higher being exists must have assigned you to the wrong person.

Taehyun is right, though. (You’re not going to admit it to him, of course; there’s no need to boost his already inflated ego.)

Jake Sim does have a right to know that he’s your soulmate.

You shift uncomfortably. Taehyun drops his gaze with a sigh. “I know you two have a history but can’t you just sort this out?”

“I… can’t,” you say lamely.

Your best friend looks sadly at you. You look away, fidgeting with the cover of your textbook. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a girl make her way to Jake’s table. He perks up immediately, greeting her with a soft smile. She sits down next to him and grabs Jake’s laptop, angling it towards her like it’s second nature. It probably is, you think bitterly.

Another reason why you can’t tell Jake Sim about this whole Situation: He has a girlfriend.

Park Chaerin meets your eyes and waves at you cheerfully. You wave back, feeling sick to your stomach.

You press the tip of your pen into your notebook, fighting the urge to close your eyes. Even the half-empty cup of coffee next to your laptop has done little to wake you up. Morning classes are the bane of your existence, and as a night owl, you vehemently dislike getting up early. Your professor rattles on about an assignment due in a week. You stifle another yawn behind your hand.

Feeling a yank on your little finger, you press the palm of your hand on the desk and ignore it. Jake Sim is sitting right next to you—courtesy of both of you having arrived five minutes late, and the only seats left were in the last row. Your Friday 8 AM lecture on the Quantum Theory of Electromagnetism is normally interesting, but Professor Jang makes even the most stimulating topics seem dry. You usually end up resorting to self-study sessions in order to understand everything.

Jake is scribbling something next to you. He’s probably doodling. He used to do that a lot when he was little, too. You recall pages upon pages of maths notes interspersed with tiny drawings of dinosaurs and dragons in the margins. They had made you laugh at the time.

“Hey,” he whispers.

You blink.

“Hi,” you say.

Jake grins at you—and you’re dazzled, for a moment. It’s been so long since you’ve had that smile of his being directed at you. You’ve seen him smile at other people on campus—his new friends, his girlfriend, acquaintances—all from afar, and you push down the bitter sting of rejection that pricks you every time. After so many months, it feels like you were in a pitch-black room all this time, and someone suddenly turned on the lights. It’s blinding.

Your former friend caps his pen and leans back in his chair. “Did you get enough sleep?”

“Um, yeah,” you answer. Just to be polite, you add, “...Did you?”

“Kind of.” Jake winces.

“Oh.”

“I was trying to understand the topic before this. Y’know—” he meets your eyes expectantly— “the whole Kronig-Penney model and the Bloch function and all that. I spent, like, two hours on them,” he says sheepishly.

“Oh, uh, yeah, those are kinda difficult,” you offer.

You’re still perplexed by this whole situation. Admittedly, after weeks of minimal contact with your childhood best friend, this isn’t how you imagined your reunion would go. All awkwardness aside, however, it feels… nice, talking to him again. It’s hard to move past the last few months, but there’s nothing wrong with this, right? You can think of it as two classmates bonding over a hard course they willingly chose. Two classmates who’ve known each other since they were toddlers just learning to walk, but you deliberately don’t think of that.

Jake hums. “The graphs get super confusing.”

“I guess,” you say.

He leans forward abruptly, elbows knocking on the edge of the desk. His stare on you is intent, focused. “Is your number still the same?”

You gape at him, mouth open like a blown-out fish. “Uh… yeah. Why?”

“So I can text you if I don’t understand anything,” Jake says simply, easily, still sporting that same easygoing smile of his. Your stomach twists into knots, and you force yourself to appear calm and not like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

“I think you should’ve asked me first,” you manage to say.

He looks at you strangely, a dip in his eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”

Why, indeed.

Jake has known you for years; this is an undeniable fact. Even now, he probably knows you better than anyone else does—or ever could. So there’s absolutely no way he can’t make sense of the stifling awkwardness that surrounds you both.

However, the same holds true for you: You know Jake Sim just as well as he knows you. You know he’s trying to bridge a gap, make amends in a way only he does. You would be a fool if you didn’t take it in stride.

You crack a small smile. “Fair enough.”

He picks up his pen and twirls it between his fingers idly, before saying, “I’ll text you about other stuff, too.”

“Okay.”

“Great.”

Jake is all smiles and sunshine. He starts doodling again—what looks like a misshapen traffic cone of some sort. You look away, and tuck this little slice of goldenness into your rapidly rabbiting heart.

This is not good. You pay no heed to the thread around your little finger, and pick up your own pen. Angling your notebook away from your deskmate, you begin to write.

REASONS WHY JAKE SIM CANNOT BE MY SOULMATE FUCK THIS SHIT IM OUT

#1. he doesn’t know you as well as he should (okay, maybe he does)

You have no clue how you ended up studying with Jake Sim and Park Chaerin, of all people.

Your own friends, Kang Taehyun and Kim Gaeul are utterly nonplussed at this new situation. You give them a helpless shrug when they elbow each other and raise their eyebrows at you. The library is fairly empty at this hour, which makes it an ideal time to study without the distractions of other people. Of course, you didn’t consider the two people who’ve decided you’re a physics expert and require your guidance.

You humour them because you’re a nice person—not because you’re weak to Jake’s entreaties and his offer of buying you food for a whole week.

Chaerin smiles at your friends. “Hey, guys! Come join us.”

Taehyun is the first to blink out of his confusion. He moves forward, pulling out the chair opposite yours and settling down. “Thanks. We won’t bother you guys much.”

Gaeul nods her head. “Yeah, I have a bunch of assignments to finish.” She chuckles nervously, smoothing out her hair.

“No problem,” Jake supplies. “Your friend is super smart.”

Taehyun raises his eyebrows, pointing an incredulous finger at you. “You mean…?”

“Hey!” You swing your leg and kick Taehyun’s shin from under the table. He winces in pain. Gaeul giggles, and so does Chaerin. Jake lets out an amused snort.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” you say, “this bit isn’t that important from a test point of view, so just go over it to get the general idea.” You mark the paragraph you were referring to with a pencil.

Chaerin and Jake nod in tandem, like a pair of bobbleheads. You bite your lip to stifle your smile—they’re so perfect together, it’s ridiculous. You wouldn’t be surprised if Jake’s end of the string was connected to Chaerin’s instead. Is that even possible? You’ll have to google it up.

The thought puts a significant damper on your mood, and you turn away, drawing back from the pair sitting next to you.

Instead, you lock eyes with Taehyun, who’s glaring at you with enough intensity to drill a hole through your forehead. Talk to him, he mouths. You give him a small shake of your head.

You can’t talk to him about anything serious. Explaining physics to him and his girlfriend in the presence of your own best friends is a sort of safe zone; you don’t have to discuss anything personal whatsoever. All you have to do is prattle off a list of formulae and derivations and graphs, and hope that what you’re telling them to study is actually going to be asked on your midterm next week.

Taehyun rolls his eyes so hard, you wonder how they haven’t popped out of their sockets. He’s exasperated, you can tell—and Gaeul has probably been receiving the brunt of it all, because he would never outrightly say he’s upset with you. He would rant to Gaeul instead, trusting that she would tell you everything he told her but more nicely. That’s how your little trio circles back to each other.

You shift uncomfortably. Gaeul catches your eye and gives you a small, sympathetic smile. Your lips twitch upwards slightly.

“Wow,” Chaerin says, “I can’t believe we finished a whole unit in, like, one and a half hours.” She directs the next part to you. “You’re really smart. Don’t listen to Taehyun.”

“Y/N doesn’t listen to me anyway,” your friend grumbles. Gaeul hides her snort behind her styrofoam cup of coffee.

Speaking of which, you could really use some caffeine too. Anything to get away from Jake Sim and his quiet, knowing… aura, is the word you settle for. He wasn’t always this quiet—he used to be loud and raucous when it was just the two of you in high school—so while this new development isn’t surprising, it certainly is jarring.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” you announce to the table at large. “Anyone wanna come with?”

“I’ll come,” Jake says immediately. “I owe you for teaching us.”

“Oh, um.” You attempt to smile. “I—”

“Please go,” Taehyun says suddenly, his tone beseeching. “I need coffee too but I don’t trust Y/N to not put salt in mine or something.”

You gape at him, betrayal flooding your features. Gaeul snorts again. Chaerin just looks at you and Jake alternately. Jake’s lips twitch upwards. “Y/N still does that?”

You whirl around to face him. “What?”

“Oh, this is getting interesting,” Gaeul pipes up. “Do elaborate.”

“I second that,” Chaerin adds.

You feel your cheeks and the back of your neck heat up. You want to implore your former best friend to keep his pretty mouth shut, but your ego doesn’t let you grovel in front of three other people. Jake raises his eyebrows, lips parting to form a small ‘o’. He smiles, a little bit sheepish. Before he can say anything, you intervene.

“That was one time, Taehyun!” you snap. “And it was by accident. Why would I willingly put salt in your coffee?”

Taehyun raises an eyebrow at you, but inside, you know he’s laughing uncontrollably at your predicament. “Who knows? You might wanna poison me for being cooler than you.”

“What is this, high school? And why the fuck would I want a murder on my hands? I’m too young to go to jail.”

Chaerin tries to muffle her giggles with her hand. Both you and Taehyun turn simultaneously to look at her. “Sorry.” She giggles again. “You two talk like an old married couple.”

“Gross,” you say, at the same time Taehyun draws out an, “Ew,” and extends the last syllable like a child in kindergarten.

“Oh my God,” Gaeul says. “Chaerin, you’re a genius. I see it too.”

“Not you too,” Taehyun groans.

The two begin bickering again, and Chaerin joins them with enthusiasm, adding her own little tidbits of support for Gaeul in between the conversation. During all this, Jake remains remarkably quiet, an amused smile tugging on his lips.

You turn to him, a rush of sudden embarrassment making your cheeks heat up. It occurs to you that he’s never seen you like this—laughing and joking around with your friends. Friends that don’t include him. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Let’s go get coffee.”

“Okay.”

You and Jake push your chairs back under the table and exit the library. The coffee shop is two storeys down, so you make a beeline for the staircase. Your former best friend follows you, his undone shoelaces slapping on the tiles. He still doesn’t tie his shoelaces properly, then. Perhaps he hasn’t changed as much as you thought.

“Hey, by the way,” he says, “I was gonna tell Taehyun about the time I put salt in your coffee.”

“...I know.” Your answer is short, clipped. You force your shoulders to relax—there’s no need to tense up when Jake Sim is around.

“Oh. Uh, okay then.”

You don’t look at him, but you’re fairly certain he’s doing that thing he always does when he’s feeling awkward: A little rub of his thumb against the corner of his mouth. It’s a tic he’s always had, from the time you were in elementary school, and it isn’t any different now.

A stifling silence falls upon you both. You almost wish Taehyun and Gaeul were here, bringing Chaerin with them in tow. The three of them seemed to get along well; the chances of the five of you hanging out outside of college are high, now.

Of course, that also means you and Jake will have to pretend like everything’s alright between you both, and that your decades-long friendship wasn’t shattered by one single argument.

You round the corner to the staircase and begin the descent downwards. Jake holds onto the railing on the other side. Despite everything, you think Jake is the braver one between you two.

He breaks the silence as easily as he broke your heart, and asks:

“Do you still take your macchiato with two packets of sugar?”

“Yeah,” you say softly.

#2. he wants to be friends again (why?)

You blame Kang Taehyun for this.

Of course he had to forget to pick up the pizza from the local restaurant before coming back to his place. Of course he didn’t check the weather forecast beforehand, and even if he did, of course he didn’t tell you it was going to rain. Of fucking course he asks you to pick up the food for him because your classes only ended at 4 and the get-together to celebrate the end of midterms was at 4:30.

If you had the power, you would curse your best friend to oblivion. You grip your phone in your hand, gritting your teeth and staring down at the screen.

Group Chat: the holy trinity of dumbasses 🤡 [16:12] You: it’s fukcing pouring here and i didnt bring my car [16:12] taehyun (mega asshole 🤬): *Fucking [16:13] You: yeah it’s something you’ve never done before [16:13] You: i have the pizza [16:13] You: come and pick me up or im throwing it in the dustbin. [16:14] gaeul 🤍: u shouldn’t waste food y/n >:( [16:14] taehyun (mega asshole 🤬): You’re making Gaeul cry >:( [16:14] gaeul 🤍: girl what [16:15] You: aw cute [16:15] You: seriously tho [16:16] You: come pick me up [16:17] taehyun (mega asshole 🤬): OK, I’m on my way [16:17] You: FUCKING FINALLY

The plastic bag with all the pizza boxes dangles off your wrist, cutting into your skin. The steps that lead to the inside of the restaurant are slick with rainwater. You open Instagram and scroll through your feed mindlessly, clicking on your classmates’ stories.

You shiver. Rainy weather always makes the temperature drop by several degrees, and your flimsy jacket isn’t enough to drive away the chill. Forget Taehyun, maybe you should’ve checked the forecast instead. Sometimes (read: most of the time) you can be just as stupid as him. You wonder how Gaeul puts up with the single brain cell you and Taehyun toss between each other like a hot potato.

Honestly, you just want to go somewhere where it’s dry and warm.

Your phone vibrates in your hand, and it takes you a whole minute to comprehend the name that shows up on the caller ID.

Jake Sim.

Why is Jake Sim calling you?

You chew on your lip nervously before swiping your thumb up and accepting his call. Bringing your phone to your ear, you let the plastic bag sway gently. The line is silent for a few seconds, as though neither of you can comprehend the fact that you’re on a call with each other. It makes sense; this is the first time in months he’s calling you.

Finally, Jake’s voice crackles over the speaker. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I’m outside. Can you see me?”

“I, uh.” You look around quickly. The parking lot in front of you is mostly empty, a good chunk of people having escaped the rain. It’s not hard to make out the solitary figure standing outside a beaten-down Toyota, holding an umbrella aloft. “Yeah, I see you.”

“Oh, good,” he says. “Do you have an umbrella?”

“Nope. Just… pizza.”

Jake makes a noise that sounds like a warbled chuckle. “Okay, I’m coming over there.”

“...Okay.”

For some strange reason, you don’t feel like ending the call. You fumble for something to say, because it’s weird just being on a call with someone you can literally see. The tug on your little finger as he comes closer to you makes a lump form in your throat. You take a deep breath and push it down into your stomach.

“You haven’t changed your car,” you say lightly.

Jake hums, the sound so familiar it doesn’t even surprise you until you register it. “Can’t afford a new one. Plus, it works decently.”

He strides over to you, and it’s unnecessarily sexy—the way he holds the black umbrella up with one hand and his phone to his ear with the other. You can see the speckles of rain on his grey hoodie where the raindrops bounce off the ends of the umbrella. His hair is swept to the side, lips pink with chapstick. Another yank on your pinkie finger; you clench your fist.

“Please,” you snort. “The last time I was in it, it took twenty minutes to start the engine. That was a year ago, Jake.”

He’s closer now, nearing the steps. His eyes don’t leave yours. They trace over all your features, as though he’s committing you to memory—you, with your tangled hair and tired eye bags, chapped lips and dirty sneakers. You swallow.

He puts his phone down and speaks to you directly. “I think that was the driver’s fault. But don’t worry, I can drive better now.”

You let your hand drop limply to your side.

“Hi,” Jake says.

“Hi again,” you manage to say.

“Here, let me take that.” He reaches out for the pizza bag, but you don’t give it to him.

“It’s fine. Just… hold up the umbrella and don’t get us wet.”

Jake laughs, a short, bright sound. “I won’t.”

You step towards him, quickly slipping underneath the shelter of the umbrella above your head. It’s a tight fit—one of your shoulders pokes out, as does one of his. You grimace when your sleeve gets splattered with rain.

Jake leads the way to his ancient car, scratched and scuffed with years of use. It was his dad’s old one, a gift for him on his seventeenth birthday, one that his mom had told you about to surprise him with. It seems like a bygone history now.

“I thought Taehyun was gonna come,” you comment.

Jake looks at you strangely. “I thought you asked for me to come pick you up.”

“I… did?” You gasp at the realisation. Kang Taehyun, that fucker. “I’m sorry,” you say awkwardly. “Taehyun probably told you that I was stuck in the rain.”

“He did,” Jake confirms. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s not a problem at all.”

“Oh… okay, then.” Still, you feel guilty. Jake came all the way in the rain just because your best friend couldn’t stop being a meddling little nincompoop.

“Why wouldn’t I come?” Jake continues. His voice sounds deliberately casual. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“...Yeah. I guess.”

Jake stops near his car, fishing around in his pocket for the keys. “Look, I—I know things haven’t been the same lately, but I—” he licks his lips, another nervous tic of his— “I want you to know that I never stopped thinking of you as my best friend. Okay?”

You blink, sucking in a breath sharply. “I, um, yeah. Yeah, okay,” you say lamely.

Jake nods once, not meeting your eyes. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’ve found friends like Gaeul and Taehyun. They’re good people.”

“So is Chaerin,” you say. “And so is Sunghoon.”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling faintly, unlocking the door. “And so are you.”

Sometimes, you wonder if Jake also feels a pull on his little finger. If he does, does he ever wonder where it’s from? Or does he not feel it at all? You bend your finger and shuffle into the passenger side of his car. He closes the door for you before crossing over to the other side and climbing into the driver’s seat.

Whatever the case is, one thing is for sure: Jake Sim is your soulmate, and even if he wasn’t, you’d still be in love with him.

Just like you were one year ago.

#3. his parents adore you (and so do you, but there’s always the yearning and the aching)

“Hey, mom and dad are asking when you’re gonna visit again.”

Jake swings into your periphery, putting his phone back in his pocket. His mom had called about fifteen minutes ago to make plans for Jake to go home over the weekend. Potentially, you could also go—your childhood home is right next to his. It’s been a while since you last visited; your little sister sends you texts about how much she misses you.

He sits down on the chair next to yours, looking at you expectantly. You’re at your favourite spot in the library, one that’s been designated as you and your friends’ table. Jake and Chaerin have been officially integrated into your tiny trio; Gaeul and Chaerin get along really well, and Taehyun and Jake follow the same sports teams. Occasionally, their other friend, Park Sunghoon, joins you but he’s very quiet and mostly keeps to himself.

You don’t look up from your laptop screen when you answer, “I’m not sure.”

“Huh. Mom says you’ve said that to your mom every time she asks.”

Things between you and Jake have reached a semblance of normalcy, too. It’s not the same as it used to be—it can never be the same as it used to be—but at least the pang you feel in your chest whenever he talks to you has dulled somewhat.

“I’ve been busy,” you say vaguely.

“Oh, c’mon,” Jake retorts. “Our midterms were over a week ago. What’re you waiting for?”

You don’t reply. He waits for a moment before saying, “I could drive you.”

That gets your full attention. Your gaze snaps to him, mouth pressed together.

“I mean, we literally live right next to each other, Y/N,” he continues. “It’ll save gas. And the environment.”

You snort. “Your car is more of a hazard to the environment than us not carpooling is.”

“You don’t know how to drive,” he deadpans.

“That’s not true! I can drive, I just choose not to. Saving the environment and all.” You point an accusing finger at him. “If you really care about the environment, you should take the bus home with me.”

Jake shrugs loosely. “I don’t care how we go home, as long as you come with me. I’m sure your sister misses you too.”

There it is again: That easy, light way he says things. Nonchalant and unaffected—though it affects you more than it should.

“You’ll pay for the tickets?”

Jake’s grin is golden. “If that’s what it takes.”

That’s how you find yourself crammed in between Jake Sim and an old auntie with a flower-patterned bandana, on the bus back to your hometown three days later. The auntie gives you and Jake a few cookies she’d packed for her grandchildren, and then promptly falls asleep on your shoulder (Jake couldn’t stop laughing for ten minutes when he saw the line of drool she’d left on your shirt sleeve). He offers you his own shoulder in case you want to sleep too; your cheeks heat up at the thought. It’s a bumpy ride, but after stopping at the bus stop nearest to your house, Flower Auntie sends you off with a few more cookies and a box of homemade kimchi, and you and Jake begin walking back to your neighbourhood.

Some things have changed—the playground is being renovated, your old elementary school is being repainted, the Kims who owned the local ramen shop retired and set the place up for rent. But at its heart, it’s all the same, you think. Kids still run around holding warm bungeoppang from street stalls and cartons of strawberry milk from the convenience store. Their mothers sit around and gossip about celebrities and complain about their husbands. People working corporate jobs curse under their breaths about their bosses and their unforgiving schedules. It’s late in the evening when you arrive, a bag containing all of Flower Auntie’s goodies hanging off Jake’s arm. All the local eateries are opening up for the dinner rush, drawing people in with the offer of free beer and soju for every meal purchased.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Jake says, a fond smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” you agree softly.

Despite everything, it’s still home.

The two of you cross the streets to your houses, sneakers slapping against the pavement. Several neighbours who’ve seen you both grow up call out and wave hello. You’re stopped by Mrs. Lee’s son, Heeseung, who makes you both promise to go out for dinner with him tomorrow.

Finally, you stand in front of your childhood home. The rusted door and peeling-off paint greets you like a best friend. You shoulder your backpack and ring the doorbell, saying goodbye to Jake as he walks into his own house.

The door swings open—only to reveal Mrs. Sim standing at your doorway. Before you can voice your confusion, she pulls you into a tight hug, mumbling your name into your hair.

“Welcome home,” she says, moving aside and letting you in. “Your mother is in the kitchen. She’s just started making dinner.”

“Oh, okay.” You grin. “It’s great to see you, Mrs. Sim.”

“I swear you love Y/N more than me.”

You turn around and see Jake standing by the door, an affectionate look in his eyes. You direct your grin at him, too.

“Suck it up, loser.”

Jake’s guffaw rings in your ears even when your sister screams with unabashed joy as soon as she sees you.

#4. he broke your heart once (he could do it again)

You stare at the red thread wrapped around your finger. It’s dulled a bit now, compared to how it was a few years ago. Some of its shine is lost; it looks more opaque now. You crook your finger experimentally, knowing it's futile but still holding on to some hope that maybe Jake will feel it too.

To live for the hope of it all, as a wise song-writer once penned.

You startle when Jake sets a mug of coffee in front of you. His house is empty—your mother and Mrs. Sim went to buy groceries together and his father is out of the city on a business trip. Your sister is hanging out with her friends but told you to call her if you needed anything.

“Here you go,” Jake says, sitting down on the chair next to you. “Have some and then we can go buy some hangover soup.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, curling your fingers around the mug and savouring its warmth. The liquid inside is not too bitter, but not too sweet either—just how you like it.

“Feeling any better?”

You wince. Going out for dinner with Heeseung meant drinks were also attached. Being back in your hometown after weeks meant you had to check out all your favourite restaurants again and visit the ones that popped up after you left for college. The result: You swallowed down entirely too much soju, Heeseung and Jake had to physically carry you home, your head is killing you right now, and your embarrassment is at its peak.

When you woke up in the early afternoon to texts from your family members detailing their various absences, you reluctantly made your way out of your bedroom and to the Sims’ place.

Which brings you here, perched on a chair at the Sims’ dining table, fiddling with your red string of fate, while the object of your thoughts sits right next to you.

“Yeah, a little,” you murmur in response to his question.

“Good.” Jake stretches his arms above his head, exposing a sliver of his midriff. You swallow. “Your alcohol tolerance is still the same.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” you counter. “You didn’t drink more than one bottle of soju.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You were counting?”

You huff, ignoring the warmth that spreads to your cheeks. “That’s not the point.”

“I’m just joking,” he says, bringing his hands back down. “I was kinda surprised Heeseung has a girlfriend now.”

You hum, taking another sip of your drink. Your head still pounds, but the caffeine is kicking in and making you more lively. It is strange, though, seeing your childhood friend settle down. Judging by the way he talks about her, he’s completely smitten. She’s my soulmate, he had said, and I don’t even believe in my thread.

The memory makes hurt bubble up inside your throat, so you chug the remaining liquid in the mug.

“It’s nice, though,” Jake continues, something… wistful crossing his face. “I wish I had someone like that.”

You look away, staring down at the ring of coffee left on the wooden table from your mug. “Yeah, I guess… Aren’t you dating Chaerin, though?”

You bite the bullet—what’s the point, anyway? There’s no use in dragging it out. Not when he clearly doesn’t know that his soulmate is sitting right next to him. You can deal with the hurt that comes with rejection later.

Jake stills. You glance at him—he tilts his head confusedly. “Chaerin? No… What makes you think that?”

“Everyone said you guys were dating,” you say with a small, uncertain shrug.

“I mean…” He blinks. “We hooked up once, but that’s really it.”

It’s your turn to blink now, bemused. “Huh?”

“Yeah, we were drunk and it just sorta happened? I dunno,” he says sheepishly. “We didn’t remember any of it later, so we just agreed to remain friends. Plus, her soulmate is Sunghoon.”

“Wait, what?” Your teeth worry your bottom lip. Your mind is swirling with questions—was it possible that you had misread Jake Sim all this time?

“Yeah,” he says softly. “It’s no big deal.”

“...Oh. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed things,” you apologise quietly. Despite all this, his words make a swell of optimism rise in your chest.

He shrugs. “I, uh, wouldn’t blame you. We didn’t talk much after… after everything.”

“Yeah.” Your admission is soft, regret burning a hole in your tongue.

“So, um…” Jake trails off, looking unsure of himself. That’s a first, you realise with a start. He’s usually so calm and collected, even in the worst times. “Do you still feel the same as you did a year ago?”

You suck in a breath. “Why—why would you ask me something like that?”

“I—just curious.”

His eyes land on yours, beseeching and glorious. Even when he’s just woken up, he looks like he’s been dipped in the sun’s golden rays. Your heart hammers inside your chest.

“Wait, can I ask you something else? Why… did you reject me that night?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re transported back to that fateful evening in July.

You stuttered the words out, and explained that you were in love with him, that you were pretty sure he was your soulmate, regardless of who your string was actually connected to. With every new sentence you tacked on, the emotion on Jake’s face vanished. Towards the end, you felt your face crumble.

He left you alone on the pavement, broken-hearted and lovesick.

Jake clears his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come off so harsh on you that day.”

“I don’t care about that, Jake,” you say simply. “I just want to know why.”

“Because I was stupid. I didn’t believe in the soulmate bullshit, but I know you do. You’ve always been a hopeless romantic. I—” He licks his lips before continuing— “The truth is, Y/N, I really, really like you… But I didn’t want to hold you back from finding your true soulmate—whoever was on the other side of your string—’cause I know they’re gonna be the one for you.”

If you weren’t sitting already, you’re sure Jake’s confession would have swept you off your feet and you would be a bumbling mess on his dining room floor. Seeing the forlorn look on his face, you nearly crumble. How stupid your soulmate is. How kind and caring and selfless.

“So I rejected you. I thought I wouldn’t be able to make you happy.” He pauses for a moment, his voice dropping. “It’s still the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

You finally find your voice. “Jake…”

He laughs somberly. “You probably think I’m an asshole.”

“I could never think that,” you say firmly. Your hand finds his on the tabletop, and he laces your fingers together, staring at your connected palms with awe.

“I do think you’re a little bit dumb, because I’ve liked you too since, like, forever—”

“Define forever,” he interrupts, not unkindly.

“Well—maybe since the time you surprised me with all the physical copies of that book series I wanted for my fifteenth birthday?”

“Then,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, “I’ve loved you since before forever.”

A surprised laugh bursts out of your mouth. You feel a tug on your little finger as Jake moves his hand away from yours and cups your cheek with it instead. “I’ve also wanted to kiss you since before forever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, drawing closer to you.

You lean forward and capture his lips with yours, running your tongue along his bottom lip. He parts his mouth with a sigh, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. His other free hand comes to rest on the nape of your neck; you wind your arms around his neck. The position is a bit cumbersome—the edge of the chair digs into your thigh, and he nearly knocks his elbow on the back of his chair—but his touch is searing hot, the welcome kind, the kind that makes you crave more and more and more.

“You promise you won’t do it again?” you ask later, out of breath and flushed.

“I promise,” he says, and he links his pinkie finger with yours to seal the deal.

The thread tied around it glows golden.

#5. he doesn’t even believe in soulmates (but he’ll try)

“You can’t see it?”

“I’ve told you a million times already,” Jake says patiently, “but I can’t.”

“How?” You look at him dubiously. “It’s literally a glowing golden thread connecting you and me.”

“I don’t need a thread to connect us,” your boyfriend quips. “I can think of better uses for a rope.”

You make a sound of disgust. “We’re at the library.”

Jake Sim grins at you, all bright and shining and vivid. “So?”

Taehyun lets out a pointed cough, typing on his laptop. “There are other people here,” he says, motioning to Gaeul, Chaerin and Sunghoon. All three of them are very obviously avoiding your gaze. Even the tips of Taehyun’s ears are pink. You stifle a giggle.

“Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding sorry at all. He picks up your hand again, thumb brushing against the knuckle of your little finger, right above the knot where the golden string is tied. He whispers to you, next, “I just don’t believe in it.”

“I know,” you say. “But you’re missing out on a lot.”

Jake hums. “I don’t believe in soulmates. But I believe in you.”

You roll your eyes, ready to chew him out for being a sappy romantic again, when his next words make your heart stutter.

“I think that’s good enough for me.”

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maddilynmuse · 1 month ago

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Memory of Liar

Another fic for @mari-lair ‘s Siffrin? More like Sif’s Out AU based on this memory exclusive to it. This one got a lil long, as I think y’all can see. Also I enjoy writing Odile. Apologies for any formatting opposed, I wrote this on my computer but had to upload on my phone.

No major CW’s beyond just “Odile questioning Siffrin’s mental health.” Enjoy!

It hadn’t been too long since that one loop. That loop where they found out just how good Siffrin was at pretending to be fine. How convenient that not long after, Odile got a skill to deal with it. Memory of Liar. It allowed her to know when Siffrin was lying (albeit not by omission, but still). Ideally, it would be a niche skill at best, one to keep on for a loop or two and forget that she had-

“Hey Odile!”

Siffrin began his usual greetings. Seems Mirabelle reminded him about the clocktower “sleepover” this time. She must be feeling nostalgic; they’d all planned to meet up at the clocktower afterwards anyways, so there was no need to send Siffrin on a quest to go talk to them all, but given how low he got, how useless he felt, it made sense for her to give him a task. Would it be too cynical to say Mirabelle was establishing a baseline? Perhaps.

“So, what will you do after?” Siffrin asked her.

After. Gems, at this rate such a thing felt laughable, but she bit her tongue well enough. What had she planned to do after this? So much time had been spent on loops and the breaking of them that leaving Dormont was starting to feel like more of an impossibility than beating the King ever had been.

“I’ll probably go back to Ka Bue,” she said. It seemed like the next most logical step. She had a home there, after all. Besides, it might be nice to get far, far away from Dormont.

“And wrap up your research?”

“Research?” Oh, right. Her fake research.

“Your research into cultures-ology?”

Had he said that last time? When was the last time Mirabelle called for a sleepover? Gems, she didn’t like this.

“Cultures-ology isn’t a field of research, Siffrin.”

“But it is the field of research you spent your life trying to create…”

“No,” she said bluntly. He looked a little put off by that, so she changed the topic the most natural way she could. “What about you? What will you do after we beat the king?” If they ever get to leave Dormont, that is.

“Come up with my own field of research.”

… huh?

Something about what he said there, it sat oddly in her gut. It felt… wrong. But how could-

Right. Memory of Liar. He was lying. Of course he was, why wouldn’t he be? She knew from the start that was likely a joke, and a joke could count as a lie, she supposed. Maybe this ability wasn’t particularly discerning. She’d have to test that too, wouldn’t she? Would it activate at anything that wasn’t true? Or would it only activate if Siffrin was actively trying to deceive?

As Siffrin walked out again, only then did it occur to her… what did the rogue intend to do when he got out? Well, a question for the others, she supposed.

------

They were back at Dormont. It wasn’t of much use, asking the others. Bonnie and Mirabelle couldn’t remember off the top of their heads, but apparently Siffrin had told Isabeau they intended to start a comedy club… That sounded considerably more likely than them going into research, but she was still inclined to double check. It was nothing wasting a whole loop over, but they’d agreed that next time they looped back to Dormont, Mirabelle would tell Siffrin about the clocktower, and Isabeau and Odile would “switch places,” so to speak. She needed to be the one to hear him, so she had to come last.

As Siffrin got up sleepily, almost tauntingly laid back, he greeted Mirabelle saying the nap was a solid 9 out of ten… The thought that their rogue was rubbing in their lack of exhaustion was illogical, something she knew all too well, but maybe she wasn’t in a particularly giving mood as she squatted in the bushes against the protest of her knee. A few more pleasantries were shared and…

“Where will you go after?”

“Oh! You know… maybe a pilgrimage? I-I suppose this all kiiiiiinda already counted as a pilgrimage, but, um… does it?” Does it if she only half remembers some of it, so much time taken over by these last few days? Or was Odile projecting here?

It didn’t matter.

“What about you though Siffrin. What will you do after?” Mirabelle asked.

Odile watched him like a hawk as he had his little smile, looking up to the sky, and, “Go on a pilgrimage too, maybe.”

“Oh! That’d be lovely,” Mirabelle said.

If only it were true.

Odile waited for them to get to the store—the store she often started at but currently housed Isabeau—forcing herself up and stumbling like a drunk from the woods, knee seizing up all the way. Mirabelle rushed over, using a bit of healing craft on her.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, I’m fine…” Odile said, though sighed in relief at the healing craft easing the pain.

“… so?” Mirabelle said.

“He was lying. He has no intention to go on a pilgrimage.”

Mirabelle sighed but nodded. Neither of them were surprised, really?

“Can you even go on a pilgrimage if all you do is travel anyways? What’s even the difference?” Odile muttered to herself. “Ah, no use now. I have to catch up before Isabeau runs out of ways to stall.” Thankfully it was a short walk. The door was open, she simply had to linger near it.

“What will you do after?” Siffrin asked Isabeau.

Seems she was right on time.

“Eh, I’ll probably just go back to Jouvente. Not sure about rejoining the Defenders, not after they left Mira, but maybe I’ll try some clothing design?”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were interested in that. That sounds great, Isa!”

“Heh, thanks Sif. But what about you? What will you do when we beat the King?”

Assuming Isabeau did a good enough job of recapping what he said before, presumably Siffrin’s answer would be the same…

“Start a comedy club!”

… that one wasn’t true either? She’d honestly thought it might be, or at least that it was fifty fifty, but no. Almost a shame, it fit all too well. Then again, it meant more people were spared his puns…

She tuned out the rest in favor of trying to get a head start on making it to the East side of town. Siffrin tended to dawdle when left to his own devices, but still would be nice to find a way to listen in that wouldn’t be physically painful this time…

Oh right. There’s a building here, right near Bonnie. She’d basically gone blind to it, considering it no more than any other house: pointless. Though she did know the open phrase, well, the only thing of value was the “Long Thingy Thing” (as Bonnie put it), and they didn’t really need to go through the trouble of crafting a bomb at this point. That said, she did know the open phrase, so she could probably get inside, and she could hear Bonnie, but could she hear Siffrin? Then again, once Siffrin was near Bonnie, she could sneak closer.

And so she did. It went off almost disappointingly easily. Gems alive, what she wouldn’t give for something to go awry in a way that would let her dig her teeth into something again. But no, no. This was more efficient. (Everything was efficiency these days, that’s how Siffrin got so bad).

She crept closer as the two talked. Siffrin was needling Bonnie, and Bonnie was rising to the bait. Was it genuine irritation and stress, or just their mimicry of it? She wasn’t sure, maybe both. Not too long in, the question came up.

“Well what about you, Frin? What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll go to space.”

… she didn’t even need the Memory equipped to know that that was a bald-faced lie, but she supposed that confirmation was nice? Well this one was a waste of time. Best to try to slip out towards the favor tree and play her own part.

Four different answers, none of them true. Why would he hide what he intended to do after? Maybe earlier in their adventure together she would’ve assumed that it was for nefarious purposes, but if he was an assassin on the behalf of the King or anything like that, he’d probably have done something to stop them on at least one of the occasions that they killed him. Whatever happened with Euphraise usually seemed centered on him, but he always looked shocked, so it was unlikely he expected it any more than the rest of them had the first time.

So if not foul play, then why? Some charitable part of her mind wanted to say his plans were just embarrassing, but…

As they’d recently learned the hard way, their little rogue wasn’t nearly as fine as he seemed. All it took was one day of them taking the lead a bit too much for him to consider himself a useless idiot. He rarely spoke of home. Never spoke of loved ones, at least not for more than a few sentences. He’d taken losing his eye almost too well. She wouldn’t say that he was at risk of becoming a Sadness or doing something willingly stupid, but the more she thought on it, the more things painted a picture she didn’t like the look of, but couldn’t afford to look away from either.

If she didn’t know better, she could mistake him for a ghost. A spirit. Maybe even some Expression. Nothing but a being floating through to help. But she’d seen him eat, seen his blood splatter on the floor, heard his gasps and screams at hard hits. She’d seen him lose an eye. Ghosts didn’t do that. He was flesh and blood yet missing so much he seemed almost insubstantial. Was he aware of this one some level? And what could do that to a person? Gems alive, she knew he had bad memory, but maybe she should’ve been delving deeper into it. Why hadn’t she? It wasn’t like her to see something so strange, to see someone start stories over and over that never reach an end, to see him speak of things and lose his train of thought halfway through, and she just…

Never questioned this?

Gems alive, her head was pounding along with the beat of her heart, but she screwed her eyes shut and blocked the world out, determined to follow this rabbit hole down. Something was wrong here, and maybe if she could puzzle out what, if she could find the missing piece, she could somehow make him whole again and, expressions willing, maybe that’d be the key to fixing this whole mess. Maybe it’d set them free. She just had to figure out why-

“Hey, Odile, are you okay?”

She jolted, whipping her head around to see, “Gems, Siffrin. You startled me…”

“Sorry,” he said. “Thinking on your wish?”

“Hah, no, I already made that,” she said. A stupid wish to win a coin flip that came to nothing in the end. And unimportant. She had to figure out… figure out…

Had to figure out what Siffrin intended to do with his life, right? Yes, that’s what she’d been doing.

“I was just… trying to figure out what to do afterwards,” she said. Maybe it was manipulative, but if she pretended she needed suggestions, maybe he’d offer something more tangible?

“Hmm? You don’t already know? I figured you’d wrap up your research.”

No, that’s right. He already had that idea in mind, didn’t he? She let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll let you in on a secret. There is no research, Siffrin. It was just a convenient lie to explain why I’m here.”

He looked at her with a hard to read expression. “But… huh???”

They were off balance. Good. Maybe it’d trick him into saying something real.

“Yes, yes, sorry to give the game away, but I guess I realized that if I don’t admit it now, I might never. And I wouldn’t want to actually beat the King and then have to figure out what next. Plus I figure if I have a plan for after, if I have a goal, I might be more driven to reach it. Whatever helps, yes? So, any ideas?”

He was looking at her like she’d grown a second head, clearly thrown off. “You could… actually start researching something? Or, um… aren’t you writing a book?”

“My journal? That’s just personal notes. It’d be nonsense to anyone else.”

“Oh.”

She waited but, no, they weren’t offering anything up, were they. She’d have to take the offensive.

“What about you, Siffrin? What do you plan to do after?”

“Oh, uh…” he looked around and shrugged. “I haven’t really given it much thought.”

… not a lie. Interesting…

“Oh? Why not? I mean, you’re not even from Vaugaurde, you must have joined for some reason, right?” She could list theories, but that’d likely give him an out. She was wise to his game. At least half his answers, maybe more, were just mimicking what the other person intended to do. Otherwise it’s just what they’d most likely want to hear, save for perhaps telling Bonnie they’d go to space. An interesting outlier, that one. It seemed innocuous, but maybe it was important?

No, focus now. Theorize later.

Siffrin squirmed a little and finally chuckled awkwardly, offering an awkward shrug. “I didn’t really have anything better to do…”

And gems alive, he was not lying.

“I… see.”

Maybe she should let him go, but she needed to know one more thing first…

“And after we all go our own ways, you’ll be alright, right?”

“I guess I’ll go back to how I was before.”

Not a lie, but not an answer either. “And were you happy before?”

“Of course!”

She needed to talk to the others about this.

——————

I prefer tea, but buy me a Kofi?

#siffrin? more like sif is out au #isat fanfic #isat spoilers #isat au #ISAT Odile #odile pov #memory of liar #in stars and time #isat #fanfic #mine #writing #isat siffrin #teehee

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frenchkisstheabyss · 3 months ago

Text

♡ ｄｅｌｉｃａｔｅ ♡

♡ Pairing: body piercer!seungmin x chubby!fem!shopassistant!reader (w/ appearances by tattoo artist!stray kids)

♡ Genre: fluff/smut

♡ Summary: For the longest time you've dreamed of getting your belly button pierced but you always stop yourself, too shy about your weight to get it done. While working your usual shift at the tattoo shop the resident piercer offers to do it for you, with a bit of meddling from your best friend Changbin, though it turns out that he wants to give you a little or a lot more than just a piercing.

♡ Word Count: 4.7k-ish

♡ Warnings: reader has some insecurities about her weight, piercings (of course), you're getting your belly button pierced babe so yas there's a needle, strong language, kissing, body worship, unprotected sex, Seungmin has a lil dom moment, grinding, fingering, mirror sex, ass slapping, oral sex (f receiving), pet names (good girl), and otherwise fluffiness.

♡ A/N: Hello my loves, I wrote this as a comfort fic for anyone out there who may be struggling with a bad body image day or who might feel like sometimes that they aren't thin enough to wear/do what they want or get the person that they want. My point being that you're a badass bitch who can get whoever and do whatever. If anyone tells you differently they can eat dirt and tell them I said so, babes - xoxo

♡ Part Two Here ♡

Saturday nights at the shop are always your favorite. It’s a little too loud, a little too hectic, but that’s the way you like it. On nights like these you never know who’s gonna step in from the glow of the neon signs and throw you for a loop.

Like the couple making out on one of the couches while they wait their turn to get matching inner lip tattoos. A decision they totally won’t regret when their two week long romance crashes and burns.

Or people like the guy on the phone insisting he come in for a tattoo you know for a fact all of your boys would die before they took on.

“Look, man, I’m not judging you,” you say, judging him to the fullest extent, “It’s just that most of my guys aren’t gonna tattoo your di—”

“Delivery!” a friendly voice rings out in the lobby.

The front door dings, announcing the arrival of your usual delivery girl. She’s short and bubbly with a bag hooked in each of her wrists, filled to the brim with food. In a hurry as always, she sets them down on the desk in front of you and flashes a sweet smile before scurrying off to her next delivery. You respond with one of your own, hopping off the phone just in time to shout, “Have a good night!”

Without missing a beat, you scoop the bags up and head down the hallway off to your left. Bobbing your head along to the rock music blasting from the speakers overhead, you make your way to the main floor where tattoo guns are buzzing away.

“Food’s here!” you announce but it’s too late. You’ve already been spotted and Jeongin’s swiping the bag from your right hand before you can dodge him.

“Ooh, what’s for dinner?” he asks, already hard at work cruising through tonight’s options.

“What?” Felix yells from the far side of the room. He’s hunched over his table, focused on finishing a tattoo of a butterfly on the ankle of a girl who’s much more interested in him than a tattoo.

“She said food’s here!” Jeongin mumbles through a mouthful of food. He makes it a few steps back towards his station, hugging the bag like a newborn baby he’ll protect with his life, before Hyunjin intercepts him.

“Give it here!” Hyunjin demands, almost wrestling a stubborn Jeongin for the bag.

You feel a tugging at the other bag and by the time you turn to see who it is, Minho’s already passing by with Chan, the bag secured in his hand.

Minho digs through it, frowning, “Fuck, they forgot my sauce again.”

“Christopher, can you control your children before they scare off our customers?” you shout after Chan as he grabs his food and settles down at his station.

Chan leans back in his chair, kicking his feet up. Checking his watch, he grins, “Can’t sorry. I’m on break.”

You roll your eyes, letting out a huff of frustration. Sometimes the real headache isn’t the weird customers, it’s the guys you work for, but you love them so if there ever were a headache you could tolerate this would be it.

Turning to head back up front, you stop dead in your tracks when you realize that one of the first people to swarm you for dinner hardly looked your way. Backtracking you spot the stray, Seo Changbin, locked in on an intricate chest tattoo and Han laying across his table, whining like this tattoo wasn’t his idea to begin with.

You skip over to Changbin’s station, quietly admiring the piece over his shoulder. It’s a compass. Highly detailed. Clean lines. The same flawless work you always expect of him.

“Aah, you’re trying to kill me” Han says, turning to you for sympathy, “He’s trying to kill me.”

Changbin groans, paying him no mind. “Hey, I wouldn’t have agreed to do this if I knew you’d be such a baby about it.

Han pouts, poking his lip out, “I am not a baby.”

You giggle, shifting to the other side of the table to get a better look.

“You are such a baby” you tease, poking his lip back in, “It looks really good. Totally worth the pa—oh my god. When did you get that?”

Your gaze drifts from the tattoo and down Han’s torso where shiny, stainless steel jewelry adorns his belly button.

“A week ago, maybe two?” Han smiles, happy that you noticed. “You like it?”

“Ugh, I love it” you gush, eyes lit up at the sight of it. “I wish I could get one but I can’t.”

Han seems more excited than you at the mention of it. “Why not? You should get one!”

You freeze, unsure how you want to answer this question. You’re mortified of the possible awkwardness of the truth but you’ve been best friends with these guys far too long to lie to them.

“Well, I haven’t lost enough weight yet to get one but when I do—”

Changbin stops tattooing, shutting his gun off to stare into your soul. “What did I tell you about that? You’re beautiful how you are. Isn’t she beautiful the way she is?”

He poses the question to someone over your shoulder and, as the figure rounds the corner, your heart almost stops beating.

“Hmm? Yeah” Seungmin, the sole piercer in the shop, nods sipping a drink through one of those cute twisty straws. You find pretty much everything the man does attractive but there’s something especially adorable about this.

He disappears into his room with a simple wave and a nod that makes you weak in the knees. Every guy here is like a brother to you but Seungmin? He’s different. You’ve been head over heels for him, utterly at his mercy, since he started working here.

As far as you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend but you haven’t figured out how to decipher his trademark grumpiness enough to tell if he has a thing for you too. Far too terrified to make the first move, you’ve settled for drooling over your dark haired puppy dog eyed lover from afar.

Han nudges you with his elbow, struggling to hold back his laughter, “Ooh, you like him.”

You’re about to knee him in the side but he’s saved by Changbin’s execution of a plot he concocted mere seconds ago. You hadn’t noticed that mischievous look on his face but you have now and you don’t like it one bit.

“Seungmin!” he calls out, flicking his gun on and getting back to work.

Seungmin appears in the doorway, more preoccupied with his phone than anything Changbin has to say.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Got time to do a belly button piercing real quick?”

“Depends” Seungmin shrugs, finally looking up from his phone, “Who’s asking?”

“Changbin, no” you mouth, only to be ignored.

Changbin points to you, bubbling with joy at his evil plan. Seungmin folds his tattooed arms across his chest, looking you up and down.

Suddenly you’re second guessing what you wore today. Some combat boots and a short black dress with lace accents. It’s tight enough to highlight your shape but loose enough to flow a bit when you walk. Is it enough? Is it too much? Why are you even thinking about this?

“You?” Seungmin asks, raising a curious eyebrow.

Fidgeting with the silver heart locket on your necklace, you muster up the courage to actually face him.

“I was just, uh, I was thinking about it but I’m working so…”

Changbin chimes in, not letting you weasel your way out so easily, “Jeongin can watch the front desk”

“I don’t even have any jewelry picked out.”

“He has emergency jewelry back there. Don’t you, Seungmin?

Seungmin glances back into his room to check, “I’ve got something for her and my next appointment canceled so I have time if she really wants it.”

With no way out, you take a step towards his room, hesitating for a moment. Seungmin gives you a half smile, more than he offers most people. “Come on. I don’t bite.” Not that you’d be mad if he did.

Giving in, you push forward, glancing over your shoulder to give Changbin a look that says he’ll pay for this later. Seungmin steps aside, patiently waiting for you to enter his room before shutting the door behind you. You jump a little when the door clicks shut and you hear him laughing at you.

“Nervous?”

“Me? Nervous? No way.”

You’re lying and he can tell. When you spend your time doing dozens of piercings a day you get good at reading people. Plus the way you’re trembling doesn't exactly make it hard to tell what you’re feeling.

“Well you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of you, okay?” he reassures you, placing a comforting hand on your forearm. His thumb strokes your inner wrist and suddenly your body's electric.

“Uh, yeah, for sure” you nod, your voice light and airy.

Seungmin gently squeezes your arm, heading over to his closet to search for something. After a few seconds he pulls out a small fuzzy blanket with a cute Halloween pattern on it.

“I need you to pull your dress up for the, well, you know” he says, opening the blanket up for you, “But if you’re not comfortable you can cover up with this.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s really sweet of you.” You try not to seem too impressed, taking the blanket as he turns his back to you, busying himself by doing some prep.

Hiking your dress up over your stomach, you tuck the blanket around your waist to cover your legs. Staring down at the way your soft belly pokes out, your brain goes into crisis mode. You’d imagined yourself half dressed in a room with Seungmin but this was far easier in your fantasies than in real life. You feel so vulnerable, one of your biggest insecurities laid bare, but there’s no turning back now. You’re in this.

“So, are you gonna tell me what all that was about?” Seungmin asks, careful not to catch even the slightest peek at you before you’re ready.

“All of what?” you stutter, your mind temporarily going blank. “Oh, that with Changbin? That was just, I don’t know, I’ve been wanting this for a while but I was putting it off…for reasons.”

“Because you don’t think you’re ‘Beautiful the way you are’?”

You cringe at his question, wishing Changbin hadn’t used such a cliche phrase. You squint your eyes, staring into the distance, imagining all the ways you’ll torture him for getting you into this.

“It’s not that” you deny, gearing up for another lie but you back down yet again, “It’s kinda that. I don’t know. I’m not really a girl with a flat stomach.”

Seungmin snaps on a pair of black gloves, “Can I turn around now?”

“Mmhmm” you nod, your dress gathered in a tight fist of fabric above your stomach.

He spins around, pulls up a chair, and flops down in front of you in one fluid motion. He twirls a black marker in one hand, popping the top off with his teeth.

“Who told you that you had to be a girl with a flat stomach?” he asks, inspecting your belly button for the perfect spot. “I like your stomach. I think it’s cute.”

The compliment has the heat formerly warming your cheeks spreading through your entire body. You let out an involuntary giggle and he cracks a smile, a full one this time. The first of its kind in shop history.

“You don’t have to say that to be nice.”

Seungmin marks a point, grabbing a hand mirror to show it to you, “You like it? Yeah? Good. Up on the table.”

You hop up on the table and assume the position. Straight out on your back, hands at your sides. You see it every day. No instruction needed.

“I wasn’t being nice by the way” he says, that handsome face sliding up next to you. “It is cute. You’re…you’re really cute.”

Feeling himself begin to blush, he slips out of view to sterilize the area and get the needle ready.

“I’m sorry if that was weird. Was that weird?” he rambles, mostly to himself.

Today’s full of firsts. You’ve never seen him nervous before, you never expected to, but the man’s ears are turning red and he can barely string a sentence together.

“It’s not weird, Seungmin. You’re really cute too” you say, despite your own nervousness. You’ve been waiting so long to say that. It’s a relief to finally get it out.

“Now you’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. I do think you’re cute. I always have” you confess, “I just never said anything cause I didn’t think you’d like me."

Pinching your skin with a set of forceps, he aligns the needle with the tiny mark above your belly button, “Deep breath in.”

You take a deep breath in and the needle pops through like butter. You feel a quick sting followed by a rush of adrenaline. He slips the jewelry through so seamlessly you hardly feel it and you’re all done.

“Are you crazy? I’ve liked you forever. Was it not obvious?” he asks, popping off his gloves and taking your hand to sit you up.

“What? No. It wasn’t obvious. Was it supposed to be?”

Seungmin pauses, truly reflecting upon his attempts at flirting. “I tell you ‘Good morning’ every morning. I tell everyone else to kiss my ass.”

“So romantic” you joke before noticing how sincere he is about it.

You instantly wonder if he’s stared at you before the way he does now. The truth is that he has, maybe not in the most obvious moments but every chance he gets. When you’re running late in the morning, hurrying in with iced coffee to win everyone’s sympathy. When you’re all hanging out at Minho’s place and you’re rambling with Han about the dramas you’ve been watching. Or when you’re all out having drinks and you’re simply existing. He has those same stars in his eyes that he does now. Every. Single. Time.

Realizing how hard he must be staring, he backs his chair up, giving you enough room to move around. Riding high on the thrill of actually going through with your piercing—your thoughts jumbled up by the knowledge that these feelings are mutual—you hop up to check yourself out in the mirror with not a thought given to the fact that the blanket has slipped off.

So here you are, twirling around in front of the mirror with your dress proudly held up. Plush thighs kissing each other. Lacey black panties on full display. A dazzling piece of jewelry dangles from your belly button and your stomach does the happiest jiggle as you delight in your reflection.

“You like it?” Seungmin asks, coming closer to get a better look.

“I love it. It’s so pretty” you beam, your gaze drawn to something shifting in the reflection.

Seungmin isn't watching you the same way he was anymore. There are notes of something reminiscent of the former innocence and awe but it’s something different entirely. It’s intense enough that you can feel the air shift in the room. The brown of his eyes seemingly grows deeper the longer he takes in your figure.

“You can’t look at me like that” you say, your breathing growing shallow as you begin to lose yourself in what you see in the mirror. Watching him watching you.

“You don’t want me to?” he asks, patiently awaiting your answer.

You don’t feel rushed or pressured. His patience is genuine but his eyes never leave you. They never leave you to question if that look of longing is dedicated to you or not.

You take a deep breath, making one last twirl to face the man that has your pulse racing a mile a minute. It isn’t just the way he watches you that has you on the verge of soaking through your new panties. It’s the way he sits in his chair, slightly tilted back, arms resting on his legs. It’s like he’s waiting for you, that little grin on his lips daring you to come take a seat.

“I want you to” you say softly enough that you’re unsure if he heard you.

Seungmin glides closer to you in his chair, stopping when his knees barely graze your legs. He leans forward, fingertips tracing the outline of your thighs, “You want me to what?”

As he asks the question, his breath tickles the surface of your skin and you shiver at the sensation.

“I want you to…aah” you gasp as his hands grip the tender flesh of your ass, pulling you in close enough for his lips to meet your stomach. He kisses it carefully and lovingly, taking his time to let his mouth and hands explore all of the softest, fluffiest parts of you.

“You want me to…what?” he asks, tugging you down into his lap, his lips still wet from kissing your body. It makes it all the more tempting to kiss him. Surrendering to your impulses, you pull him into a kiss so ravenous and full of need that it leaves his head spinning in the best way.

You were meant to come in here for a piercing. That was it. Now you’re straddling his lap with your fingers in his hair while his tongue’s halfway down your throat.

Slipping his hands back under your dress, he rests them on your hips, pressing you down into his lap to show you just how hard you've gotten him. Your panties are more soaked than you notice, making the material thin enough that you can feel it all. The thickness of his cock, the texture of his pants, grinding against your sensitive core, bumping your clit each time he raises his hips.

A moan escapes your lips. A weak, cute little thing that only makes him want you more. He breaks from the kiss, charting a course down your neck to tease the curves of your breasts with his tongue.

“Who told you that you could be this sexy?”

“I don’t know” you giggle, a small glimmer of your former shyness coming through, “I could ask you the same thing.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he tilts you just enough to give him the space to stroke your clit through your panties, forcing more and more of those sensual moans to pour out of you.

“Just promise me you won’t stop” Seungmin begs, tucking your panties to the side to pet your dripping slit. “Keep being this sexy…this fucking cute…this—fuck.” He sinks his fingers into your core and you swallow them up eagerly, clenching tightly around them.

You throw your head back, your back arched in pleasure. You know without looking that he’s watching you again. You know he’s getting off on how your breasts bounce each time you grind down onto his fingers, your pussy so wet that his whole hand’s slick with your juices.

Seungmin navigates your body like magic, picking up on your most tender spots and knowing just when to hit them to make you tremble the way you did when you first stepped into this room.

Cradling his cheeks in your palms, you come face to face with him, and say to him in the sweetest tone, “Fuck me already.”

Taking you into his arms, he sweeps you up out of the chair, and sets you down on the edge of the table.

“Oh god, I didn’t know you could do that” you gasp, stunned that he could pick you up. You knew that Seungmin was fit, something more than obvious by the toned body your eyes are graced with when he pulls his shirt off. But fit enough to pick you up like you’re nothing? Now that you didn’t expect.

“What? You didn’t expect me to be strong? I’m hurt” he pouts, pretending to be offended but not too offended to help you wiggle your dress up over your head.

You slide back on the table and right out of your panties. “Get up here and I’ll make it better.”

You spread your legs and he’s right in between them, leaving a trail of kisses behind as he makes his way up to a pussy wet enough to glisten in the glow of the overhead light. He can’t resist having a taste, humming at the deliciousness of your arousal dancing on his taste buds.

The tip of his tongue meets your clit, flicking it slowly at first then picking up an unforgiving speed. Your hands find his hair again and you’re writhing on the table, choking back moans with your fingers tangled in the back of his head.

The slurping sounds that fill the room make you want to cum right now. In his mouth. Down his chin. All over that gorgeous face of his. And he’d welcome it happily. Beg you to give him more even. That’s how badly he wants you. How badly he’s always wanted you.

Seungmin’s mouth deserts you unexpectedly, leaving your walls spasming and your stiffened bud twitching in his absence. “Add that to the list of things you can’t stop doing” he whispers, crawling on top of you.

You’re beautiful from any angle, there’s not one he can think of where you aren’t, but this has to be his favorite. You look so perfect underneath him. Right where you should be.

“Getting eaten out?” you ask, planting a kiss on his shiny pink lips.

“I meant tasting so good but…” he muses, the head of his cock throbbing at your entrance, “I can make sure that happens too.”

That first bit of contact, the very first time you feel his cock raw against your pussy, has you purring. Seungmin feeds you just the tip at first, stretching you out little by little, loving everything about how your body reacts to him. Running your nails across his back, you raise your hips, whining for more.

“What are you whining for, baby?” Seungmin teases, giving you one inch after another, “Is this it? This what you want?”

“Aah, yes, I want it. More please. Please” you plead, your eyes growing glossier the wider you’re stretched.

It crosses his mind to spend more time teasing you just a little bit, it’s in his nature to be a bit of an asshole after all, but you feel way too good to play games with. You fit him like a glove and with every thrust he becomes more and more convinced that you must’ve been made for him.

“You’re so perfect” he praises, massaging your curves, “Fuck, I love your body. Your face. Your everything.”

Soaking in the praise and the ecstasy of his length dragging along the ridges of your core, you could swear that you were glowing and, actually, you are. Glowing in his adoration and, courtesy of an accidental glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a fair share of your own.

Seungmin catches you looking at yourself and smiles, pounding into you harder. “Don’t look away” he instructs, holding your head in place, “Have you ever seen how pretty you are when you cum?”

“N…no” you manage, biting down on your bottom lip to keep from screaming at the tremors each thrust sends through your body.

“Good, we’ll see it for the first time together then.”

Using his free hand, he grips one of your thighs, pressing your leg back so that he feels even deeper than before. The force is powerful enough that you feel it in your chest, vibrating down to your fingertips.

You can’t take your eyes off of your reflection, he won’t let you. Your body moves so beautifully when he’s fucking you that he needs you to see it how he does. You need to see the way your tits bounce and your hips jiggle as the tension builds up inside of you and you’re choking back moans with his name on the tip of your tongue.

Seungmin doesn’t need you to tell him how close you are. Your body gives him every cue he needs. The tightening of your muscles. The stuttering of your breath. The legs wrapped around his waist, making sure he keeps punishing your sweet spot, pushing you further and further to your breaking point.

“Mmm, coming. I’m coming” you moan, letting your high wash over you.

He kisses you on the cheek, refusing to let up on you. “Look at you, coming all over my cock” he coos, committing every face you make to memory, “Such a good girl.”

The vision of you is almost too much. Your legs spread out, your brain all fuzzy, your body overstimulated, and your juices pooling on the table below. He can’t hold back anymore. He can’t ignore the tightness and the warmth of your velvet walls fluttering around him.

“Oh fuck” he hisses, pulling out just in time to coat your swollen pussy in a thick glaze of his cum. It’s hot and tingly on your clit, tickling as it drips between your folds.

You stroke his back, comforting him on his way down from his high and he does the same for you, his fingertips running up and down your thighs. The room falls into silence. Not an awkward one but one of comfort. One where you hold each other as long as you want. Not minding the heavy breathing or the sweaty bodies. Just enjoying being together before it dawns on the two of you that you’re both still at work.

“Shit, shit, shit! The front desk is definitely on fire by now” you fuss, rushing to throw your clothes back on.

Seungmin’s not nearly in as much of a rush as you are. He’s having too much fun watching you freak out to care about if there's a bunch of agitated customers waiting up front or not.

Grabbing you by the wrist, he spins you into a hug that calms you down in an instant.

“So what if it is?” he asks, brushing your hair out of your face, “I have to ask you something important first.”

“Important? Important like what?”

“Important like I know we don’t close until 2am tonight but could I see you after, maybe?"

You shrug, acting like you don’t care when you’re literally screaming on the inside, “I guess so.”

“It’s like that? You ‘guess’ so?”

Seungmin slaps your ass and draws you into a kiss that has you ready to drop your panties for him for a second time.

“Fine. I more than guess. I’d love to see you later” you blush, playfully pinching his cheeks, “I’ll wait for you up front then?”

He nods, getting one last squeeze out of you before turning you loose. “Let me see it one more time.”

Knowing exactly what he means, you take a step back to flash him your new piercing.

“Yup, still very hot” he winks, casually leaning against the table he just fucked your brains out on.

You smooth your dress back out, giggling as you skip back out onto the floor to find that everyone’s staring at you. Machines are buzzing but no one’s actually doing any work. Even the customers are staring at you waiting to see what happens next.

Clearing your throat, you hold your head high, and march across the floor. You manage to hide your excitement just long enough to make it back to the hallway where your joyful squeals can flow freely. You can’t remember the last time you felt this excited about something. About someone. About yourself.

You aren’t too big for a belly button piercing. It looks sexy as fuck on you, you must admit. And you aren’t too big for Seungmin who happens to look sexy as fuck on you too. You feel beautiful the way you are, truly, and there’s a boy sitting at his station, too busy thinking about you to get anything done, that thinks so too.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin smut #seungmin fluff #stray kids x female reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x chubby reader

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musicallisto · 29 days ago

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· · · · ♡ IF (SAINZ WIN == TRUE) (cs55)

… starring carlos sainz x f!engineer!reader ... 4.4k words ... in which carlos is an effusive, self-assured lad to every member of his team... except ferrari's head software engineer, making her wonder if he secretly hates her guts. ... based on this request ... warnings for language (minor) ... my first ever (posted) fic for carlos aaaaa (i have written A Lot More about this man because he occupies my every waking hour, but i shan't share it yet). in honor of me missing my communication networks final last week i made the reader a software engineer, but you would Never catch me willingly coding anything in c++ outside of my mandated assignments. no not even for carlos sainz jr. i have morals. this is open for part 2 if you guys enjoy it <3

He speaks the language of princes.

It's not in anything he says, no, he's much too industrious to waste time boasting, but rather in all that he doesn't. Carlos walks into the Ferrari motorhome, with that good-natured smile and that slightly disheveled hair from the morning's cycling session, and heads bow. Not out of plight, or even obligation, but mostly because it's hard not to. His warm greetings to everyone—Ciao's and even Come stai?'s to his team members strolling down the hallways before the weekend—, his keen interest in remembering little things about engineers' and photographers' lives, his nonchalant stride around the parc fermé all force camaraderie at least; reverence to most.

Wherever the red car goes, Maranello or any other corner of the world, religion follows, and though Carlos Sainz has never quite fit into the nooks they keep for their idols—their walls are carved for Monégasque shoulders—, he's at least always carried the air of a rebel leader on unforgving land.

But if Carlos is Ferrari's bastard prince, then clearly you are a subject he would not go to war for.

Or so he makes you think, once again, on that hot Singaporean afternoon.

You hadn't meant to interrupt, really, but with only one hour to go before FP1, you needed to talk to Riccardo Adami; something about the software updates, optimization of the data acquisition systems to account for Marina Bay's sweltering heat—run for half a second too long, overheat half a degree too much, and everyone's calculations would be going to hell. So of course you'd corrected it, supervised a brand new version of your code for the weekend, for that tenth of a Celsius; competition drove you. Almost just as much as those solar eyes boring into you when you walk into the room.

"Riccardo, about the softw—oh. Carlos. Hi," you timidly trail off when Carlos' eyes meet yours.

The room gets quiet, and it is only then that you notice how much space his laugh takes. Usually, you would've recognized the accent from outside the door, the boisterous voice regaling the Fifty-fives with another funny story—how could you not, when it sends shockwaves down your stomach? He seems to have been in an animated conversation with his race engineer, but as you get closer to the two men you notice the crinkles lengthening Carlos' eyes are fading with his smile. You aren't sure he's even said hi back.

"We've changed the code for acquisition, but some loops could still cause problems with overheating, particularly the engine oil temperature sensors…" you explain, though half your attention is directed to your peripheral vision, in which Carlos sways on his two feet, averting your gaze at all costs.

But you're not a college girl with a crush, you're Scuderia Ferrari's head software engineer and so you go on with your precisions to Riccardo. What to expect during free practice, how to overshoot any nonessential sensors that might fuck up the data analysis... until, mid-sentence, Carlos excuses himself awkwardly, pats Ricky on the shoulder, and walks out of the room.

You will your face into not betraying the sudden ache in your throat. How he simply acted like you weren't there... didn't even inquire about the updates. About the race. About your flight, about how much you loved Singapore's twinkling lights, about... you.

"Xavi and Charles know this already, but we really gotta test it all now before it gets cooler for FP2," you conclude with a too-hard swallow. Back firmly turned to the door Carlos just disappeared out of.

Riccardo thanks you, offers his own insight, some banalities about the risks of rain—no, you shouldn't consider them banalities. Nothing, on a Friday, is a banality anymore; yet everything is when you remember how Carlos' entire face shuts close when you're around, how his tone quietens down, how he repeatedly and stubbornly conceals all his rays of brazenness from you.

Does he hate you? Despise you? Are you not worth his effrontery?

This is ridiculous. You're not a college girl with a crush, you're a damn senior member of the team with responsibilities and he doesn't owe you anything more or less than you him—

"Riccardo," you neither ask nor plead. "Has Carlos... said anything about me?"

"About you? Like what?"

"I don't know... but you did see he just... left while I was in the middle of talking, right? And he looked annoyed as soon as I came in." And for all that's holy, try to pass this off as mere politeness and not a heartache that is eating you alive.

"Maybe he was just bored."

"So I'm boring?"

"No," Riccardo wheezes, in uncharacteristically high spirits for the conversation. "But I've worked with a ton of drivers, and you know, they're all the same. Less time discussing boring analytics is more time they spend in the sim. Or on track. What, you think he's angry at you or something?"

"I just... don't get why he's always so guarded and distant with me but so outgoing and confident with you guys. Charles isn't like that either. It makes no sense. We're a team, all of us."

The Italian looks at you for long seconds, amusement noticeable on his features, and you would shake him up and tell him to stop giving you those pity eyes if you lacked the tiniest bit of respect for the man; instead, you frown and cross your arms.

"He'll be in a good mood tonight when we top free practice," Riccardo assures you before you can ask him if he needs anything else. "and even better tomorrow after getting pole. You can talk to him then if you want."

A smile creeps its way on your lips without you conjuring it. There it is, that loyal veneration that only men and women of the Scuderia possess. Something in those southern eyes Carlos shares with legend has made you religious, too.

"I'll hold you to that... we could all use a Singapore miracle."

Singapore is a miracle.

Surely any other team would scoff at the word, bragging that a pole position has nothing to do with miracles, that it's all meticulous teamwork and endless iterations on calculators, but Ferrari is deeply supersitious at its core. You—the centenarian team, its red-hot beating heart—don't shy away from thanking divine intervention. Maybe that's the reason why it still works.

After Carlos' last pole in Monza, the whole Scuderia had dared to dream of something different, a glimmer of scarlet in the season's overwhelming orange. Of course, an uncatchable Max had put a dampen on the fervent Tifosi's mood, but the formidable hope machine had revved back to life...

and now it's roaring in Marina Bay.

Leclerc's side of the garage claps for a hard-earned P3, but it's the Spaniard's team that erupts into cheers and rushes out into the pitlane to congratulate their hero. You stare at his lap time on your monitor with a grin—1:30.984, not even a tenth faster than his teammate—as cheerful screams, in Italian and Spanish, fill the garage; they get louder when Carlos walks back inside, grinning ear to ear and not even bothering to dodge the strong-arm pats on his head and back.

"Twice in a row, cazzo!"

"And this time you won't have Verstappen underfoot!"

"Perfect lap, Carlos, that was a perfect lap..."

"Grazie a tutti," Carlos beams, fire suit down to his waist, running clammy hands through his hair—he parts the red sea as he walks deeper into the garage, close to where you are. "I think we all did a very good job today, and now we gotta finish the job tomorrow..."

He laughs with the mechanics, a sun of fire and victory casting its rays onto the tarmac, and maybe it's the euphoria of the moment, but a sudden wind of courage rushes through your blood, and you walk up to him.

"Bravo, Carlos."

Your voice hits him like the purr of an engine in the ruckus, overshadowing any other sound; he whips his head in your direction, shiny eyes colliding with yours, and for the first time you don't back off but hold them in awe, and his smile doesn't fade, but rather shifts. To surprise, or... coyness?

"You were incredible out there, we're all so so proud of you," you praise, and the more you look at him the wider your smile grows, and the quieter the rest of the world gets.

"Thank you, Y/N," he rubs the back of his neck, his free hand fiddling with the hanging sleeves of his fire suit. "We... I couldn't have done this without you. Because, you know, the overheating, or what you were saying to Ricky before? I didn't understand everything, but at least I didn't cook to death."

Coyness? In Carlos Sainz? When he's still sweaty and panting from qualifying first? What a bizarre sight, one that makes you giggle.

The way your nose scrunches up beneath sparkling eyes is so endearing, Carlos almost feels his breath hitch in his throat, almost reaches out to lightly brush your arm, hold the steady coolness of it.

"Great, that was what we were going for, pretty much," you reply, and for a second you could've sworn he wanted to touch your arm and changed his mind, but...

you bury the idea before a craving for his warmth can nestle in your chest.

"Great," he repeats. "So, I'll... see you later," and with that he leaves you there, stranded in the middle of the garage, to be lauded by the press and fans.

You'd be lying if you said his shadow disappearing out the backdoor as quickly as it had come doesn't slice a gash in your heart—always whisked away to some important obligation, and you, like everyone else, duty-bound to pick up the pieces behind him. But this time around the cut doesn't run as deep, doesn't bleed as red; because for the first time in months Carlos talked to you, joked with you, and looked the tiniest bit glad to be doing so.

If that's how good of a mood a pole puts him in... then clearly you'd better make damn sure he wins this race.

Ferrari is deeply superstitious at its core. Maybe that much is true in any sport—when victory eludes you, athletes find obscure laws to trick themselves into believing they still retain control—, but a team so old, on which glory has rained so often, does not withstand the passage of time without a few pillars of faith. And so it makes sense that Ferrari drivers, of all people, would have their pre-race traditions.

Leclerc plays the piano on Saturday nights; you hear him every time you pass by the team hotel's lounge, his melancholy tracks grounding you in a precise time and place. Now the car is out of bounds, the comfort of your object-oriented programming and optimized lines of code off-limits; now's the time for withdrawal and rest.

Typically, you like to hang out in the lounge while Charles plays, trying to distract yourself with a book or simply basking in the music. The predictable, calculated flow of Charles' arpeggios soothes you, like lines of code running one after the other. So does the Monégasque driver's easy conversation. Although it doesn't shoot butterflies in your belly like Carlos' does... but you're not supposed to play favorites.

This Grand Prix eve is just like any other, save for the unordinary trepidation that carpets the hotel. With one of their own sitting on pole, it's obvious strategists struggle more than usual to drop the words "tire management" and "pit stops". Eager to escape the nervousness, you excuse yourself from the dinner table, and make your way to the lounge.

Charles is already there, if the usual pieces echoing in the distance at dessert are any indication, and you barely even get lost in the elegant halls before you find the lounge... though there is no piano to be heard. Maybe this hotel has two music rooms—maybe Charles went to bed early—or maybe...

maybe he's sitting on the piano stool and chatting with Carlos, wet and sleepy from his evening shower.

Neither driver notices you at first, and you stop dead in your tracks, wondering if you should just leave. You wouldn't want to intrude—intrude on what, the rational part of your brain says, but with Carlos I always feel like I'm intruding on something bigger than myself, the rest of your body answers—, but you really enjoy this unspoken tradition with Charles... and, well, this is everybody's lounge, and...

"Y/N," Charles sees you eventually and beckons you over. "Sorry, I don't think there'll be a lot of music tonight, Carlos is distracting me."

"You could kick me out anytime," Carlos remarks good-naturedly, but you don't miss how he angles his body away from you ever so slightly. The sight sends a dagger through your heart. So he actually hates you then. So you didn't breach any barrier earlier at the circuit, didn't melt any ice. So he didn't look pleased and a little excited to be talking to you.

"That's okay, I'll just head to bed then—"

"Oh no no no," Charles interrupts, "come sit with us. I was trying to convince Carlos to give the piano a go, maybe you'll be more successful than me."

"Absolutely not, mate."

"Come on Carlos, it will relax you!"

"No, you're the musician, not me. One of us has to be the sportsman, no?"

Unsure, you flick between the two men, Charles' inviting face and Carlos, who's still doing everything he can to avoid looking at you in the eye. And then you decide—fuck it. You're just as much a member of the team as he is. He cannot drive you away with his... stupid cold shoulder tactics any longer.

You take a seat on the sofa opposite Carlos, and watch in half delight, half annoyance as he turns his shoulders away from you. Though his body language appears relaxed, one leg strewn across his knee and elbows hugging the backrest, he is, as usual, going to hell and beyond to not acknowledge your presence.

Charles has the merit of lightening the mood with his jokes and fan encounters of the day: some bizarre, some endearing, because he seemingly never has a boring day in the paddock. His easy laughter mixes with the distant voices down the halls when your attention drops—too fast, too soon, as always, it's irremediable—to Carlos, the soothing scent of his shampoo and the little droplets that run down his temple whenever he shakes his head in amusement... before you know it, you're staring again, eyes shining with undisclosed heartache. Something Charles sees, and recognizes very well, with a jot of curiosity.

Charles may not be the most perceptive when it comes to these things, but he is in love too, and he'd know the signs anywhere. That's why after a little while he lets silence blow his last words away like wind does the mist, and stands up from the piano stool.

"Well, I'm going to bed," he announces with an air of conniving finality, and he smiles his crooked smile at Carlos. "Gonna need all my energy to take the lead in turn 1."

This snaps you out of your reverie. Half-gone, you bid him goodnight at the same time as the Spaniard does, and you brace yourself for his own excuse... but it doesn't come. Carlos lazily watches as Charles leaves the lounge. You don't dare to move, as if your slightest sound could remind him you're there and trigger his fight.

You would've thought a tête-à-tête with you to be Carlos' worst nightmare... but he makes no sign of leaving. And sends solar flares up your chest and throat. "Whatever problem he's got with me, he'll have it sort it out with me like an adult" sounds much more intimidating when it's so plausible.

"You think he has the slightest chance of overtaking me in turn 1?" Carlos chuckles.

You look him straight in the eye and read no resentment, not even that sheepishness from before—just relaxed delight, and the slightest hint of reddened cheeks against tan, damp skin. It takes you a second, maybe even two, to realize there's no one else in the room. He's talking to you. Joking with you.

Why is the script running without error all of a sudden, even though you changed no variables?

"Maybe," you give a noncommittal shrug and a smile. "Why not? It all depends on you."

"He can lead the first lap if he wants. That will just make it more fun to cross the finish line ahead of him after."

"You better win this one, Sainz, because I..." you start, and midway through your sentence are hit by how absolutely ridiculous you're about to sound, but he's leaned in already, intrigued by your words, and his burning gaze and strong hands fiddling in his lap have you losing all notions of propriety. "I've... coded a little something for you. If you win. A surprise. It's not much, but... yeah."

Your whole face burns deep scarlet as you trail off... and the light in Carlos' eyes darkens, then goes out completely. His smile fades back to the usual professional grimace he reserves for you. Distant. Cold. He rises to his feet.

"I should get some sleep."

Terror strikes you. Incomprehension too.

"No, Carlos, wait."

He turns his head to your outstretched hand... your pleading eyes almost rip through his heart.

"Why do you dislike me so much?"

And then his shoulders slump, like crushed by an immense weariness, and he sighs, long and hard, before his gaze falls back to yours. Those big brown eyes, gentle, compassionate, and those fingers tapping against his thigh like they're waiting for an invisible cue to reach out for yours.

"... Can we talk about this after the race?" he says, shooting daggers through your stomach.

So he didn't deny it. Didn't reassure you, tell you it's all a misunderstanding, that he bears no ill will towards you, that you're imagining things as usual and that you two could be on the best of terms if you just got out of your head a little bit.

One more time, he's running away. Sweeping everything under the rug, for just one more session, one more race, hiding behind the excuse of concentration and professionalism.

But who are you to revoke him that? It's a damn good excuse. You need to win. He needs to win. Not be bothered about... interpersonal relationships while clipping walls.

"... Alright," you concede, voice and bones all broken, glistening under your frozen skin. "But if it's something I've done, then I'm sorry. I really do... enjoy your company. And you."

"It's not something you've done," he speaks quietly. Gosh, your frailty in this moment—you, so proud and unshakable on the pit wall, so dedicated and thorough on TV, so immeasurably devoted to Ferrari, to Charles, to him... "Or, well, I guess not directly..."

If he looks into your confused, imploring eyes one more second, almost brushes your arm with his one more time, then he's done for. But he thinks he knows this already.

"I don't dislike you," he starts speaking and as soon as he opens his mouth he knows there's no stopping himself now, so he blurts it all out as quickly as he can to get it over with and hopefully bury some meaning in the pits of his accent. "Not at all. In fact I really like you. I think you're gorgeous, and smart, and clever, and fun, and every day I wish I could spend more time with you outside of races and get to know you better but then I remember that can never happen and it's so frustrating and I have the hardest time concentrating. So I just avoid you. It's easier."

Silence thick as a thundercloud tethers you to one another. He runs a hand over his face, sighing deep, and you blink. Once, twice.

You've always prided yourself on your brains—not everyone gets to be in charge of all the computing for a Formula 1 car—but right now, you are all utterly lost.

"Carlos, I... I don't get it." Or maybe you do, heart thumping in your ears, but you're too scared you might be wrong.

"In any other life I would've asked you out on a date." This time he speaks more slowly, more purposefully, too. Like he's imbuing every syllable with the depth of his confession. "But it kills me that it can't be this one."

"... Why not?" you tentatively ask after an instant, feigning not to notice how his hand is now resting on the back of your sofa, right next to your ear and neck.

"Because you're a senior engineer! That would be like... like dating Ricky. Even if you're much prettier than Ricky. But you don't need to tell him that," he adds with a nervous laugh, which you mirror; though you fall silent as soon as his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, right where your collar ends, millimeters away from your skin. His body's warring with his own words... one wants to resist, the other to give in. "What if I leave Ferrari? That's a crazy conflict of interest."

"That's a silly idea, you're not leaving Ferrari anytime soon. Are you?"

"I don't know, it's... hypothetically... you know what I mean," he exhales in defeat. His hand clasps a little tighter on your shoulder, his scent dizzying, closer than ever before. Can he feel your frantic heart thumping underneath your skin? If he keeps licking his lips like this, will he sense your breathing getting more erratic?

"I do. But... the problem is I like you too, Carlos."

If embers could burn back to life, light a hearth out of nothingness... they wouldn't shine as bright as Carlos' eyes just then.

"Don't mess with me."

"I'm not messing with you. Why wouldn't I like you?"

"Because you're not supposed to have a favorite."

"I won't tell Fred if you don't."

He laughs, a brittle but adorable little thing, like a small bird taking its first flight. If you could hear the sound more often, see that bashful smile on his handsome face more every day... you wouldn't need any other prince to die in war for.

His hand runs down your arm, his thumb lightly caressing your skin through the fabric of your shirt before he grabs your shaky hand in his.

"Now's not the best time, but... I think we've got to have an important conversation after the race tomorrow," his deep, soft tone pacifying you just as much as the abstract shapes he traces on the back of your hand.

"After you win, you mean."

"Right. After I get my surprise, no?"

"After you win," you repeat with a grin, and he squeezes your hand, smiling too. Something, deep down, tells him he'll win regardless of the race result.

"Cosa diavolo sta facendo?"

Even in spite of the roaring crowd and the bellowing V8s speeding down the straight, the dumbfounded voices around the pit wall come to you clear as day.

"Russell 1.4 behind Lando," Ricky, sitting on the other side of Vasseur, speaks into his headset.

The team principal keeps quiet, eyes fixed on the cascade of numbers and brackets on your screen. He understands before the rest of the wall what his driver is doing; and as you relay all the information you get to the race engineers, you understand it too.

"Lando .8 behind, .8 behind with DRS—Russell no DRS... Copy that."

He's doing it on purpose. Keeping Norris just close enough to shield him from the Mercs while making sure he can't catch up. You'd laugh in triumph and disbelief if you weren't gritting your teeth so damn hard, heart on the verge of exploding as the last laps tick out in a blur.

Just a few more minutes. Just a few more seconds, and the night sky over Marina Bay will explode in crimson lights...

Mechanics spring to their feet and climb the wall to the track, bumping their fists in the air. Cheers, claps, exclamations, a bouquet of red roses swaying in the wind to greet its champion at the finish line. And then, the unmistakable roar of a racecar speeding past the chequered flag at three hundred kilometers an hour. Liberation.

You spring to your feet right as the fireworks go off, yelling to the sky. Carlos won. Carlos won! Your Carlos—in the middle of Red Bull's flawless season...

"¡Vamos Fred! ¡Vamos Ricky!" Flashes of red and gold pass his high spirits by, diligently braking into the first corner.

He laughs, he screams it all out, unclenching all his muscles, woozy from the G's, from the adrenaline, from the win... from you, watching him from the pit wall. From the memory of your skin against his, your adoring eyes and the formidable lightness inside his chest that has him feeling like he's the king of the world.

In a few minutes, he'll be posing with his trophy and the team in front of his P1 plaque for the group photo, and he'll drench you in champagne—your lively laughter will fill his heart with the gold of medals. And later in the evening, before the afterparty, he'll pull you aside and tell you maybe this victory has made him reckless, and he'll kiss you senselessly like a prize he fought for.

For now, though, he's nodding his head at Lando who gave him a congratulatory wave from his car when his on-board screen lights up with an unexpected message. Glowing red letters read, "Great job, smooth operator! 🌶️" Laughter escapes him as small virtual fireworks go off on his screen... and he presses the radio button on his steering wheel.

"Did she have one of these ready for Charles too?"

A few seconds of white noise, and then, your mischievous voice, dripping with joy.

"You know me, Carlos. Never play favorites."

… f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)

#f1 #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #cs55 imagine #cs55 fic #cs55 x reader #cs55 #mywriting #this got so much longer than i had originally planned lol <3

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 4 months ago

Note

Suuuuuup, I've been binging on your writing lately and I completely adore it (sometimes I go back through my likes to re read some of your stuff 💖💖)

So I'm dropping a scenario here.

Reader and Jason Todd have been roommates for quite some time (which means this would be a mutual pinning scenario), sometimes reader patches Jason up and orders some takeout for him. Until one night, Jason was too beaten up after a patrol so reader treated his bruises and scratches before helping him ease his back on his bed while reader sat down beside him. Jason begins with his dose of "you shouldn't be doing this" "I'm not a kid" "I can perfectly hand myself" then Jason starts questioning reader why they care so much about him and worry about him.

Until they reach the point where:

Jason: A prick like me? Yeah, sure.

Reader: Even pricks like you need someone who looks after them.

Jason: Careful, I might start thinking you like me or something if you keep saying things like that.

Reader: Maybe I do like you.

Honest Words

Haha, nonnie, do you even need me? You've got a great fic right there. I feel like I never actually write them getting together, so let me try something. ~ 600 words

'Maybe I do like you. Maybe I do like you.' The words play on loop in Jason's head as he stares at them. The silence goes on for too long and he forces himself to choke out a laugh, "You're joking. Not much to like here."

You tilt your head thoughtfully and hum, curious as you finish cleaning up his wounds, "I dunno, Jason, I see plenty to like."

"Like what?" He asks before he can stop himself. He winces a little, less from the stinging of his wounds and more at how interested he sounds in knowing what exactly you like about him.

"Lots of things," You muse, sitting back on the bed, "I like your eyes."

"My eyes?" He prompts, leaning towards you.

You nod, "They're pretty, and clear. Like you want to be seen. I like that you always let me touch your hair," You reach and brush his hair back to prove your point.

He smiles a little, "I don't think that's any reason to, you know," Jason trails off.

"I like that you're good. Even when you think you're not. You try. You try so hard even when the whole world seems like it's against you. You keep trying. You keep helping people."

His breath hitches at the raw honesty in your voice, the determination and truth in your eyes, "You're– you've never been against me."

You nod, and your gaze leaves him as you start to clean up the gauze and bandages from his bed, "and I won't be. Unless you do something crazy."

He laughs, it almost scares him, how easily you've read him. That you made him laugh even when his throat threatens to tighten and his mind threatens to spiral, "Crazier than what I've already done?"

You nod and grin at him, and it sets his world right, "Crazier than that, much crazier, actually."

He grins right back at you, "I'll keep that in mind for the next time I break the law."

You laugh with him and pat his knee, "Get some rest, Jason. You look like you've been through it tonight."

"I thought you liked how I looked?" He drawls, unable to keep from teasing.

"I do," you say happily, voice fond with affection he's not completely sure how to react to. You stand up, "Now, heal up, ok?"

"Wait," he stops you, grabbing your wrist. He doesn't have a plan, doesn't quite know what he's doing, but he wants you to stay.

"Yeah?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

He sucks in a breath and guides you closer, slotting your body between his thighs. He looks up at you, the person who's become irreplaceable in his life. He carefully sets his palms over your hips.

"Jason," You breathe out, "You don't owe me anything."

"I know," he says, voice soft but firm, "I want this."

You cup his face with both hands, thumbs tracing his cheek bones as you study his eyes, picking apart the truth of his words, "Would you want me to kiss you?"

Jason leans into your touch and nods, he's not sure what this means for the future, for either of you, but you're being honest. You like him. And he likes you.

His heart is in his throat when you lean down to kiss him.

His eyes slid shut as you press your lips to his. He tilts his head up. It's sweet, loving, it's so completely you, and he gets lost in the feeling, chasing your mouth when you pull away.

"Okay?" You ask softly.

"Yeah," he breathes out, "more than okay."

You smile at him and trace the line of his jaw, "Good, now heal up, Jason."

He smiles back at you, voice light and teasing, "What? Don't wanna kiss me again?"

He smiles even wider when you tell him, on the way out his bedroom door, you can do all that and more once he's better.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader

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writingsbychlo · 11 months ago

Text

KNOW YOU LIKE I DO | tom riddle

summary; love letters are tom's way of communicating. unfortunately, he's not as good with his actions.

word count; 7036

notes; another one that I said was gonna be short and it wasn’t. I think I’m physically incapable of writing short fics, actually.

Dear Tom,

Tommy.

My Tom.

Do you still have that first letter I wrote to you, back in summer? No, I suppose you don’t, that’s not very like you.

I’m drunk. Just a little bit (a lot), and I can’t take it anymore. Mattheo told me to tell you how I feel, and that is exactly what I’m going to do. He’s asleep on my bed right now, drooling into my favourite pillow waiting for me to write this.

So here it is.

I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m confused. I’m in love. And it’s all your fault.

Staring across the crowded room, your eyes fixed back onto that of Tom Riddle. It wasn’t hard to spot him, not as he was the only man who came to a Christmas party dressed in all black and sat alone, brooding. His lips were pressed into a line, the lights bouncing off of those shiny curls, green and red splashed across his pale skin as he sipped at his drink, listening to the conversation Draco and Blaise were having, but never participating.

Your heart lurched a little in your chest, just the mere sight of him had a thousand different feelings rearing their heads, and you sighed to yourself. Shaking your head, your attention was redirected to the drinks table, pouring yourself an extra strong helping of Giggle Gin and topping it off. The urge to look back over was strong, and you steadfastly ignored it, suppressing the urge and instead, turning your back to his direction, walking towards the group of girls giggling in the opposite corner.

Taking your seat back in the comfy corner of the sofa, Pansy offered you a smile, her arm looped over Luna’s shoulders as the blonde cuddled into her side. Astoria was currently recounting the intimate details of her latest night with Draco, and you hid a smile in your cup as you tuned back into the conversation.

You lost the battle with your will, however, gaze moving directly back across the room to Tom. He had a slight smirk on his face now as he watched Draco speak, and you did not doubt that he was receiving a tale of the exact same encounter Astoria was currently telling, only from a different point of view.

Blonde cut across your vision, the perfect smile of Daphne blocking your view as she sat in front of you, severing any sights of Tom you might have had. “You know,” She started, grinning as she took a sip of your drink cheekily, before handing it back. “If you stare at him any harder, you’re gonna’ drill holes in the side of his head.”

You could only scoff, but no argument formed. Lately, all you’d been able to do was stare longingly at him across any room. You weren’t subtle, and you’d never been much good at hiding your feelings. Which seemed fitting, since you’d fallen for someone who was like a blank slate, permanently.

Tom Riddle was a harder book to read than a tablet written in a never-before-discovered language.

“He looks so… miserable, Daph.”

She glances over her shoulder at him, snorting a laugh, and turning her attention back to you. “Because Tom Riddle doesn’t go to parties, and he’s probably counting the minutes until he can leave.” She smirked a little, shuffling closer, perched on the edge of her seat as she leaned in, “At least, he didn’t go to parties. Until you, that is.”

Your cheeks flushed, a subtle hint at the running joke your friendship group had taken on. They’d all become convinced that Tom attended parties for you, ever since he’d been a willing guest for the first time at Draco’s end-of-summer bonfire bash, and spent the majority of the night talking with you. They refused to let it go.

“You should go over there and cheer him up. I bet he’d be smiling in no time if you gave him a little attention.”

That was exactly the problem. You’d been giving him a little too much attention, and now, everyone was painfully aware of your feelings for him. Except for him, maybe. Either that, or he was just very good at pretending he didn’t notice, in a chance to let you down gently. You didn’t know which option was worse. “Don’t be ridiculous, Daph.”

“No, you don’t be ridiculous! You and him are… something else.” She took your free hand in hers, squeezing tightly. All amusement melted from her face, and she gave you a serious look. The expression she wore when advising her sister on Draco, or comforting Pansy after a panic attack. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened over the summer, or are you just going to keep acting like it wasn’t some cataclysmic shift?”

“So dramatic.” You hummed to your roommate.

“Still pretending, I see.” She teases lightly, but her brows are still furrowed. She waited a few more seconds, to see if you’ll crack. All you do is hold her steady gaze, and take a sip of your drink. With a sigh, she released your hand, and leans back in her chair. “Well, whatever. We can all see it, see how you two pine for one another, and how perfect you’d be together. Just go and talk to him! He’s probably sat over there waiting for you anyway. He had that exact same kicked-puppy expression on at the summer party, until you walked in.”

“He did not…” You murmur, the very thought making you blush.

“I think that’s the first time I ever saw Tom Riddle smile. A real smile, not the smile he gets when threatening someone, or when Mattheo falls over. A good smile.”

“Now you’re just making him out like some kind of sulky villain.” You retort, and she only raises a brow at you.

“Here, take him this box, and go talk to him. The poor boy looks lost over there without you.” Reaching under her chair, Daphne produces a familiar box, wrapped neatly in black paper with dark green ribbon, and your jaw drops.

“Daphne!—” Reaching out to snatch it from her, your brows furrow. “Did you go through my things?”

“I didn’t exactly go through your things,” She grins, watching you turn over the label with his name written on neatly. “I just watched you hide it under your bed and got curious… it smells good. Is it cookies? Can I have one?”

When she reaches for the box, you slap the back of her hand, and she sticks her tongue out at you in return. “No! You cannot, you little snoop!”

“Fine! If you won’t let me have a cookie, then you have to go over there. You either give me a cookie, or you give me the satisfaction of seeing you and him smile.” Her arms crossed, her tone annoyed but her words caring, and love shone in her gaze as she stared at you. “Go on. Go over to him. Please.”

It wasn’t like you didn’t already want to, and with her encouragement, you were a weak woman to say no. Downing the rest of your drink for a little liquid courage, you hop to your feet, present clutched in your hands.

Weaving through the room, the bass notes of Mattheo’s custom-made playlist pumped through the room from the speakers, a playlist you might have slightly altered a few days ago to add a couple of songs, just to mix up his usual tastes. Your stomach was twisting nervously, but the alcohol in your veins made for a pleasant buzz as the distance between you both closed.

After almost taking a ping-pong ball to the eye, courtesy of Theo on the beer-pong table, you cleared the games and settled into the pleasant atmosphere surrounding where the boys had set themselves up for the evening by the fire. When you approached, Tom looked up, frown melting away as the crease between his brows disappeared, and he sat up a little straighter as you approached.

“Hi, doll,” He murmured, shifting his arm from the armrest of the chair, so that you could take a seat on it instead. That same arm soon wrapped around your waist, his head falling to rest on your shoulder, and your heart skipped a beat within your chest. “Where’ve you been?”

“Over there, with Daph and the girls.” You whisper in reply, balancing the box on your thighs, and pointing through the crowds to the barely visible patch of chairs and sofas you’d all been occupying. He only hummed, squeezing you a little closer.

“Stay here with me for a while?”

“Sure,” Your voice hardly worked as you spoke, emotions clogging up, and you reached for the gift in your lap. “I have this for you, anyway. I made you those cookies you like so much.”

“You did?” His head lifted, and one of those pretty smiles that made your heart stop clean in your chest was adorning his lips. “The ones with the orange peel and the dark chocolate?”

“Those very ones.” You handed it to him, and he tugged at the ribbon covering the box, fingers flipping under the seals of the paper until it fell openly neatly. Flicking open the catch on the cardboard box, the smell of freshly baked treats filled the air, and he made a rumbling noise of happiness as he plucked on up, and took a bite. As you laughed at him, he took another, pushing it between your lips with a smirk while he chewed.

He resealed the box, savouring them, as he did all things, and putting them on the table in front of himself. You held the cookie now, eating it slowly, as Draco and Blaise finally seemed to become aware of your presence.

“I have a question.” Draco started, and your gaze moved to him, brow raising as you took the final bite. “Is Astoria over there talking about me?”

The blond smirked, and you twisted, lifting your legs to sit over Tom, ankles crossing on the opposite arm. “No, no. She’s been recounting a scene from a book.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You know, the fun books. It was really, really hot.” You teased, fanning yourself, and Tom chuckled, reaching over you for his drink, and taking a sip. Instead of putting it back down, he rested the cool glass on your thigh, his free hand coming to sit on your calf, rubbing lightly as you shivered at the touch. “Why? You think you’re better than a good spicy romance?”

“I know I am!” Draco huffed, and Blaise rolled his eyes, watching you wind his best friend up with barely a few words at all. “What book is this?”

“Oh, you don’t want to know…”

“I do want to know! Tell me!” His cheeks were turning pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. In the spirit of Christmas, you took pity on him, rolling your eyes.

“I think it was called… Astoria’s Diary.”

It took a few seconds for it to register in Draco’s mind, and the furious pink turned to an embarrassed red, and he shook his head, eyes narrowed at you. “I despise you.”

“You love me.” You fired back, and he scoffed, but the edges of his lips pulled at a smile, and he looked away to cover it. Settling back a little more, you leaned into the cushion, feeling Tom roll his head across the cushion to lean in your direction.

“I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week.” He says, voice low for only you to hear, and your head twists towards him You were close, close enough to pick out the different coloured flecks of colour in his eyes as he looked at you, and the hardly visible steaks of lighter brown that trailed naturally through his dark curls.

“Well, I’ve had detention all week, thanks to a certain someone.” You poked his chest, and he only smirked a little bit, shuffling his head a fraction closer.

“I needed you, what can I say?”

“You needed someone to keep a lookout while you snuck into the restricted section again. Why did it have to be me?” You scoffed, working to keep the smile on your face as the answer to your own question flickered through your mind. He chose you because he knew you’d drop everything and come, the voice taunted; you buried it under the song playing and the laughter in the room so you didn’t have to think about it...

“Don’t act like you didn’t have fun when we ran.” He chuckled, hand sliding up your leg again, fingers lacing with your own. The same way they had when you’d been caught, and he’d grabbed your hand, the two of you ducking and weaving between stacks, fleeing through the corridors. Laughing and out of breath, he’d clutched your hand, thumb rubbing over your knuckles just like he was doing now, staring at you with those pretty eyes.

You hadn't been caught, but you had gotten detention for skipping class to go with him, and so you’d spent all five nights of your final week in detention, writing lines. You lifted your free hand, sighing with a nod, and running it through his curls. His eyes fluttered, head tipping back to follow your hand, and a content smile took over his lips.

You loved to see him like this, to see him so carefree and happy, to see him relax at just your touch. You’d never seen him like this before. The thought that only you could do it to him sent a thrill down your spine, made your thoughts feel hazy and slow, like treacle in your mind, and your nerves tingled. So, why had he never made a move to make it anything more? You’d given him a dozen chances, a dozen more opportunities…

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without you this holiday.” He broke your train of thought, eyes opening again to peer up at you, and his lips became a frown as he thought about it. “My father is going to pile on the pressure not that I’m in my graduating year. I can already feel the headache forming right between my eyes.”

“Oh..” You coo, hand slipping down from his hair to rub your thumb over his forehead, the space you know him to get stress headaches the worst, when he works too hard or gets wound up. He just chuckled, eyes sliding shut once again.

The song changed, and his body tensed underneath you for just a second, before his eyes snapped open, gaze locked on you. “This is my favourite song.”

“Is it?” You mumble, finger still tracing lightly over his skin, and he nods.

“I didn’t think Mattheo put it on the playlist. I asked him, and he very emphatically said no.”

“Maybe he changed his mind.” Your shrug doesn’t convince him, not as you both hear Mattheo question the song with a stream of curses somewhere in the distance. His lips twitched at the edges, a small smile, but he said nothing else. Instead, he leaned in, your arm going around his shoulders, rubbing softly as his head nestled onto your shoulder, a sigh on his lips.

It was perfect, just like this. If he could just open his eyes and see, he’d know how wonderful it could be. Nobody knew him like you did, he’d made sure to keep his secrets locked up tight. But over the months of exchanging letters, and candle-lit nights in the library, he’d bore so much of his soul to you.

Deep, wounded parts, that you’d tried to put back together.

Soft, tender parts that he protected so valiantly, but trusted you with.

Sweet, loving parts, that never saw the light of day, unless you were together.

It was impossible, surely, that he didn’t know. He might keep his feelings locked up tight, but you didn’t hide yours very well at all. As you sat here now, fingers weaving through his hair, lips tracing his temple as you whispered nonsense to him about your day, his head on your shoulder, that he didn’t know. Even a man like Tom Riddle couldn't miss it, right?

You just wanted to make him happy, but he didn’t feel the same.

With a heart-aching sigh, you ran your fingers through his curls one more time. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your night. Unrequited love wasn’t going to ruin your Christmas. You would not be one of those girls who gave in to their feelings, and crumbled at the feet of a man who didn’t return her affections.

Sitting up some more, he grumbled at the disruption, blinking his eyes back open as he lifted his head again. “I’m… I’m going to go dance, and play some games, okay?”

“Alright,” He smiled, patting your thigh and lifting his drink away. “Have fun. I’ll probably leave soon. If I don’t see you again, just know I’ll be thinking of you over these holidays. We’ll write again.”

His words send a rush of heat to your cheeks, a tumble of nerves through your stomach, and you could only nod. One more chance, one more chance to make a move…

“Merry Christmas, Tommy,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss his cheek. A kiss that was purposefully close to the edge of his mouth, a kiss that purposefully lingered just a second too long as you pulled away slowly, giving him a chance to turn his head, to close the gap, to kiss you—

But he didn’t, he only smiled. “Merry Christmas, doll.”

So, you stand. You brush it off. You brush off the moment, and the feelings, and all the disappointment and heartbreak that came with it.

But I can’t do it anymore.

We’ve been housemates for seven years, we’ve been friends for half of those, and I’ve been in love with you for months.

But you don’t love me. Mattheo says you do, says you’re just stupid when it comes to feelings. But, even you couldn't miss how I feel about you.

So, I’m letting you go.

New Year, New Me, New Heart.

“No, your dorm is that way.” You giggle, Mattheo’s arm over your shoulder, pushing him in the direction of the boy’s dorms and pointing. “My dorm is this way!”

“No, you’re wrong!” He mutters, shaking his head dramatically. “Boys to the left,” He says, pointing right, “Girls to the right, because girls are always right!”

“Well, I won’t argue with you there.” You grin, spinning him around. “Wait, now I’m confused. Who’s dorm were we going to again?”

A few too many shots, a few more drinks than your limit at the beer-pong table, and as the last of the party was dying down, you and Mattheo were attempting to stumble back to your dorms. “Theo’s.”

“Right. But why are we going to Theo’s dorm?”

“Because he’s my friend,” Mattheo said. “And also, his bed is next to mine.” Another fit of laughter, drunken giggles melting away, and the two of you collapsed down against the wall, heads tipped back to the stone as amusement took over. When you finally caught your breaths once again, he was smiling, eyes sparkling in that unique Matty-way. Kicking his legs out before himself, he sighed. “Maybe I will just sleep here.”

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Why?” He pouted, and you searched through your foggy mind for a reason.

“Because you have to sleep in a bed.” Is what you settled on, shrugging your shoulders, even if you were getting a little bit too comfy against the stone too.

“Can I sleep in your bed?” He wiggled his brows, smirking, before burping, and you giggled again.

“No, you may not.”

“Why?” He whined, kicking one leg like a toddler in a tantrum. “You have fluffy pillows.”

“And you have sheets that haven’t been washed in months.” Your nose screwed up, and he let out a dramatic, wounded sound, like a soldier who had just been shot in a war movie.

“That was cold.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Not as cold as the frozen Earth Tom would bury my wee little body in if I spent the night at your dorm.”

You didn’t respond, the mention of his name was like a bucket of ice over your head. Not exactly sobering, but shocking.

“I’m saying he would murder me.”

“Yes, I understood.”

“You didn’t laugh.” He pouted, and you chuckled for his benefit. “No, it’s not real. Now I feel like I begged for it.”

“You did.”

“You suck.”

“You swallow.” You sighed, and he groaned once again, another argument lost. His head rolled to your shoulder, his body slumping into relaxation.

“So… what is the deal with you and my brother?” His lips twisted as he thought about it, but he looked up at you curiously, frown only deepening at the sad look on your face.

“There is no deal.” You shrug, “He doesn’t want me like that. We’re just friends.”

“Yeah,” He snorts, “And the sky isn’t blue.”

“I’m serious, Matty. I’ve given him a hundred chances. He could’ve made a move anytime. I haven’t exactly kept my feelings to myself, all you fools can see my heart dripping and bleeding on my sleeve. He knows, he just didn’t want to acknowledge it.” Your lungs burned for air at the end of your speech, and you took a deep breath, staring ahead at the chipping bricks in an attempt to avoid tears. “Why doesn’t he want me, Matty?”

“He does,” Mattheo mumbled, taking your hand in his and squeezing. “He’s just a fucking moron. But, he’s also scared. You know, you’re pretty much all he talks about? And, I never saw him smile so much as he did during the summer, when he’d receive your letters. He’d get all anxious and fidgety every day, waiting for the mail owl to arrive. He’s never going to make the first move. He’d rather suffer for all his life but have you like this, than risk losing you entirely.”

The words felt like a warming blanket and an ice-cold lake. Comforting and terrifying, sweet and burning, all at the same time.

Mattheo huffed a laugh, “Maybe you should write him a love letter.”

“Maybe I should…” You whisper, drunken thoughts taking over, and his head snapped up.

“I was joking.”

“I’m not. That’s a good idea. I should write him a letter, and tell him that I’m moving on.” You brushed your legs off as you stood, taking his hands and pulling him to his feet, determined.

“Okay, that’s not what a love letter is. That’s so far from what I said—”

“Let’s go!” You grabbed his wrist, tugging him along behind you as you made your way through the halls.

“Now? Why are we doing it now? We should be sleeping now!” His protests fell on deaf ears as you dragged him along. Throwing open the door to your room, Daphne was already asleep, still in her party dress, face down on her pillow, out cold from the night’s festivities and snoring.

Mattheo collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto his side and clutching a fluffy cushion to his chest as he curled into a ball.

“I’ll just wait here, then.” He yawned through his words, but you were too busy to care, scrambling for a pot of ink and some new parchment. Taking a seat at your desk, you stared at the paper, quill hovering, ready to write.

So, I will spend the end of this year away from you. You say we’ll write, but I don’t want to.

Only write to me, Tom, if you feel the same. If not, don’t. Let me heal, and when we come back in the New Year, I promise, nothing will change except for my heart.

We will still be friends, best friends, and we’ll never talk about it again.

I will wait for you.

Finishing the letter, you sighed at it, the ink drying and immortalising your words onto the page. Sitting before you was the sum total of what sat in your heart, and your mind. Laid out and ready to go, your hands trembled a little as you read it over, and over, to be sure.

But you had to do this, you had to give this letter to him, to alleviate the strain on your heart, to finally have some closure. Whether he felt the same or not, you’d have relief. Folding it carefully, you searched a strip of wax seal lighting the end and waiting for it to get hot, drips of Slytherin green filling into a pool that overlapped the edge of your paper. When there was enough, you stamped it carefully, sealing it shut as the wax cooled.

Taking a look behind you, you caught sight of a sleeping Mattheo, his jaw hanging open, drooling onto your favourite throw pillow, half tucked under your blankets from where he’s only bothered to cover his legs. Peeling away the wax seal, you walked over to him, shaking his shoulder, until he awoke with a huff and a groan, whining as he sat up.

“I was dreaming.”

“I wrote the letter.” You show him the proof, and he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, glancing from it, to you, and back. “You have to give it to him.”

“Now?”

“No! Not now. Tomorrow. After we get off the train.” He blinked a little more, waking up from his power nap and taking the paper from you. Flipping it over in his hands, he inspected Tom’s name across the front, no address, and raised his brows.

“Why don’t you mail it?”

“That’ll take days, and I don’t want to leave it up to chance. I need you to give it to him, tomorrow. I know you’ll be swamped with everything your father expects of you both this time of year, events and frivolities and all, but you have to. I don’t want it getting lost amongst other letters and Christmas cards, and such.” Your hands clasped together before you, blinking at him pleadingly, and hoping your puppy-dog eyes were half as good as his.

He sighed, rolling his eyes and muttering to himself as he stood.

“Please, Matty.”

“Fine. I’ll give it to him.” He caved, and you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Tomorrow? After you get off the train?”

“Yes. I will give Tom the letter… tomorrow.”

Yours,

If you want me,

(y/n) x

Tom double-checked his bags, sighing as he zipped up the piece of luggage he’d actually have access to on the train, everything he needed to survive a six-hour train journey. A knock sounded from the door, a signature one that only Mattheo ever used, excessively long and irritating, and the door swung open a second later to reveal his brother.

Placing his carry-on down on the bed beside his own, Mattheo slumped out on his freshly-stripped bed. “You took your bags to the carriage already?”

“I got up early.”

“Surprising, I thought I’d have to drag you out of your bed this morning considering how much you drank last night.” He gave his brother a look, a single brow raised, and Mattheo just huffed.

“It’s called having fun, you should try it sometime.”

Tom only rolled his eyes, gaze scanning across the bag Mattheo had abandoned, snagging on the letter sticking out of one pocket. T— was all that was visible. It might have been a card, that someone had addressed it to ‘Theo’ instead of Mattheo, but everyone called him ‘Matt’ if they wanted a nickname, to avoid confusion with Nott.

Curiosity ate at him, and nudging the bag subtly revealed just enough more to show an ‘O’.

Definitely Tom, then. Mattheo was carrying a letter for him, and had not delivered it. Before he could pluck it from the pocket, his brother was sitting up, reaching for his bag and getting to his feet, swinging the letter out of his reach inadvertently.

“Ready to go?”

“Is that letter for me?” Tom burst instead, making another move for the bag. His suspicions were only confirmed when Mattheo shifted his body, pulling the arm carrying the bag away from him, behind his body and out of Tom’s reach. “Why do you have it? When did it arrive?”

Mattheo turned casually, looking down at it, patting it and pushing it back into the bag, deeper. Tom recognised that handwriting now, though, and the urgency swelled. “Uh… last night, I think. But I was a little drunk, so…”

“Why didn’t you give it to me?” Tom pressed, biting his tongue from yelling at his brother, and Mattheo just shrugged.

“Figured I’d give it to you on the train, or something. Or when we got home. It’s just a letter.”

“Yeah…” Tom could only hum in response, his mind spinning a little. Everyone had exchanged gifts and goodbyes last night, before the party. For exactly this reason, to avoid the morning rush to the train, to avoid the hassle in the morning. “But— I saw her last night. Why wouldn't she just give it to me then? Or mail it to me?”

The questions were ceaseless, almost making Tom dizzy as he tried to think them through, and Mattheo could only shrug, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile to himself.

“I don’t know, Tom. She just came to me, and asked me to give you that letter because she didn’t want it to get lost amongst other letters, or take too long, or something like that.” It was a small lie, really, fabricated from aspects of the truth.

“So, it’s important, then! It’s obviously important if she couldn't risk it getting lost, if it had to be hand-delivered! I should read it.” Just like that, Tom stepped right into Mattheo’s trap. Now all he had to do was pull the pin, and let the steel jaws snap shut. Yes, it could potentially backfire hugely, but Mattheo was looking on the positive side for this.

“We have to go, Tom. Everyone else has probably already left for the train.” Mattheo swung his bag again, making his point, and kicked Tom’s suitcase from where it sat beside the door towards him to pick up. “Let’s go.”

Tom sighed, grabbing his bags and taking a few steps after him, and didn’t even make it over the threshold of the door before he gave in. His bags dropped from his hands, and planted on his hips instead. “I’m going to read it.”

“Tom—”

“Give me the letter.” He held out his pal, and Mattheo tipped his head to the side, but pressed his lips together to hide a grin. “I’ll catch up, you go. I’ll read it and I’ll catch up, it’s only a letter, can’t take that long.”

He lunged for Mattheo's bag, snatching the crisply pressed paper from the pocket before his brother could stop him. As he turned away, he missed Mattheo’s victorious smile. “Alright, I’ll take your trunk down. Don’t be long, or you’ll miss the train.” And you’ll miss her, were Mattheo’s unspoken words, as he grabbed Tom’s suitcase and disappeared, leaving him alone.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Tom’s hand shook a little. The paper felt like it weighed a thousand tons. There was so much unspoken mystery behind it that Tom was sure whatever this letter said, it was not their usual correspondence. Not the chatty, friendly, borderline flirty letters they’d send each other when apart, this was more.

Sliding his thumb neatly under the wax seal he was so familiar with, Tom popped open the letter, unfolding it carefully and flipping it around to read.

His gaze scanned over the paper, lips flicking up at the use of the nickname he only allowed you to use, the swirl of your handwriting that he loved so much. The smile didn’t last long, however, and neither did the breath in his lungs as his chest seized. He read it.

Over and over again, he read the letter.

The minutes melted past as he absorbed what it said, until he could read the letter word for word without looking at it, tattooed into his mind now like a brand. With trembling fingers, he folded the letter back up carefully, lifting the paper to his lips as his eyes slid shut.

His heart was pounding, more so than he’d ever felt. Tom was not one for rash decisions and sudden jumps, everything was calculated and thought through and planned. But this, this was you. This is just what you did, forced him to let go of routine and be spontaneous, forced him to be carefree, to loosen the grip he had on the reigns, to show him he wouldn't fall apart at the slightest breeze.

He smiled against the letter, thoughts of you flicking through his mind.

And then a clock chimed, and he jumped violently within as he was rushed back to reality in a split second. The clock in the common room chimed loudly, echoing through the empty dorms and halls.

Rushing to his feet, Tom opened his bag, tucking the letter safely inside one of his books to preserve it, to tuck it inside the box of letters from you that was tucked under his bed at home. You doubted him, his feelings, unsure he’d kept that first letter, when in reality, he’d kept every single one.

Every letter, every note, even the silly little joke you scribbled on torn-off pieces of paper and threw at him in class, he kept them all.

Zipping his bag back up and grabbing it, he had no time to spare, racing to the chimes of the clock through the castle, to the front gates where the final carriage was leaving.

It felt too long. Too long as the horses plodded through the snow, too long as the wheel scrolled slowly, and his foot tapped agitatedly on the floor in a way he never allowed himself to do. His thumbnail was between his teeth, flicking between the frost-covered ground and his bag, wondering if it would actually be faster to run there himself.

Ahead, the train sounded its horn. The final warning for all students to begin boarding and settling in, because they’d be departing soon.

You watched as the trunks were beginning loaded onto the train, all to be collected when you arrived in London, only letting out a breath of relief as Mattheo rounded the corner, finally joining your group.

“Matty! About time, we were worried you’d miss the train.” Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he sighed, a little out of breath, and hugged you back once he dropped the two bags in his hands. Nobody followed him, and your brows furrowed, pulling back, “Where’s Tom?”

“He’s probably already on the train, sulking somewhere. He’s never late.” Theo snickered, and you rolled your eyes, smacking him across the shoulder for his joke.

“Blaise is inside holding a cabin for us, is Tom not sitting with us?” Enzo questioned, and you turned to Mattheo, waiting for answers.

“He’ll be here, trust me.”

“He’s late?” Draco asked, quickly followed by Enzo and Theo, all discussing it. Regulus stayed quiet, smoking and trying to hide it from being seen, but his expression was just as concerned as everyone else’s.

The chatter continued on, by your worry didn’t cease, checking up and down the platform as people bustled and crowded it. Saying their final goodbyes and giving out hugs, climbing on and off the train as they all wished one another Merry Christmas, and being unable to see either end was causing your anxiety to rocket higher.

The train horn blared again, and students began to board. “Mattheo, seriously, where is he—” Just like that, you saw him, the busy platform parting to let him through, the look on his face as terrifying as ever, and people moved out of his way as he made his way towards your group.

“Told you he’d be here,” Mattheo smirked, and you raised a brow.

“The hell did you say to him this morning, Matt?” Regulus questions.

“He looks mad,” Draco murmured.

“He looks like he’s plotting.” Enzo corrected.

Every step closer rose the tension as Tom finally looked up, his sights setting on you, and his jaw clenched. Brows drawn in, he did look like he was plotting, like a thousand thoughts were racing through his mind that he couldn't sort through.

“Hey, man. We thought you were gonna’ miss the—” Draco’s words cut off at your squeak, as Tom stepped closer, never stopping the movements of his body until he was cupping your cheeks, his mouth descending upon your own.

You were almost knocked backwards from the force of it, your hands gripping at his shoulders as he bent you over backwards, a kiss so intense your knees almost went weak.

It was desperate, you could barely keep up, kissing back as best you could through your shock, until it wore off enough to reciprocate. Wrapping one arm around his neck, your other slipped to his face, his own hands making their way down, to band around your waist and pull you in closer, until your bodies were flush.

His tongue licked into your mouth, a sigh escaping you as he did, and your heart pounded against your heart, the same way he was doing, felt through his jumper and layers. The boys were whistling, cheering and hooting, and if you weren’t so happy you’d have been embarrassed by the show they were making, and the attention they were no doubt drawing.

When he finally pulled back, you panted softly, his forehead resting on your own, blinking his eyes open to meet your gaze.

“Can I write to you regardless?” He mumbled, voice rough and tense with emotion, and your brows furrowed.

“Wh— What?”

He leaned in, not helping you clear your dazed mind at all as he kissed you again, and again, until you were smiling, fingers clenched so tight in his coat that your knuckles were white, just to stay upright.

You pecked his lips once more, chasing him as he pulled back, and the train horn sounded, a final warning, but you didn’t care. “You know how I feel now. You don’t have to wait for my reply. You can be assured that I will miss you dearly over these two weeks, and I am already counting the minutes until I see you again. But can I write to you, still?”

As the realisation set in, your face flamed, jaw dropping a little bit, and he wasted no opportunity, kissing you softly. “You read my letter.”

He only nodded, a gentle chuckle onto your mouth as your lips brushed. “You’d leave it to Mattheo to deliver? He’d probably lose it at a McDonalds, trying to get a Big Mac before my father saw him, on the way home.

Your laughter was sweet, a puffed-out sound as his hands smoothed up and down your back. “I’d love to get more letters from you, Tommy. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you in person, but I was scared. I thought I’d made my feelings for you obvious, and you didn’t reciprocate, so I had to write that letter. To get it out, to finalise it all.”

“I like to consider myself a smart man, you know. When it comes to you, clearly, I’m a fool. You leave me speechless, and without proper thoughts, every time. All I can think about is how pretty you are, and how much I like you, despite my best efforts not to.”

The declaration was so utterly Tom, to hate being in love even if he loved it.

“For Salazar’s sake, what have you done, Matt?” Theo cussed, and you twisted your head to look at him. “Shakespeare over here is going to be writing sonnets for the rest of the year. None of us will stand a chance with any other girls when he’s showing us up, standing under windows, yelling his love to the moon.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring their nonsense. Tom did the same, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, and leaving a kiss there.

“I’ll look forward to your letters, just as I did in the summer.” You whisper, pulling away from him as the platform clears, most students already aboard now.

“And after?” Tom questions, “May I still write you letters if I, too, find myself struggling to confess my feelings in person?”

“Oh, God,” Enzo muttered. “He’s going to be writing love letters all year. He’s making the rest of us sound like cavemen. Me, you, bed, now.” He grunted, smacking a fist in his chest. You giggled as Tom rolled his eyes.

“We should get on the train.” You whisper, taking pity on the others and untangling yourself from his arms.

Tom took his bag again, and your own. With a final kiss on your cheek, he walked away to the door of the carriage, letting the rest of you follow behind. Mattheo fell into step beside you, smirking as he bumped your hips with his own.

“So, should I tell my mother and father that they have a new daughter-in-law this holiday, or wait ‘til the next.”

His teasing made you blush again, cheeks already red in the cold, warming you under all those layers. “You’re a filthy traitor. You gave him my letter early.”

“I said I’d give it to him ‘tomorrow’. Never agreed to the after the train part.” He tutted, proud of himself. “Always pay attention to the words of a contract. My dear brother taught me that. You never have to break a promise, if you’re smart with your words.”

That sounded exactly like something your man would say, your eyes rolling to the Heavens.

Mattheo leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper as the pair of you climbed the steps. “You never have to break your heart either, if you’re smart about who you give it to.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle/reader #tom riddle/you #tom riddle x you #hp #christian coulson #slytherin boys

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justagalwhowrites · 4 months ago

Text

Stranger in a Bar - Part Two

You realize your hookup from the night before is your dad's best friend. Life goes on from there. The conclusion of Stranger in a Bar, found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: This is smut, OK? Just a lot of smut. Protected P in V sex. Oral sex (f receiving). Age gap of 20 years. Breeding kink if you squint. Talk of pregnancy. ANGST BECAUSE IT'S ME. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 10.6k

AO3 | Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | Part One

“She hasn’t been home in so long,” your father was smiling proudly, seemingly oblivious to the way Joel was looking at you.

It had never occurred to him that he’d never seen a picture of his friend’s daughter. He’d heard about you, of course. How your parents had gone to Tennessee for your college graduation, how you’d gotten a job in Memphis, how you only really came to visit about once a year and that meant your dad was busy that week.

“Heard a lot about you,” Joel said when he realized your dad had gone quiet. “Good to… put a face to the name. Or, maybe, idea? Don’t think your dad ever mentioned your name…”

“May not have,” he laughed, clapping Joel on the shoulder. Joel still couldn’t take his eyes off you. Fuck, this was bad. “To me, she’s just my little princess…”

“Honey,” your mom appeared at your dad’s side, looping her arm through his. “Can I steal you for just a minute?”

“Sure,” he gave her hand a squeeze before looking between you and Joel. “Keep her outta trouble, will ya? Have fun!”

Joel more sensed them leave than watched them, his eyes locked on yours. He was pretty sure they were out of earshot when you spoke.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“‘Fraid not,” Joel said, his eyes drifting down over your body before he could really help himself. Your dress fit you perfectly, highlighting your every soft curve. He knew just what you looked like below it, just how smooth your skin was, just how you would taste. “You look… fuck, you look gorgeous.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Are you…” You closed your eyes and shook your head. “Never mind. This isn’t happening. This cannot be happening.”

“It’s not…” he finally managed to look away from you to glance around at the people around the two of you. None of them seemed to be paying attention. He lowered his voice, anyway. “It’s not that bad…”

“Not that bad?” You cut him off. “Are you… Jesus, come on.”

You looked around, too, before grabbing his wrist and dragging him out of the tent and toward the house. He just trailed along behind you, fighting the urge to smile while keeping an eye out for your parents. Because the last thing he wanted to do was explain to your father what he was doing, following wherever you led.

And he did follow you - happily - into the house he’d been in plenty of times as a dinner guest or for Super Bowl parties or to help your father put together a new piece of furniture for your mother. You dragged him along to the sizable storage room off the garage and locked the door behind you before turning and staring daggers at him.

“Not that bad?” You asked, brows raised so high they threatened to disappear into your hairline. “Not that bad? You’re my dad’s best friend! I didn’t even know he had one of those until this afternoon and I -” you looked around, as though someone might have been lurking, and lowered your voice to a harsh whisper “fucked him before I knew he existed! How is this not that bad?”

“You in the habit of telling your daddy everyone you sleep with?” Joel asked, hands in his pockets. “Because I ain’t one to kiss and tell.”

“This is a joke to you, isn’t it,” you crossed your arms, clearly pissed. But the effect was lessened a bit by the way your angry pants and fierce stance made your breasts swell and fuck, but you were pretty. “What, you make a habit of fucking women young enough to be your friend’s daughter?”

“No,” Joel said with a shrug. “Don’t make a habit of fucking anyone, really. Told you, I’m outta practice. And… well, can’t say I’ve ever… well…”

“Ever?” Your eyebrows somehow got higher.

“Ever been with someone as young as you,” he said, his cheeks getting hot at the shame of that. “Didn’t set out to, either. Not until I saw you.”

You relaxed a little then, your brows returning to a much more natural position on your face.

“I didn’t go to that bar looking for someone,” he continued. “And I sure as shit never go chasing after women half my age. Sure as shit ain’t proud I did it last night, either. But… can’t say I really care much about any of that. I don’t care that you’re too young for me, don’t care that you live hundreds of miles away, don’t even care that you’re my best friend’s kid. Lord knows I should care about all that but I don’t. All I really care about in all that is you.”

Your eyes searched his for a moment, like you were trying to tell if he was lying or not. You stepped closer to him and he resisted the urge to touch you, the pull stronger than he remembered it being in the past. He wasn’t sure if it was because it had been years since he’d been with someone, if it was because he could tell from the first moment he saw you that you were special, if it was because sex with you was the best he’d ever had. But, he supposed, it didn’t really matter. Not when you were this close, in that dress, when he could still remember how you tasted on his tongue. He knew he should give a shit, he knew he should at least do your father the courtesy of feeling bad but all he could feel was the drive to touch you - taste you - again.

You held his gaze until your lips were so close to his your noses brushed and he kissed you then, your mouth so plush and soft on his.

It had been so long since Joel had done anything like this. He hadn’t exactly dated much when his daughter was at home. He tried, a bit, when she was in her teens but he ended up wishing he was spending time with her instead of trying to get to know someone he only had a passing interest in.

When Sarah moved out to go to college - not community college anymore but Texas A&M - he didn’t have the same excuse anymore. But, when he tried to meet someone then, he found himself trying to force connections with women. They had little in common with him, they wanted different things out of life, they were just interested in things he couldn’t offer. After a few, unsatisfying and brief relationships - if you could even call them that - he’d given up on it. His life was meant to be quiet and lonely. He had Sarah and that was more than enough, even if she lived in Dallas now. He was fine with it. Happy, even.

And then, there you were, so beautiful in that bar, something about you pulling him in. He couldn’t help but go up to you, couldn’t help but talk to you for hours, couldn’t help but walk you back to your hotel, couldn’t help but kiss you back in that elevator.

He couldn’t help but kiss you now.

His hands went to your waist, slipping over your sides to your back, spreading wide over you to hold as much of you as he could, pulling your body against his own. You moaned softly into his mouth and put your arms around his neck when he did and he could feel every line of you against him, could remember just what those lines felt like when there was nothing between you.

If he was in his own head enough, he would have been embarrassed about just how fast he got hard against you, embarrassed about how quickly he gave in to the urge to grind his cock into you while remembering just what it felt like to be buried inside of you. But he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck about anything beyond just how good you felt pressed all tight and desperate against him.

He guided you back until your ass was against a stack of plastic storage tubs, bins labeled with things like “Christmas” and “Halloween” that he’d helped your dad haul into the living room when your mom was ready to change the decor around the house. Your hands left him for a moment and you pulled yourself on top of the top bin, putting your hips at the same height as Joel’s own. You spread your legs wide and pulled him into you, grinding your pussy against his cock through his jeans and he had to fight not to come then and there. Your arms went back around his neck and your kiss grew messy, the both of you fighting to devour the other. Joel’s mouth slid over your lips to your chin, down your jaw to your throat and you moaned, arching your back. His hands moved to your thighs, forcing your skirt up and out of the way until your slick-soaked panties were pressed against his fly.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted softly, grinding that hot little pussy over his still clothed length. His hands skimmed over your sides to find your breasts, cupping the full, soft warmth of you there. Your fingers sank into his back, nails digging into him. “Please…”

“Not a good idea,” he said, kissing back up your neck, leaving his mouth against the tender skin at the base of your ear. “Don’t got a condom.”

He nipped your lobe and kissed over your cheek toward your mouth again.

“I don’t care,” you said, breathless. “I don’t care, I just need you, fuck, please, please…”

He groaned. He should resist you. He should, he knew better. But the way you tasted, the way you felt against him, just the thought of being inside you with nothing between you and him was making his head swim.

“Don’t think I’ll be able to pull out, baby,” he said, kissing you all wet and sloppy and without control. “You felt too damn good with somethin’ on, I can’t…”

“I don’t care,” you said again, pulling back from him just enough to look in his eyes, reaching your hand up to card your fingers through his graying hair. Your skin was almost glowing in the dim light, your eyes ranging over him, pupils blown. “I want you, please, Joel.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, reaching quickly down to unbuckle his belt and open his pants. He pulled his cock free, his head swollen and leaking. He stroked himself - not that it offered any relief and it wasn’t possible to make him any harder - with one hand and watched with hungry eyes as he traced the the seam of you through your wet panties with the other, the fabric clinging to the plush softness of you. He couldn’t help but groan a little as he tucked the cotton to the side, revealing you all plump and dripping for him.

He watched, his breath shaky, as he moved closer, trailing his cock head over your slit before slipping just inside your entrance. He just stood there for a moment, his heart beating out a frantic rhythm against his ribs, looking at where he was starting to disappear into you and he was mesmerized by it. The way you had to stretch to take even just the head of him, the way you took him so well anyway, the way you felt inside, the heat of you on his skin.

“Joel,” you whimpered, your hand clutching onto his bicep, his shirt twisting in your fingers.

“Baby,” his voice was rough, raspy. He’d be embarrassed about how needy he sounded if he could bring himself to give a shit about anything but how you felt inside. “Fuck, you already feel fuckin’ incredible and I’m not even really inside you yet…”

He finally pulled his eyes away from where the two of you met to find your face, your eyes so wide and pleading. He took you in his hand, his thumb on your cheek, your fingers reaching back to grip tight to your neck, holding you just so. You stretched to kiss him but he kept you in place, your eyebrows drawing together as you moaned in protest.

“Gotta be quiet, pretty girl,” he whispered. “And sit still, just let me look at you.”

He watched you closely as pressed into you, your breath hitching as he parted your inner walls, your tight, wet heat gripping him and he savored every needy expression that crossed your face. You were so beautiful like this, your mouth open in a silent gasp, eyes wide, looking like you were enjoying him almost as much as he was enjoying you.

Because there was no possible way it could be equal, there was no way he felt as good as you did. You’d felt fucking exquisite with a condom on the night before, it had only taken Joel a second inside you to decide that this could not be a one time thing. He couldn’t feel something that good only once in his life, he’d spend the rest of his years searching for it otherwise. It was the cherry on top of the perfection that seemed to be you, someone he wanted to spend hours upon hours talking with and hours upon hours looking at. The way your body took him into yourself, the way you pulsed around him when you came, the way you were so goddamn soft inside. How was he supposed to just walk away from that?

But, as Joel’s cock was buried inside you to the root, he realized that nothing - absolutely fucking nothing - compared to being inside you bare. He could feel you so clearly like this, every ridge of muscle, every little gush of come as you made a mess of his cock. You were so fucking tight he wondered how he’d even fit inside you. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything quite as warm and soft as you and he knew he’d never felt quite so close to anyone like he did you in that moment.

“Goddamn baby,” he breathed, his eyes locked on yours, not moving from his place inside you.

“Joel,” you whispered before looking down to where your bodies where joined and groaning when you did.

“Gotta stay quiet, pretty girl,” he said softly, wrapping an arm around you, his hand splaying wide over the small of your back. He held you in place and ground himself deeper into you, making you whimper.

“Fuck me,” you panted, desperate. “Please Joel, I need you to move, I need you to fuck me, please…”

He crumbled under your pleas, pulling back from you agonizingly slowly so that he could feel every part of you clinging to him before thrusting back inside you in one devastating go. You moaned as he did, loud enough that he was worried someone might hear. He kissed you to keep you quiet and your arms went around his neck, your fingers digging into him as you clung to him. But he couldn’t keep kissing you forever, not when the drive to fuck you harder was so strong, and he had to separate from you to gasp for breath as his cock plunged into you again and again. You moaned, desperate and needy and uncontrolled and Joel couldn’t even consider stopping to keep you quiet. Instead, he pulled you tight to him, tucking your head against his shoulder so your sounds were muffled by his body.

“Said you gotta keep quiet baby,” he whispered in your ear, fucking into you. “Fuck… you feel too damn good, won’t be able to stop just because someone comes in.”

Your muffled moans grew louder and you clutched onto him and he held you closer, tighter, the sharp snap of his hips never slowing or even stuttering. He felt like a man possessed as he savored the hot clutch of you. He’d never needed to fuck someone like this, never wanted to live inside another person like this. How was he supposed to move on from this, from you? When he’d never found anything that made him feel like this, so obsessed he couldn’t keep himself from fucking you hard and fast and unprotected under your father’s roof.

His orgasm was building fast, faster than he really wanted it to. There was the nagging thought at the back of his mind - the last part of him that seemed to exist outside the sphere of your influence - that he should pull out at the very least. He didn’t know if you were on the pill but part of him didn’t fucking care. Part of him wanted to fill you up and take everything that came with it, as long as he got to keep coming in you again and again the rest of it didn’t matter.

You started mumbling into his shoulder, your words incoherent around the fabric of his shirt and the bulk of his body and he pulled your head back just enough that he could make out what you were saying, just “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come” over and over and over and the sound went straight to his cock.

He felt it then, you drawing so tight around him, the sensation intimately familiar after the night before, and then you exploded around him, throbbing hard and full, damn near pulling his own orgasm out of his body as he groaned against you. He didn’t do the smart thing, he didn’t pull out. Instead, he reveled in the feeling as he came deep inside you, buried to the root .

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted against him as your climax eased, sounding closer to sane now than you had the last few minutes.

“I know, baby,” he said, breathless too, still deep within you. You pulled back from him ever so slightly, your eyes wide as they searched his face, your lipstick smeared over your skin.

“Fuck, Joel,” you said again, but different this time, an edge of panic in your voice. You put your hand to his chest, leaning back from him and looking down to where you were still joined. “What the fuck did we just do?”

“Nothin’ bad…” he said quietly but you looked back to him, your gaze fiery now. He pulled out of you slowly, reluctantly, and tucked himself away.

“Nothing bad?” You asked, brows raised. “We just fucked in my parents’ house! I barely fucking know you and you just… I just begged you to… Jesus Christ…”

Joel winced at that.

“I can go get you one of those pills…” he said weakly. He hoped that was the right thing to say in a moment like this one. He hadn’t been in this position in so long, he wasn’t the type to just randomly fuck a woman and he sure as hell wasn’t the type to do so with no regard for the consequences. He’d learned that lesson well enough in his youth. Here he was, middle aged and fucking you like some teenager in heat, sneaking around behind your parents’ backs.

“What?” You shook your head once, sharply, like you were trying to shake him from your mind. “No, I have an IUD, but I don’t know you, you could have… I don’t fucking know, herpes or something!”

Joel almost laughed. Not that anything about this was actually funny but it was… something.

“I don’t got anything like that,” Joel said. “You’re safe, promise.”

You looked to jump down from your perch on the storage bins but slipped a hand down between your legs first and groaned before looking around.

“Do you see any paper towel or anything?” You asked, holding your hand covered in his come and yours in front of you, your combined slick pearly on your fingers.

Joel swallowed.

“No,” he said. “But… here…”

He untucked his shirt and nudged your legs wider apart, forcing your dress further up your thighs, revealing your slit to him. He resisted the urge to groan at the sight, his spend leaking from you because he’d left it deep inside…

He shook himself mentally and took the hem of his button down shirt, pressing it to your dripping hole, cleaning you gently. You leaned back on your hands and he could feel your eyes on him as he delicately ran the fabric over your soft skin. He was about to step back when he heard you moan, needy and wanting, and he realized he could see your clit, swollen and peeking out from your wet sex.

“Fuck,” you breathed and he looked up to your face. Your eyes were closed, your mouth open in pleasure.

“You like that?” He asked, his voice heavier than he’d meant it to be. Fuck, he shouldn’t be doing this. But you nodded, quick and desperate, and he couldn’t resist. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

He knelt in front of you, looping his arms around your knees and pulling you sharply to the front edge of the storage bin before licking a hesitant stripe from your entrance to your sensitive nub. You groaned at that and he saw your fingers curl around the edge of the bin, knuckles tight.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you panted and he smiled a little before diving into your pussy like a man starved.

He licked and sucked and ate at you, his tongue delving into your tight channel, his nose pressed against your swollen clit, his fingers pressing tightly into the meat of your thighs. Your hand flew to his hair, knotting and tangling in his curls, your nails digging into his scalp as you ground your hips against his face. You were moaning louder and he knew he should give a fuck, try to keep you quiet while he worked you to yet another orgasm in your father’s house, but he just didn’t care. All he cared about was making you come so hard you damn near took off his tongue.

He didn’t need to wait long, your pussy growing tighter and tighter until you cried out, your hips pressed against him and he savored the way your body clutched onto him as you came. Your channel pulsed hard and strong and he drank down your slick, not caring that it mingled with his own come from just a few minutes before.

Joel waited until your climax eased before he pulled his tongue from your body, pressing a lingering kiss over the top of your slit, making you groan.

“Holy shit,” you panted and he got to his feet in front of you, wiping his mouth awkwardly with the back of his wrist.

“Sorry,” he said, glancing quickly at your still slightly swollen sex. It was no longer dripping, at least. “That… that ain’t what I’d set out to do…”

“Never apologize for that,” you said, sitting up properly this time. You slipped off the storage bin. You rearranged your underwear below your dress before adjusting the hem, looking down at yourself like you were trying to make sure you didn’t look like you’d just been fucked within an inch of your life.

“Here,” Joel said, thankful that his shirt was black so your lipstick that was undoubtably on his shoulder wouldn’t show. He took the cuff that hadn’t wiped your slick from his face and carefully cleaned your smeared lipstick from your skin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to do that, either…”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, crossing your arms and looking him up and down. “I was literally begging for it. There’s just something about you… but that’s why we can’t do this, Joel. You’re my dad’s best friend, he’d never forgive us for this. We have to pretend like this never happened. Not tonight, not last night, none of it.”

He just watched you for a moment. Part of him knew you were right. You were right for more reasons than just that, too. He hadn’t really dated in years, he hadn’t been in a good place to do it in ages and he sure as hell wasn’t in a place to date someone as young as you. You’d want things out of life that he was long past, things he could never give you. He should know better than this.

But that didn’t change the fact that he wanted you. He wanted to fuck you again, yeah, but he also wanted to get to know you, to make you dinner and take you to the beach and kiss you at midnight on New Year’s Eve. You’d woken something up in him that he didn’t know he still had, something he thought had died along with his youth years before. Wasn’t something like you worth risking a friendship for? Even one like the one he had with your father?

“We have to stay away from each other the rest of the night,” you said. “Alright?”

He looked at you for a moment, at the drawn expression on your face.

“Yeah,” he said after the silence hung in the air a bit too long. “Yeah, alright.”

The two of you made your way back toward the celebration, thankfully no one in the house to have heard the sounds he pulled form you, anyway. Joel tried not to stare at you the rest of the night but he found himself keenly aware of where you were all the time, anyway. He knew where you were and who you were with and just how far he’d have to move to pull you into his arms and kiss you.

“Joel!” His friend clapped him on the shoulder as he sat at a table, drinking a beer and trying to not pay attention to where you were - something he was failing at because, at the moment, you were standing by your mother and your sister near the buffet. “Havin’ a nice time?”

“Oh, yeah,” Joel cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat beside him. “It’s a great party. Y’all deserve it, too, hell of an accomplishment, puttin’ up with each other that long…”

“Tell me about it,” he laughed. “God, sometimes… See you didn’t bring a date, was hopin’ you’d be out on the dance floor with some lucky lady at least a little bit.”

“Yeah, well,” Joel shrugged. “Don’t really got anyone to bring to someone like this and…”

“Still,” he cut Joel off. “Should get out there… Princess! C’mere!”

He raised his hand and flagged you down and Joel stiffened. Your eyes darted from his to your father’s before you made your way across the tent, your hands in fists at your sides.

“You really don’t need to…” Joel began but your father cut him off again.

“S’no trouble,” he said. “It’ll be good for her, too. Tells her mama everything, hasn’t had a boyfriend in who knows how long, she needs to do a little dancing…”

“Yes, Dad?” You asked, steadfastly ignoring Joel.

“Do me a favor, Princess, and get this old man on the dance floor, would ya?” He clapped Joel on the back. “He’s been sittin’ here alone way too long, think he needs a little nudge…”

“Oh, I… I don’t,” you began.

“Really don’t need…” Joel said.

“Nonsense!” Your dad said. “C’mon! You two - two of my favorite people - have been sittin’ off to the sides of this shindig all night. Make me happy, get out there for me.”

You looked at Joel half pleading, half resigned.

“Yeah, alright,” Joel said, getting up and setting his beer on the table. Your father got up, too.

“Good man!” He patted him firmly between the shoulder blades. “You two have fun!”

Joel offered you his hand and you took it before he led you to the dance floor, your body tense and separated firmly from his own. The music shifted just as the two of you got there, The Way You Look Tonight starting to play and Joel almost groaned. Might as well put a neon sign over his head, flashing “I want to fuck her” in bright red.

He took you in his arms all the same, leaving a respectable, painful distance between the two of you as he started to sway with you on the dance floor.

“I’m sorry about this,” you said quietly after a moment. “I don’t know what his problem is, besides the fact that he’s had too much to drink.”

“S’OK,” Joel said. His hand was at the small of your back and he knew just how soft your skin was there. “I don’t… It’s nice. Dancin’ with you.”

You smiled a little.

“It’s nice dancing with you, too.”

You looked at him differently then. Your eyes were softer, your body less stiff and it reminded Joel of the night before, when you were just a stranger in a bar and you smiled and talked and laughed with him for hours.

“I wish things were different,” you said quietly, eyes searching his. “I know we just met but… I mean, if I lived closer, if…”

“If I wasn’t your daddy’s friend?” He asked, giving you a crooked smile.

You laughed a little.

“Yeah, that little snag,” you said. “If life was different… I think I’d like to figure some of it out with you, Joel.”

The song wound down and he knew his time with you was numbered.

“Think I’d like to figure it out with you, too.”

He wanted to kiss you then and, if you were any other woman or in any other place, he would have. But instead, the music ended and he forced himself to stop touching you and he stood, in the middle of the dance floor, other couples flowing around him as he watched you walk away from him and back toward your family.

Joel seriously considered getting hammered when he got home that night. Drinking himself into oblivion seemed like the kindest thing he could do to himself but he couldn’t bring himself to risk losing the memory of dancing with you like that. Instead, he lay flat on his back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, etching every part of you into his mind as best he could because, goddammit, the last day had to have existed for something, right? A bright spot in what had become a lonely life, something he could look back on with fondness when shit didn’t go the way he wanted.

But, before too long, he knew that wouldn’t be enough.

He got up, not bothering to get changed, just staying in his plaid pajama pants and threadbare band t-shirt and drove to your hotel. He remembered your room number and, only after he’d knocked on your door, did he realize what he’d done. He had, without calling or texting or anything that was actually fucking sensible, shown up at your door at - he glanced at his watch - one in the fucking morning.

“Shit,” he said to himself, already moving to go when your door opened.

“Joel?” You frowned a little, looking him up and down. “What are you…”

“This was stupid,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this, I should’ve just…”

You reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from leaving and he blinked in surprise.

“Did you want to come in or not?” You asked, brows raised.

“Yeah,” he nodded quickly. “Yeah, I do.”

And you smiled and took his hand, leading him into your room.

***

Six Months Later

“This feels like tempting fate,” you muttered as you did your hair in the mirror over Joel’s dresser.

“Nah,” he waved you off as he lounged, shirtless, on the bed. “It’ll be fine. Think we can manage to keep our hands to ourselves for a few hours.”

You scoffed at that. If you could, that would be a fucking first.

In the six months since you and Joel had decided to make a go of it - damn all the reasons that you shouldn’t - you’d been happier than you could ever remember being. He’d been to visit you in Tennessee twice and you’d met up in New Orleans once but this was your first time back home since you’d decided that dating your father’s best friend wasn’t a total lost cause.

When you were together, you spent obscene amounts of time in bed. He made you come more than anyone else you’d ever been with and you spent hours naked and tangled up with each other. Even when you were apart, he still gave you the best damn orgasms of your life because he was shockingly good at sexting for someone who was 20 years older than you.

But your connection with Joel was so much deeper than the physical. You could talk with him the way you could no one else, he knew you and saw you in a way you didn’t realize was possible for another person to see you and know you. You wanted to spend all your time with him, do everything with him. How were you supposed to sit at your parents’ house for Thanksgiving dinner with him next to you at the table and expect them to not notice that?

“M’serious,” he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the side of your neck before nuzzling into your skin there. “Be on my best behavior. No fuckin’ you in the storage room this time. Couldn’t get me naked tonight if you tried.”

“Oh, OK,” you rolled your eyes but laughed a little. “I’m sure you’d keep it in your pants if I just tugged my sweater dress down nice and low and headed off to the quiet part of the house…”

“Well now you’re just askin’ too much of me, baby,” he teased, kissing you again before putting his face beside yours in the mirror. “I’m just a man, after all.”

“My man,” you smiled and he laughed.

“S’right,” he said. “Yours.”

You went to your parents’ place first, keeping up the pretense that you’d been staying at a friend’s and not at Joel’s during your trip home, and you helped your mom finish up the last of dinner preparations.

“You’re sure Joel’s not bringing anybody?” Your mom asked your dad as the two of you set the table, your dad camped in front of the television watching football.

“S’what he said,” he replied absently before smacking his hand down on the arm of his recliner. “Fuckin’ hell! Dunno when we’re gonna field a goddamn defense this season…”

“Well I thought you mentioned that he’d been seeing someone,” your mom said and your head snapped around to look at her so fast your neck popped. She frowned at you and you cleared your throat awkwardly, looking back down at the place setting you were arranging.

“Said I thought he was seein’ someone,” your dad corrected her. “Been actin’ all cagey last few months but he’s got this funny look on his face when he shows up for basketball is all.”

You bit back a smile and put out the next napkin.

“Well, that’s good,” your mom said. “I hope he is seeing someone. Joel’s a good guy, he deserves a good woman.”

“I agree OH COME ON!” He was on his feet, remote clutched in his hand as a ref gestured on screen. He turned off the TV and threw the remote into the couch. “Well, there’s no comin’ back from that. I’m gonna take a piss before folks get here…”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that during the holidays,” your mother grumbled. The words were barely out of her mouth when the doorbell rang and she looked to you. “Would you mind getting that, sweetie?”

“Sure,” you smiled and tried to keep yourself from running to the door, stopping at the mirror to check your hair and makeup before pulling the door open. Joel was standing there, one of those cocky, crooked smiles you loved so much on his face.

“Well hi there,” he said, his brown eyes soft.

“Hi,” you smiled and then feigned a frown. “I’m sorry… Jim, was it? Think we met at my parents’ anniversary party?”

He pursed his lips for a second and rolled his eyes and you could tell he wanted to grab you and kiss you.

“Joel,” he corrected you. “And yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Your mother put Joel across from you, the two single people at the table, and you slipped your foot out of your shoe during dinner, tracing your toes over his calf where no one could see.

“So, princess,” your dad said as dinner wound down and you were on your third glass of wine. “You ever gonna get a real job? Think about movin’ closer to home?”

The room went silent, Joel’s eyebrows knitting together before looking toward your father at the head of the table.

“Honey,” your mom said quietly, lightly scolding your dad.

“What?” He asked, picking up his wine glass and taking a generous sip. “Think it’s a fair question. We bankrolled her gettin’ that damn degree thinkin’ she’d do something with herself and she’s, what, playing music for whackos?”

“Dad,” your sister hissed, her eyes darting to her boyfriend across from her. “Cool it.”

“I’m providing music therapy in an inpatient setting,” you said, setting your wine glass down.

“You’re finding some damn way to chase that pipe dream of being a goddamn singer is what you’re doin’,” he replied. “It’s time to grow up, find a real job…”

“Just because you don’t recognize the importance of mental health doesn’t mean my job isn’t real,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“You said you wanted to study psychology so you could help people,” he cut you off. “Not so you could find some way to play rock star, and…”

“And I think you’ve had a few too many,” Joel cut him off. Your dad opened his mouth to argue but Joel cocked his head, his jaw tense. “C’mon. You were just tellin’ me that she don’t come home enough, you think this shit is helping? It’s Thanksgiving. Cool it.”

Your mom looked quickly between you and Joel before clearing her throat.

“Pie, anyone?” She asked, ending the conversation before your dad had a chance to pick it up again.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said when you got back to Joel’s that night, taking your earrings out and setting them on the nightstand you’d claimed as yours.

“He shouldn’t have said that shit to you,” Joel said, his voice heated. “Can’t believe he’d even think that shit let alone say it. I’d never dream of saying somethin’ like that to Sarah, not about to just let him…”

“Yes, you are,” you said, crossing your arms and facing him. “He’s always been like that, he’s always only wanted me to exist as an extension of himself and only do what he thinks is worthwhile. It’s nothing new, I’m used to it…”

“Well, you fuckin’ shouldn’t be,” he snapped. “You deserve better than that.”

“It’s great that you believe that,” you said. “I do, too. But if we want to make this work? You can’t come to my rescue. If it happens again, you have to let me handle it. Understand?”

He sighed before going and kissing your temple.

“Whatever you want, baby.”

July 4th, 19 months later

“Do we really have to go?” You groaned, Joel’s ceiling fan turning lazily over your head. You were naked, the only way you could handle being anywhere close to Joel in this heat, your bodies sticky with sweat and come.

“You are visiting for the holiday,” he said, toying with your fingers. “Probably look pretty damn weird if you don’t turn up for the cookout.”

You sighed.

“You’re right,” you said. “But you have to behave yourself this time. Actually behave yourself, I mean it.”

“When do I not behave myself?” He teased. “I’m always on my best behavior when it comes to you, baby.”

You snorted.

“Is that what you called it when you cornered me in the bathroom last Christmas and stuck your tongue down my throat?” You asked.

“Yup,” he said.

“How about when you pick a fight with my dad when he says something shitty?”

“He stops sayin’ shitty stuff, I’ll stop fighting ‘im on it,” Joel shrugged. You groaned. “I just don’t understand that man. I love ‘im like a brother, and all he says about you when you aren’t around is glowing. You’d think that man worships the ground you walk on but for some reason, you come home and he decides to act like a fuckin’ jackass and I’m not about to just let him talk to you that way, baby, I’m sorry but I’m not. I’d stop any man from talking about his kid that way but I’m sure as hell not gonna just let him do it to you.”

“Your chivalry would be hotter if it wasn’t putting our entire relationship at risk,” you said wryly.

He shrugged.

“We gotta tell him eventually, baby,” he said. “And if he finds out because he was being an ass, well, that’s on him.”

You went into what had become your usual habit with Joel and holidays. When he wasn’t with Sarah - another hurdle you had yet to cross, not sure how she’d feel about her father dating someone just two years older than her - the two of you were usually together. When you came to Austin like you were now, you went to your parents’ house first and pitched in with your mother, counting the minutes until he showed up at the door. When he did, with his special recipe baked beans in hand, a profound relief took you. He was there, with you, and you were making it work.

Or you were, until your dad made a back handed comment about your career yet again.

You clenched your hand a little tighter around your beer bottle and you opened your mouth to respond but Joel beat you to it.

“I don’t know why you say that kind of crap,” he said, going from leaning against a fence post by the pool to rising to his full and frankly massive height. “You tryin’ to make your kid feel like shit? Make her think you ain’t proud of her and what she does? Because I got news for you, bud, you’re damn lucky to have someone like her for a kid, someone who’s smart and kind and talented as hell. You’re damn lucky she comes around here at all, you talking to her the way you do and I’m not about to just let you pull that shit in front of me!”

You stood there, mouth open, staring at your boyfriend who no one knew was your boyfriend. The party had gone silent, the only sounds coming from the sizzle of burgers on the grill and the quiet guitar of background music from the speakers around the pool.

“Don’t much appreciate bein’ spoken to like that in my own home, friend,” your dad said eventually, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Joel muttered, setting his beer bottle down with a little too much force on a nearby table. “I’ll see myself out.”

He hardly looked your way on his way to his truck and, when the rest of the guests left that night, you just had to pray that your mom believed you when you lied and said you didn’t know why Joel would act like that because of you.

Two months later

“It’s just not working,” you said, your voice thick.

You didn’t like doing this. You didn’t want to do this. You needed to do this.

“Baby,” he said, a pleading edge to his voice. “C’mon, I know… I know things have been rough, that the distance is real hard and that I fucked up when you were here last but…”

“What are we doing, Joel?” You asked, rubbing your temple with one hand and clutching your phone to your head with the other.

“I thought we were lovin’ each other,” he said in a voice so sad and weak it almost broke you.

“To what end?” You asked. “Where is this going? We’ve been doing this for more than two years now and what’s changed? We’re still in different states, my parents still don’t know and neither does your daughter, our lives are still separate. We have no where to go from here and I just… I can’t keep doing this. It’s not working.”

“Isn’t it worth it like it is?” He said softly.

“Joel,” you whispered.

He sighed.

“You’re right,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just… You’re right. I shouldn’t hold you back, you deserve to have whatever you want.”

“So do you,” you said quietly.

He laughed once.

“We both know that ain’t true,” he said. “Just… take care of yourself for me, OK baby? Give yourself something good.”

“You too,” you said, just letting yourself sob now.

“Still love you, baby,” he almost whispered. “Think I always will.”

You pressed your nails into your palm. You weren’t sure you could survive saying it back.

He didn’t ask you to.

“I’ll see you around,” he said. “Bye, baby.”

He hung up before you said I love you, too.

Seven Years Later

You wondered if you should feel guilty, looking at your engagement ring on your finger as your new fiance snored lightly beside you.

Reid was a good man. You’d met on a dating app a few years earlier, a few casual boyfriends between you and the disintegration of your relationship with Joel by then but he still lingered there on the edge of your consciousness. Never close but never far away, either.

Your new fiance had wooed you in the usual way. He charmed you over text, he thoughtfully arranged dates, he even sent you flowers the first time you slept with him. He did almost everything right, even if he was sometimes oddly distant and unreachable. You were happy when he got down on one knee at the mini-golf course he’d taken you to on your first date, a large and shining diamond held out to you as an offering.

But for a moment, just half a second, it wasn’t Reid you wanted to ask you that question. It was Joel, the man you’d loved more than any other, the man you hadn’t spoken to in the better part of a decade, the man you had no business still loving that you wanted to ask for your hand.

Breaking things off had been the right call. You were right, it couldn’t work. You couldn’t have with him what you had with Reid, someone to sleep next to every night and plan a future with every day. But fuck, you still wished you could.

You toyed with the ring, twisting it on your finger, the stone feeling oddly heavy on your hand. Reid was a good man. One you could settle down with, one you could build a life with. He was what you needed.

You rolled over and wrapped around a pillow, trying to not think of Joel as you fell asleep next to your fiance.

***

Bar None, Present Day

Joel thought he was crazy when he saw you.

It wouldn’t surprise him if he’d lost his mind, spending the last decade hung up on you the way he had. There hadn’t been a day that passed since you left him that he didn’t think about you. He wondered how you were doing, if you were too stressed at work or if you were drinking enough water or if you’d seen a movie he thought you’d like.

Sometimes, he just thought about you existing in your life. He pictured you on your couch reading or laughing with a glass of wine in your hand or lying in bed with your eyes half closed as you drifted toward sleep. He liked doing that, picturing you in your space in the intimate moments of your life.

Others, he thought about the deeper things. He thought about you being happy, both alone and with someone else. He thought about you getting older and advancing in your life and your career. He thought about you struggling sometimes and how he wished he could make it easier. He thought about sending you flowers on your birthday and almost did a few times before deciding that might mess things up for you, if you were dating someone and flowers from another man showed up at your door so he didn’t because all he wanted was for you to be happy.

He’d started talking to your dad again, a few months after you broke things off with him. They made up in that gruff way men did, dodging any and all emotion as much as they could. Joel latched on to everything your father mentioned about you. He became masochistic, in a way. Asking after you sometimes, checking in on how you were doing, seeing if your dad took pictures when you came home for the holidays. The day you got engaged was a punch to the gut. Your dad had proudly announced it to the whole team at their game that night, damn near glowing. That hit him harder than he thought it would.

You really were gone, then. It really was over. Your dad had shown him the picture you’d sent him when you’d gotten engaged. It was a selfie, a man much closer to your age than Joel was holding you close and tight as you held your ring up for the camera and smiled broadly. But, he thought - maybe wishfully - it didn’t reach your eyes. Not really. Some part of this wasn’t entirely what you wanted.

He shouldn’t like that - and most of him didn’t. He wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to have every good thing you could because you deserved that. But the rest of him was selfish because he wanted to be the one to give you those things. He wanted to give you smiles and orgasms and fucking diamond rings.

But he could’t. And you deserved someone who could.

He’d tried to move on in your years apart, he really had. He’d tried dating for a while. Sarah even showed him how to set up a dating app and he went out with a few women but it hadn’t been any different than it had been in the past. It wasn’t long before he gave up, resigning himself to a life where the best of it was behind him.

Going to Bar None was one of those masochistic things he just kept doing. He tried not to go too often, limiting himself to once a month at most. Some months were better than others. Sometimes, he could go six, eight weeks without stepping foot inside the place he’d first met you. Others, he went back three or four nights in a row. He always sat at the same spot he’d been at when he first saw you, like if he stayed rooted there long enough you’d walk back into his life and you could pick up right where you left off.

Still, it was a shock when he saw you come in with your friends that night. He forced himself to sit there and wait even though your eyes found his the second you were in the door.

You were engaged. Maybe even home for some kind of wedding related event. The last thing you needed was some ex-boyfriend butting in where he wasn’t wanted.

But… you were looking at him. Not just looking at him, looking at him the way you used to, looking at him like you wanted him. So, when the last of your friends got up and left and you were there at the table, alone, he couldn’t help it. He went to you.

And you weren’t wearing a ring.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, looking at your bare hand for a moment before going back to your face. “Your dad didn’t say…”

“Yeah, he wasn’t exactly thrilled,” you smiled a little, putting your hand back in your lap. “He lost out on some deposit money for the wedding when that fell through. Thankfully, he got to place the blame on my ex and not on me.”

“Can I ask what happened?” Joel asked, trying to keep from feeling hopeful. Lord knows he shouldn’t.

“He cheated on me,” you said, shrugging simply as though you’d said he’d forgotten what you’d sent him to the store to get.

“Shit,” Joel shook his head. “I’m sorry. He’s a scumbag, not to mention a fuckin’ dumbass.”

You smiled a little and shrugged again.

“It happens,” you said. “And, honestly… I was a little relieved. The closer we got to the wedding, the more I wondered if I was doing the right thing.”

Joel’s heart sped up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, taking a sip of your drink. “As much as I loved him, it just… it wasn’t the same as how I felt for this one guy I dated before.”

“Really?” Joel asked, forcing himself to stay in his seat and not take your face in his hands and kiss you.

“Really,” you smiled a little bigger now, one that it looked like you were struggling to contain. “We dated for a while and I loved him so much. I still do. But I was stupid, I let a bunch of life things get in the way and I didn’t fight for things with him the way I should have.”

Joel moved a little closer to you.

“Probably not stupid,” he said. “Probably just practical.”

“Nah, it was stupid,” you said. “When you love someone that much, the only practical thing is to figure it out, you know?”

He took a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“Anyway,” you said. “I decided to come back here. See if he was still single and willing to make a go of it. A real go of it this time, one where we say fuck all the life problems because this is worth it.”

“Well,” Joel said, his heart racing now. “He’d be a fool to turn you down. He was a fool for letting you go to begin with.”

You smiled all the way then before leaning into him slowly, hesitantly. You kissed him, gentle and soft and your lips were so familiar but so electric on him. Something in him came alive at your touch, sparking low and deep and hot and he was suddenly desperate for you. His hands moved of their own accord, one to hold your face to his, the other to take your waist, slipping around to your back, pulling you damn near off your bar stool and into him, his tongue dipping into the sweetness that was your mouth.

After what seemed like forever and no time at all, you pulled back from him, breathless and wide eyed.

“Want to come back to my place?” You asked quietly. “I’m still unpacking but it’s not far.”

“Yeah,” he nodded quickly and then laughed a little. As if he wouldn’t go anywhere you asked. “Course I do.”

You were barely in the door when your arms were around his neck, your body pressed tightly to the front of him, his hands snaking around to hold you close. You led him to your bedroom, tugging at his clothes and stepping out of yours until both of you were naked next to your bed. Joel’s eyes ran over you in the dark, the slats of the blinds casting lines of moonlight over your bared skin. You were somehow - impossibly - even more beautiful than he remembered, his hands gently running over the outline of you in front of him.

“You sure about this?” He asked quietly.

“I’m sure,” you whispered back. “More sure than I’ve been about anything in a long time.”

He smiled at that, kissing you before that smile swallowed him up, and he lowered you onto the bed. He guided you back on it, until you were in the middle of the mattress and he settled between your thighs. His cock - already so hard it almost hurt and dripping with want - nestled against your soft, wet heat, the head of him brushing your clit as he rocked himself against you.

“Fuck, Joel,” you breathed as he kissed your neck, drinking in the smell of your perfume and skin and just a little bit of sweat from the heat of the bar. “I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” he dragged his teeth up and over your skin to nip at your ear lobe. “So goddamn much.”

He kissed over your skin, pressed himself against your warmth, worked himself against your slit, savoring every part of you he could possibly touch until you were dripping and damn near writhing below him.

“Please,” you panted, your fingers knotting in the hair at his nape. “I need you, I need you inside me, please, I…”

He just nodded, separating from you enough to look between your bodies as he lined himself up with your entrance, pressing just the tip of him inside your grasping pussy before settling on top of you again. His eyes found yours in the dark, your skin soft on his, your mouth open as you whimpered in pleasure and want.

“I’ve got you,” he said. “Give you everything you need.”

You nodded quickly, frantically, and he pushed inside, his cock spreading you open and he had to fight to not close his eyes and get totally lost in the feel of you. But he needed everything, he needed to see you while he felt you and heard you and breathed you in. It had been too long since he’d seen you like this - back arched, mouth agape, keening and whining from his cock. He needed it like he needed water or air, needed you with him like this as often as he could get it. He needed you with him in every other way, too. He was an addict, there was never going to be enough. He knew now, after years of drought, that he would happily drown in you if you’d let him.

He kissed you as he bottomed out inside, the whole of him filling the whole of you. Your walls clung to him, already fluttering lightly over him, your thighs wrapped around his hips as he held himself deep. He could taste you now, too, and his heart stuttered in his chest. Finally, he had all of you again, overwhelming all of him again.

When he started to move inside you, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. You felt too goddamn good and it had been years since he’d last been with anyone without a condom. But he didn’t need to worry about making you come, he could tell you were already close. It had been years since he last had you but his body knew yours deeply and intimately. He knew how your hips moved when you got close, how your channel would draw tight for a moment before relaxing ever so slightly, again and again until you were pulled so close around him that he knew you were right on the precipice of your climax.

“Come on baby,” he whispered, looking in your wide eyes. “Come for me, let me feel you.”

You cried out, the sound cracked and desperate, and he pressed deep as you came, your channel throbbing and pulsing over him so hard that the rest of the world fell away. All that was left was you and how you were taking him, you and how damn good your pleasure felt.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he said, still grinding his cock deep into you until your orgasm started to ease. “Not gonna last baby, can I come in you? Fuck, please…”

“Please, Joel,” you moaned but, before he could start fucking into you hard and fast, your fingers dug into his bicep and your eyes met his, pleading in a new way. “But… I’m not on anything.”

He stilled inside you, your cunt still tight around him, the last aftershocks of your orgasm running over him. You wanted him to come inside unprotected. He knew you’d always wanted children. You’d even day dreamed about it with him, fingers laced with his when you were naked in bed, but that’s all it had ever been: a dream. Now, you were damn near asking for it.

“You sure?” He asked, breathless.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I want you. All of you.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, burying his face in your neck and fucking into you in earnest, his cock harder than it had ever been at your words. “I’m yours baby, only ever been yours.”

Your thighs tightened against his sides, your hips rising to meet his, your pussy drawing tight around him again as he worked down into you and he moaned into your skin as he came, the heavy pulse of his orgasm making you come around him again, finding the height of your shared being together again, the way it seemed like it always should have been.

When his climax finally eased, he went limp on top of you for a moment, your hands tracing slow, easy paths over the breadth of his back. When it felt like he could control his limbs again, he kissed your shoulder and pulled out of you gently, falling to your side. You rolled to face him and he tugged you close before lacing his fingers with yours, brushing over your knuckles as he did.

“Did you mean that?” He asked quietly, eventually.

“Yes,” you said softly, watching him closely. “I know what I want, Joel. I went a long time without you. I had a lot of time to think about things. I know what I want and what I want is you. I wanted you while we were apart, too, I was just… too afraid of what that might mean. But I know better now.”

“What about your family?” He asked. “Your dad… not sure he’ll ever forgive us.”

“Don’t care,” you said. “I fight with him all the time, anyway. At least this is a good reason to.”

He smiled a little.

“And it doesn’t bother you that I’ve got a kid who’s just two years younger than you?” He asked.

“Moved past that years ago,” you smiled back. “Does it bother you?”

“Moved past that years ago,” he said, too, and you laughed.

“Does it bother you that I…” you took a deep breath. “That I want kids?”

He watched you closely for a moment, your lower lip drawn between your teeth.

“Haven’t thought much about having more kids,” he said. “But the times I have… they’ve been yours.”

“Really?”

“Every time,” he said. “S’long as you don’t mind them having an old dad…”

You laughed again, all gentle and easy, the way things were when the two of you were alone together.

“Think we can manage,” you said. “I just want you. Everything else? We’ll figure it out.”

He smiled a little and he reached out, cupping your cheek and looking in your eyes and feeling a spark in his chest that said he was holding the whole world in his palm.

“Yeah,” he said. “Think we will.”

A/N: I'm SO SORRY it took me a million years to finish this, I really didn't intend to. I hope it was at least somewhat worth the wait!

I hope you enjoyed these two crazy kids. I had a blast writing them. Thank you for being here and for putting up with the insane wait between chapters. Love you!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller smut #stranger in a bar

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dinogoofymutated · 2 months ago

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NSFW! Gambit/Fem!AFAB!reader SECOND FIC OF HALLOWEEN CELEBRATION LEHHHGOOO!!! I really hope you guys like this one, as I had a lot of fun writing it! Sorry if the smut at the end is a little barebones, I was running out of steam lol. Here's your meal my hellions!

A bat flies through your window one night, and although you're dreadfully afraid of rabies and scared to touch the little thing, it's in really bad shape and you can't stand by and just let it die. You spend the next few days nursing the little guy back to health, when one day he up and disappears. The next night you go out with your friends, and feel like you keep seeing a familiar pair of eyes in the crowd.

TWs: MDNI!!!!!! Smut, Mirror sex, bitchy neighbors, alcohol consumption, semi-public sex. vampire stuff, only half of this has been beta-read. I'll add more if I think of any.

The bat hadn’t struggled once when you scooped it up into a spare shoebox. It didn’t scramble away, or even flinch, really. It hadn’t made a single sound or squeak, either. All it did was look up at you with strange, tired eyes. Black scelera, red iris, black pupils- paired with an exhausted haze. He was cut up, battered, and beaten. If it weren’t for how compliant it was, you might have thought the thing was feral. Which didn’t exactly help your shaking hands or constant flinching as you used the lid to urge it into the cardboard. But your fear be damned, you couldn’t just leave the little guy on the doorsteps of your apartment- the thought of the bat being crushed by clumsy feet, or poked and prodded by the little hellions that were the children who lived here was more than enough to give you the push you needed.

Besides, it was almost… cute, for something you thought was so scary. A little vampire bat with those strange eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He never failed to perk up every time you came home from work. Despite the many struggles and attempts you had trying to find something he could eat, he never seemed to hold it against you. Happy to see you when you took the lid off the shoebox to check in on him, and not too upset with you when you inevitably had to put it back on.

Well, before he escaped, that is.

You knew you were going to have to let him go at some point. You were just trying to do the right thing and reach out to a wildlife rescue, or something. Hoping that they’d do something more to help him before he was set back off into the wild. But one day you came home and he was just, well, gone. The lid of the shoebox had been tossed aside, the box itself a little squished and damaged, the bat nowhere to be found. You searched your apartment for absolute ages, unable to find any trace of his existence or escape aside from a window you were sure you had locked before you left for work that afternoon.

You sigh as you look out the window of the Uber, thoughts drawn back to the bat as you pass billboards and cornfields, hoping he had escaped the city and found himself somewhere a bit safer. Ashley and Sophie, your neighbors from across the hall, are giggling about something in the seats next to you. The chatty girls are more like acquaintances than they are your friends, but on the surface, they seem sweet. When they invited you out tonight you had been surprised, if a little hesitant. You had wrestled with your anxiety every step of the way, but once you were strapped into the sexiest costume you could find and buckled into the almost-too-small backseat of the Uber, you had started to feel a little excited- despite the fact that you stood out like a sore thumb, with the girls having chosen matching costumes at the last minute and left you out of the loop.

“I think we should hit the corn maze first,” Ashley says confidently from the seat next to you. It’s enough to finally clue you back into their current conversation, debating on where the night should start once you get to the Halloween festival. -It’s an “adult only” event, with more than its fair share of alcohol and more than a few scare actors who linger around to give everyone a fright- and there’s a lot to do. It’s almost like the fair, just, you know, spooky.

“What? No! I’m telling you, it’s not a good enough photo-op until the moon comes out. We need to do it last!” Sophie sounds adamant, and you wonder how many times they've actually had this conversation leading up to tonight. You try not to snicker as Ashley rolls her eyes, Sophie pouting across the way. They bicker a bit more before Ashley turns to you, smiling slyly. There’s an unnerving way about the way she’s looking at you, something ticking in the back of your brain that you just can’t shake.

“What do you think?” She asks you, Sophie leaning over to stare at you directly, Puppy eyes full-throttle as she pouts. You don’t really want to be caught between the spat of theirs, so you take a moment to think, before shrugging with your answer.

“I think we should start with drinks.” You say after a moment, and both girls gasp in excitement.

“Girlie you are so smart!! I knew we invited you for a reason!” Ashley’s high-pitched voice cheers harshly in your ears as she lightly slaps your arm, but you smile at her anyway, despite the fact that her tone made it feel rather belittling. It’s fine. This is fine, it will be fine. Your anxiety feels like a ticking time bomb, but you know that when you get there and start having fun, it will eventually fade into the background of the noise and lights of the festival. At least, you hoped it would.

The festival is pretty packed when you get there, but the wide walkways and plentiful games, areas, and events make it more approachable. After the first watery drink of the night, you start to relax a little. And as bitchy and frigid as the girls can be sometimes, they’re a lot of fun when it comes to a party! Carnival games, photo areas, rides, and jumpscares? You find yourself laughing most of the night as the three of you goof off and stumble your way through the corn maze, clown maze, haunted maze- a little repetitive in that area, but fun nonetheless.

The funny thing was, despite all the people here, and everyone the girls have stopped to flirt with and talk to, you keep seeing this one particular guy. He was certainly one to stand out in a crowd, tall, dark, and handsome with what looked like a permanent smirk on his face. But the one thing you couldn’t seem to shake was his eyes. They had to be contacts, right? Black Scelera, red irises, black pupils… just, strange. And familiar, somehow. You feel like you see him everywhere you go, somehow always in your vicinity, but not really in a stalkerish kind of way. Besides, it was more than likely just a coincidence.

After a while of playing various games and a couple more watery drinks, you’re feeling pretty warm and a little crowded. Ashley and Sophie had run into some acquaintances they knew and had stopped to chat for a bit. They talk about some of the more busy and exciting things you haven't been able to check out yet, but the longer you stand there, the less appealing all of this starts to sound. You’re beginning to feel a little overstimulated, and go ahead and let the girls know you’d rather sit this one out. Sophie doesn’t answer you at all, and all Ashley does is wave you off. It sparks some annoyance in your chest, but knowing that you’re overwhelmed and everything feels like it's at 100% right now- you shrug it off.

You find a bale of hay to sit on where you told them you’d wait, relieved at the feeling of the cool night air that’s uninterrupted by masses of warm bodies and hot breathing. The sound of the crowd is a little muffled over here, and the slight breeze just gives you everything you need for a quick break from the chaos, eyes closed as you lean back onto your hands. Not for long though, as someone plops down onto the space next to you pretty much immediately.

“Busy night, ay, cher?” Your eyes flick open quickly, and the source of that thick Cajun draw just so happens to be the handsome man you had been seeing all night. You blush a little, both out of nervousness and from the fact that he was even more attractive up close. The cool air suddenly feels sweltering with his eys on you like this.

“...yeah, I guess so.” You say after a moment, pressing a cool palm against one of your hot cheeks for a quick moment. The stranger chuckles at you, a flash of a fake fang appearing with his smile.

“Name’s Remy, Remy LeBeau.” He holds his hand out for a handshake, which you take with a smile. “Pretty girl like you gotta name?” You can’t help but giggle a little, and tell him your name, butterflies in your stomach with the way he’s looking at you.

“Nice to meet you, officially.” You say, and he cocks an eyebrow at you with that signature smirk of his. “I mean- like, I feel like I’ve been seeing you everywhere tonight! Not in a creepy way or anything, I just…” You take your hand back from him, covering your face in embarrassment as you apologize again with a sigh. God, why were you so awkward? You drop your hands into your lap as Remy begins to laugh, with you blushing furiously in a way you pray you can blame on the alcohol.

“ s’ good to know I make a lasting impression,” Remy says, and it’s charming enough to make you crack another smile.

“I promise I’m not normally this strange. It’s been a bit of a night.” The words come out like a sigh, and you glance over where the “stressors” of the night had run off to, strangely thankful when you can't see them through the crowd. You feel like your heart skips a beat when you look back over at Remy, with a smile on his face and a fondness in his eyes you feel like might be a little too friendly for someone you just met.

“I don’t mind, Cher. You’ll find that I like strange.” He replies, sending you a wink. You let out a short laugh, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“You know what? I believe you.” You say, all Remy does is smile wider. You glance at him again, looking at him from head to toe as you take in his appearance up close. You can’t really tell if he’s wearing a costume, or if he had just stuck on some vampire teeth and called it a night. Either way, he looks good, and you really do not want to make a further fool of yourself.

“What led you here, anyway? Costume catch your eye?” You flirt, hoping you don’t come off as nervous as you are- not really one to flirt with handsome strangers. But hey! When the opportunity presents itself… Remy raises his eyebrows, interested.

“Sure, Somethin' like that.”

You and Remy talk for a really, really long time. From the outside looking in, just about anyone would presume you were a couple with the easy-flowing conversation and back-and-forth flirting. You just clicked! It was so easy for your nerves to wash away, and for a long moment, all of your anxieties about the night were long forgotten. One of the two of you had scooted closer in the duration of your flirt-fest, not that you really noticed while caught up in his words and charismatic smile- your sides being pressed together and his hand resting behind you. He’s close enough to lean in and kiss you, and honestly, you certainly wouldn’t mind if he did.

“So you want my number then?” The words are admittedly cocky, but damn did this guy make you feel so confident in your own skin.

“You hear me say I didn’t?” Remy replies, cocking his head at you. You can't help but laugh, smiling like some cheesy idiot.

“Do you flirt like this with every girl?”

“Jus’ the ones I like.”

You really hadn’t noticed how long the two of you had been sitting together, an hour? Maybe an hour and a half? Your phone had been long forgotten, and you weren’t really planning to check it either until you heard a giddy squeal from your right. Both you and Remy look over to the noise, only to see the girls, without their clique from before and presumably done with all of their roaming at the moment.

“Hey girlie! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Ashley says, drawing you into an awkward side hug that you don’t return, confused.

“I told you where I’d be?” She brushes you off, locking eyes with Remy for just long enough for her eyebrows to raise and a glint to light up in her eyes.

“Who’s this?” You don’t have time to answer before Sophie is in front of you, taking your hands and dragging you to your feet.

“Come get food with us!! We need an excuse to sober up, and we’re not doing it without you, bestie!” Both of them are being a little more friendly than normal, and it's enough to make you a little suspicious. But, food did sound pretty nice at the moment. You look back at Remy with a sheepish smile, and you find that he’s already looking at you.

“ S’ alright, Cher. I’m a patient man.” He gives you a reassuring smile, and you relax a little more, unable to keep yourself from smiling as butterflies light up in your stomach. The girls drag you away pretty much immediately, talking about some afterparty or whatnot, but all you can think of the entire time is the implications of that statement.

“Where’d you find a man like that?” Sophie’s voice finally catches your attention while in line for the carnival food, and you give her a questioning look.

“Sorry?” You ask, and both of them giggle in that way that just seems to set alarms off in your head.

“I’m serious! Almost every guy we’ve seen tonight has been like, a seven. That one is literally a ten.” Sophie giggles again, sending Ashley a knowing look. You blush a little, thinking about Remy again, but there’s just something about this conversation that’s making you uncomfortable.

“Well, I didn’t exactly find him. He approached me.” You admit, shrugging your shoulders. The girls exchange skeptical looks, before laughing again.

“Really?” Ashley asks this time, a wolfish smile on her face. It’s rhetorical- and feels just plain bitchy. Your face screws up, and you think about confronting her, but they quickly and ignorantly delve into a separate conversation, and you reluctantly decide to let it go. What the fuck was up with them? You don’t fall into conversation with them for a minute as you try to collect yourself, knowing you’d rather ride home with them than pay for a separate Uber. And starting a fight was definitely not going to work in your favor, seeing as they were your neighbors. They had a pack mentality like no other, and after tonight you’d much rather be able to ignore them forever instead of having a neiborly feud.

Eventually, you do decide to join the conversation. The line for food was ridiculously fucking long, and although it was moving, you still felt so impatient. Your phone is dying, and you’d really rather save your battery for Remy’s number and the ride home- so you talk and hope for the best. Eventually, Ashley says she needs to go to the bathroom and hands her wallet to Sophie before she stalks off. She’s gone for a while. A really long while. As you’re finally inching your way to the end of the line, Sophie tells you she’s going to find her. You actually welcome the peace and quiet, and promise to hold the spot. 4th in line. 3rd. 2nd. You’re starting to get anxious by the fact that neither of them had returned, but you get to the end and they’re still not back.

You buy a funnel cake for yourself, almost worried about the two as you walk back to the hay bale where you left Remy. The crowd finally starts to clear a bit, and when the Hay bale is finally in sight, you actually assume that you were looking at the wrong spot for a minute- until you recognize the costumes, and then spot the brunette they are both latched onto.

Ashley is in his space, her costume unzipped just enough for anyone walking past to get a view. Sophie is leaning across his shoulders, running her fingers through his hair and twirling the ends with manicured fingers You can’t see his face- but it didn’t really matter anyway.

You don’t mean to drop the funnel cake, but you do. There's a shot of ice through your veins when it clicks for you, finally, as you watch them from a distance- it was a ploy. A stupid fucking ploy. You were the ugly friend- If they could even call you that. You were invited to make them look better. The matching costumes, the conspiring looks, the whole thing about Remy. Jesus Christ, had you always been this blind? Your face is warm with humiliation, eyes watering as you desperately try not to cry.

Remy had nothing to do with it- of course, he didn’t, you just met him, but as you look at the two draped over him… You just feel like you can’t really compare. You know better. You do- but god, did it hurt. You don’t want to go over there for them to make fun of you again, and you sure as hell don’t want to feel the sting of rejection that will inevitably come when he ditches you for them. Before you know it, your feet are moving. You’re not thinking clearly- hardly thinking at all. You see a side entrance, or maybe a fire exit, not that you really care. You can’t read anything through your tears, closing the door behind you and plugging yourself into darkness as it clicks shut.

Inside, you find a mirror maze- again, what was with all of the fucking mazes? The overhead lights are off, what little light that’s coming from the outside dimly reflecting through each and every silvery mirror. It’s completely abandoned, with not a single soul in sight. You step over some shattered glass as you make your way further into the maze, and understand it was probably because drunks and mirrors don’t mix.

You find a dead end in the maze, and it’s like your legs give out. You can't help but just sit on the ground and sob for a minute. The backs of your hands are stained with the mascara that you’re sure is streaking down your face. You feel like an idiot- stupid, dramatic, pathetic. And you looked it, too. Every mirror reflects the mess of what you have become until you can’t stand to look at yourself anymore, pulling your knees to your chest and tucking your head into your arms.

It's a quiet reprieve. You sit for a minute, long after your tears have dried. Your breathing begins to return to normal as the humiliation really starts to settle in. You’re so tired, and exhausted, and find yourself wishing you had never come out tonight at all, visioning your comfy bed that waits for you at home.

“Pauvre ti bête. Looks like you need new friends, Cher.” The sound of the voice makes you flinch, the daylight scared out of you as a dark figure sits down by your side. “Remy?” You wipe at your face again, knowing it was to no avail, and that the damage to your makeup had already been done.

“The one an’ only,” He replies. It’s hard to see him in the low lighting, but it’s not like you’re looking around much anyway. There’s a silence between you two, and your gaze is locked on the floor, refusing to look at him with your stupid pout and tear-stained face.

“Sat for a while, waitin’ on you.” He says, after a long moment, and it makes you feel so much fucking worse. You curl into yourself a little more.

“Sorry, I just… I dunno, I thought you looked busy.” The words are more of a whisper than anything, and he chuffs something that’s not quite a laugh in response.

“I guess you could say that.” He hums, leaning back on his hands as you finally turn to look at him. “Hadda swat those girls like damn mosquitos to get 'em off. Felt like they were tryna swallow me whole.” You can’t help but laugh at that, rubbing your eyes a bit.

“...Trust me, they were probably trying to swallow something.” The words are out of your mouth before your brain can really catch up. Remy laughs a full laugh, smiling brightly at you now that you’ve started to come back out of your shell once again.

“Sorry, that was crude.”

“Sounded pretty funny to me,” Remy’s grin is contagious, not that you ever would complain. You roll your eyes at him with that big smile on your face, leaning your head against the mirror behind you.

“I guess I can’t really blame them, either.” You mumble, eyes going wide once you realize that that was most definitely not supposed to leave your lips. “God damn, I really have lost my filter!” Remy begins to laugh again as you cover your face, flushed with embarrassment. He doesn’t seem to mind the comment at all. Pulling your hands away as he struggles to contain his laughter.

“I like you, y’know that?” He says, and it makes you smile. You sit in comfortable silence for a bit, and before you know it, you find yourself leaning on his shoulder, eyes closed. Your thoughts slowly begin to wander. Remy’s very sweet, and the fact that he still came looking for you despite everything… It meant a lot. You can only imagine how uncomfortable he had been with Ashley and Sophie hanging off of him, waiting, wondering where you had gone. If he notices as your smile slowly becomes a frown, he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry I left you out there.” You say quietly, breaking the silence that had become so uncomfortable for you. “I hadn’t realized they invited me to be the “ugly” friend until right then and I just needed to get away from it all.” There’s a featherlight brush of skin against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, Remy pushes a few strands of hair out of your face, thumb lingering against your skin. You find yourself caught up in his piercing gaze. It’s almost like he’s looking into your soul.

“Pretty dumb choice to invite you if they were looking for an ugly friend.” His voice is low, and his cool hand feels nice against your flushed skin. You can’t drag your eyes away from his, gazes locked together as the tension only grows- thick enough to cut with a knife and choke you as you breathe it in. It’s he who breaks the eye contact first, stunning red irises flickering down to your lips and back up again.

“Really,” You ask, but it’s less of a question and more like a filler, mind unable to provide anything other than that. You’re caught up in that little action of his, swallowing, unable to look away from him. Suddenly, you realize just how close he really is.

“Mais oui,” He mumbles, close enough for you to feel the slight breath that comes with the words. His thumb and finger prop up your chin, but he moves no closer, waiting for you. It’s hardly a debate for you to decide to brush your lips against his own.

It’s like fireworks explode behind your eyelids when the space between you closes, his lips melding against you perfectly. It’s soft and sweet. Gentle for a man as much of a flirt as he appeared to be. He kisses you a few times, just like that, until the kiss starts to develop into something a little more heated. He turns to face you a little better, the sharp fangs in his mouth grazing your bottom lip as he leans over you and licks at the seam of your lips- which you eagerly open for him. Fuck, he was a good kisser.

Before long, you’re leaning back on your palms, and one of Remy’s knees presses between your thighs. Your elbows buckle just a little, and he’s quick to catch you. One of his hands is on the small of your back as he keeps you propped up, the other one flat against the floor as he keeps both of you from falling. He nips at your lip- the tip of his canine just barely splitting the skin before he kisses away your yelp, licking the blood away just as quickly as it had appeared. As embarrassing as it was, the action alone was enough to get the attention of heat slowly building in your abdomen. His kisses trail from your lips down to your neck, kissing the sensitive skin there.

Your eyes slowly open, half-lidded as you weave your fingers through his hair, tongue softly licking at the stinging soreness of that bottom lip of yours. He’s not as aggressive with the rest of you, kissing and sucking dark spots into you as the sharp canines only drag and graze. Your eyes wander to a mirror across from you- one just barely lit from what you were sure was a hole in the roof- the full moon lining up just perfectly enough to light the mirrored room.

It takes a second for you to recognize what you see in the mirror.

You see yourself. Just yourself, leaned over as if you were hovering, neck exposed with purple marks blooming mysteriously across your skin. It’s you. Just you. Only you.

A gasp is ripped out of your throat, and if the way your spine goes rigid wasn’t enough to alert Remy, it was the fast, pounding beat of your heart. Your eyes are glued to that image reflected in the mirror, even as Remy removes himself from your neck and finds himself staring at that same image. He stiffens, an unreadable look on his face before he recovers with an amused hum.

“Well, Don’t we make a lovely couple?” He muses. And when you finally look back at him, his strange eyes and sharp fangs, you realize exactly what he is. A wave of familiarity washes over you again, but you can’t place it as the horror begins to wash over you.

“Oh my god.” You breathe, almost stuck in disbelief. This could not be real, could it? That smirk of his makes yet another appearance, and yet something feels off about it. Deceptive, almost. It does not reach his eyes.

“What, you afraid?” He asks with a chuckle. You wonder for a moment about the situation you had put yourself into, held in the arms of what could only be a vampire. All you can do is look at him, wide-eyed. If stories were to be believed, he’d be caging you in his arms, holding you in an iron grip before he strikes- bleeding you dry without care…

But he’s not. Yes, he was holding you up, but the arm around you is loose. His body language is open- and you get the feeling that if you tried to make a run for it, he’d let you. He’s not vicious. He’s not snapping at you or pinning you down. Hell, he had the chance to bite you earlier while you were pliant and eager, and he didn’t.

“...I don’t actually know, right now.” You finally respond, and something shifts. His breath catches in his throat, and the barest glimpse of vulnerability is gone within a second as he leans back a little, giving you a chance to sit up a bit more. You do so hesitantly.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Cher. Just wanted to give you a proper thank you.” He rumbles. He takes one of your hands, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles, gaze never leaving your own. Black, red, black. Where had you seen that before?

“Proper… what?” You furrow your eyebrows, trying your damndest to make sense of it all. Black, red, black. Black, red, black. Sharp teeth. Vampires, bats, Vampire bats. Vampire bat. Vampire bat. For the second time tonight, it all clicks for you.

“Holy shit. You-? The bat?-” You feel like you’re at a loss for words. Remy smiles again, fangs catching the low light of the mirrored room.

“That’d be me.” He admits, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “ ‘Thought I was done for until you showed up. Most vamps like that? They don’t make it inside ‘fore the sun comes up.” He chuckles, but the seriousness of the situation is not lost on you. Saving the life of an immortal being rather than the life of a small bat is something huge, it felt like it, at least.

“Did you follow me here? Is that why I kept seeing you around tonight?” You ask. Remy simply shrugs his shoulders, letting your fingers go as he inches forward, looming over you once again.

“Think of it as more of a happy accident.” Remy sets his arms on either side of you, leaning close enough for his nose to gently brush against yours. You think he’s going to kiss you as his hand comes up to cup your chin. Instead, Remy runs his thumb across your lower lip, which you hadn’t even realized had started to bleed again. He brings the thumb to his mouth, licking the smear of blood. The sight is seductive. Arousing. You find yourself staring at his lips, conflicted. He sets his forehead against your own, hovering over your lips. There’s a heated look in his eyes when you look back up at them.

“Tell me to leave, Cher, And I’ll go.” You swallow as he says the words, a flutter in your chest and a growing warmth within you. You bite your lower lip, your hesitance quickly being overshadowed by want.

“... You're not gonna suck my blood or anything?” You ask, lips beginning to brush against his own. He chuckles, and this time he’s close enough for you to feel the sound as it rumbles through his chest.

“Not unless you want me to…” He’s teasing you now, making you chase his lips until he’s fully sure you really want this, and you do. When they finally meet, his lips press against yours just as spectacularly as they did the first time. One of his hands snakes around the back of your neck, shielding the lower part of your head as he lowers you to the floor. You find yourself lost in his kisses, thinking of only him and the way he treats you so gently.

He props himself up with one strong arm, the other cupping the side of your face rather reverently, his thumb stroking across your cheekbone. Your hands can’t help but wander up and down his torso, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt. You feel him smile against your lips as you do, kissing at the corner of your mouth, and then your jaw, before the fluttery movement traces a path over each and every discolored spot on your neck, kissing the marks he had given you not even twenty minutes earlier. Your hands come up to tangle in his hair as the kisses venture further. His cold face presses into your open cleavage, an open palm dragging up from your thigh and sliding beneath your top, softly squeezing the bare skin of your waist. You find yourself arching into his touch, eager for his soft caress.

You have goosebumps down your chest as his fangs graze the skin, his fingers hooking around the neckline of your shirt and the bra underneath it from the inside. The cool air hits your bare breasts as he tugs it down, your nipples pebbling at the frigid draft. Your breath hitches at the feeling as his lips venture down your sternum, his free hand moving out from under the fabric to palm and toy with one breast as he begins to tease the other. He chuckles at you when you let out a whine, fingers tugging on his locks.

“Have a little patience, Cher.” There’s a seductive lure to his voice as Remy tells you to have a little faith in him, pressing one last kiss to the swell of one said breast as he moves back up. He easily draws you into another long, heated kiss. He continues to play with the breast in his hand, pinching and testing the supple give of the skin. Your muffled whines and moans are music to his ears as he presses his knee against your heated core, only relenting with his playful touches when he slides his palm under your spine, forcing you to arch your back. He lets go of your lips to drag his attention back to your breast, now sucking at the stiff peaks, careful of his sharp teeth.

“Remy,” His name comes out inadvertently, the sound making him groan against you. Your hands have slid down from their hold on his scalp, now resting against his wide shoulders with a tight grip on the fabric of his shirt. His palm wanders up and down the expanse of your back, thriving off of the feeling of your hot, flushed skin against his cold body.

The feeling of your top being bunched around your waist starts to become uncomfortable and suffocating. You squirm to try and take it off yourself, but Remy is quick to stop you. He pulls it off of you slowly, kissing every inch of skin it drags against as it goes. Once it's off, he leans back to get a good look at you, cursing under his breath as his hands find your thighs. You know for a fact you’re flushed and red from the neck down. The sight only encourages Remy further, quickly sitting up and removing his own shirt, keeping his gaze on yours throughout the movement.

It’s not surprising when his upper body catches your attention, the lean muscle impressive for a man who’s basically dead. Or was he? When he’s back within reach, you run your right hand from his happy trail till you reach his collarbone, fingertips pressing into the cold skin as you try to feel for a pulse. He hums, a mischievous glint in his eye when he realizes what you’re doing.

“You won’t find a heartbeat, cher. Not from me.” Remy confirms your thoughts. You can only hum in response, leaning up to press a soft kiss where your hand had been, over his heart. Remy lets out a low groan at the action, inciting a slow grind of his hips against yours.

“Merde.” He mumbles.“You play a dangerous game, makin’ a dead heart flutter.”

“Do I really?” You ask, biting your lip. Remy leans in, just far enough to teasingly brush his lips against your own before he moves down the length of your neck, never touching you in the way to crave so badly.

“I get the feeling you like dangerous games.” There's something sharp against your neck, the tips of his fangs gently dragging across the skin. Your heart is pounding in your chest, but not out of fear. He grinds his hips into you once again, your hips eagerly bucking to meet his own. You swallow deeply at the sound he makes at the action- realizing that you just might want him to bite into you. It’s crazy. You feel crazy. It must be so tantalizing for him to be pressed against you like this, fully aware of the red-hot blood rushing through your veins and the constant pounding of your heart. And yet, he never takes the bait.

Remy’s lips meet your own again right as your hands meet the buckle of his jeans. He sighs against your lips as you undo it, sliding your hand underneath the stiff fabric to feel the hardness he hides underneath. He’s… big. Not necessarily long, but he’s thicker than you had expected him to be. You stroke him over the fabric of his boxers, feeling his length twitch under your touch. When he separates from the kiss, he tucks his head into your shoulder. You can’t help but giggle at the action as you begin to pull both garments down, his cock slapping against his lower abdomen once freed.

“Are you sensitive, Remy?” You ask him, turning your head to bury it in his hair. You wrap your hand around his cock, hearing him moan before cursing quietly when you give him a slight squeeze.

“Sometimes.” He mumbles, one of his calloused hands coming up to one of your breasts, gently rubbing his thumb over your nipple to encourage it to a stiff peak. You can’t help but let out a surprised moan as he pinches and teases, feeling his smile against the skin of your shoulder.

“But I got nothin’ on you.” Remy kisses your breast, before taking a long, slow lick across the sensitive skin. He takes the nub into his mouth, giving it a short suck before he lets go of it with a pop.

You almost want to whine and complain when Remy removes himself from you, but quickly lose the thought as you watch him remove his pants and boxers in one movment. Once he’s done, he slowly slides his hands from your ankles to your hips, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric of your bottoms. He kisses the space beneath your belly button, red eyes trained on your own as he slowly drags the clothing down, undressing you until you’re bare. He licks his lips at the sight of you, slowly spreading your legs as he begins to kiss from your knees to your…

“You don’t- you don’t have to do that.” You stutter out once you realize what he’s doing. You’ve never been eaten out before, and the sight of him between your legs has already got you flushed and nervous- embarresed, even. Remy’s eyes shift back up to your face, his fingers sliding between your admittedly slick folds as you try to hold back a moan.

“Vampires are creatures of desire, cher. Thirsty ones at that.” He rumbles, and it’s like everywhere he touches you is on fire, his cool hands stroking you into a lustful heat. “Should I beg for you to consider?” He’s got this knowing look on his face, watching you as you bite your lip, face twitching with pleasure every time those fingers of his graze your clit. He slides a finger into you without resistance, curling it just right. You buck your hips into the feeling, nodding vigorously as a final go-ahead.

Remy dives into your cunt like a man starved.

Every lick of his tongue and curl of his fingers has you seeing stars. Fuck, did it feel good. He touches you expertly, finding spots within you that you didn't even know you had. He lets a moan slip now and then, fully immersed in the warm wetness of your pussy.

Your legs are hooked over his shoulders, a hand splayed across your lower abdomen to keep you from bucking up into his mouth as he enjoys himself. You feel close to cumming embarrassingly quick- quick in a way you had never known yourself to even be capable of.

“Remy!” It's an urgent call of his name, your hands tangling themselves in his hair as you attempt to warn him. He hums in response, right over your clit, and it does nothing but push your body further. You come with a rather embarrassing noise, hips twitching and thighs pressing into the side of his head. You can't help but assume that not needing to breathe was only a bonus for the man currently suffocating between your pillowy thighs.

He lets you ride out your orgasm with enthusiasm, pressing sweet kisses to the skin around your sensitive cunt as your breathing begins to even out and your legs begin to relax around him.

He looks absolutely wrecked when he sits up. His hair is messy, a pussydrunk smile he's certainly not afraid to hide spreading across his face.

“You feelin’ alright, cher?” He asks. You eagerly nod in response, leaning into his touch when he crawls back over you to place a kiss against your lips. You've never been one to taste yourself, but you find that you don’t mind tasting it on his lips. Remy's cock begins a slow grind against you, grazing your clit with every stroke. You moan into the kiss, a string of spit between your mouths when you separate long enough to catch your breath.

“Fuck.” The word is whispered, but that doesn't stop Remy from catching it. He lets out a low laugh, collecting your wetness as he grinds.

“You ready for me?” He asks. You nodd, closing your eyes as you eagerly wait for the stretch of his cock. Exempt, he stops.

“I need you to give me a yes, cher.”

“Yes-” He swallows the rest of that word in an eager kiss, finally sliding into your heat inch by inch. You both moan in union, feeling every inch of that slow stretch. He's cold. Not freezing, but cold. It's unlike any feeling you've felt before, and surprisingly, you want more of it.

His body begins to warm a little more everywhere the two of you touch- and god, does it feel good. Remy favors a steady pace, with powerful thrusts that hit you right every single time. It felt like he was made for you, and he most definitely felt the same. Remy kisses you like a man in love, fucking you in a way that makes you see rings instead of stars.

Every smack of his hips against yours is rather careful, measured even. It's only when he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach like a ragdoll that you realize the kind of strength he holds- suddenly grateful for his caution. He's quick to go back to rearranging your insides once he has you on your knees, front pressed against your back as he kisses at the nape of your neck and slides his arm around your front, palm splayed under a boob with his thumb on the valley between.

“Look at us, love.” His chest rumbles against your back, and it's not even a whole minute before the position changes again, Remy pulling you against him as he sits up onto his knees, holding you steady as he makes you face the mirror.

You wish that you could see his reflection in that mirror as you gaze upon the sight of you, red face flushed and needy. You don't see the way he holds you pressed so tightly against his chest, or the way he admires that evocative image of you, shaking with each thrust.

“Aren't you a sight, bele.” His breath is cold against your ear, his hand coming down to circle your clit as his thrusts pick up in pace. You can tell he's close, reaching that peak just as fast as you reach your own. You grasp at his hands, moans and whine only getting louder as that pleasure gets ever-so-close.

His groan against your ear is unnecessarily hot, his thrusts stuttering right before he pulls out of you. His cock rests just below your lower lips, using the friction of your thighs as he reaches that high. He cums in thick streaks, your own release following directly after.

There's a buzzing sound right as Remy sits back, placing you in his lap as he kisses across your shoulders sweetly. You relax against him, boneless as you both try to catch your breath. The buzzing stops for a moment before it continues again. You hardly register the noise, and are certainly in no condition to try and find the source.

When Remy looks over to the sound, he finds your phone hiding beneath the scattered clothes on the floor. It's his shirt, and he reaches over to grab it. The phone is set to the side as he maneuvers you around, dressing you in his shirt like a gentleman.

“Cher?” You hum, only halfway aware at the moment as Remy calls your name. He hands you your phone, and you open your eyes just enough to unlock it and see the fifteen missed calls from Ashley and Sophie.

“God damnit. Can't I have any peace?” You curse. Remy laughs, watching from over your shoulder as you check the additional excessive Snapchat messages from them.

“Maybe we should send them a message, no?” Remy reaches over to your phone, swiping over to the Snapchat camera, angling it to where both of your sweaty, disheveled faces are inframe, along with the line of purple hickies that trail down your neck. Jesus christ, you were about to fuck him all over again for even suggesting this. Who knew you were into revenge like that?

“Oh fuck yes.”

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