#Four Freedoms Park | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

babeyun · 2 months ago

Text

out of my head ✮ l.hs [m]

✮ synopsis: years after your friendship with heeseung has begun crumbling, you ask him to be part of one of the biggest days of your life - your wedding day.

✮ genre: estranged best friends to ??? ; semi-unrequited lovers au ; angst ; fluff

✮ pairing: singer!lee heeseung x financial advisor!fem!reader ; sim jaeyun x reader

✮ word count: 10.4k (yikes...)

✮ rating: nc-17.

✮ warning(s): ...kissing? lol? a lot of hurt with no comfort, semi-unrequited lovers, wedding superstitions, mentions of having kids.

✮ playlist: off my face - justin bieber ; are we still friends? - tyler, the creator ; your eyes only - enhypen ; this is why i need you - jesse ruben.

✮ a/n: i'm a yapper sorry, but happiest birthday to heeseung <3 that's my pookie! i love u.

four months ago.

"you're getting married?"

you and heeseung had been best friends for nearly twenty years. the two of you met at a park during a winter storm, both of you having begged your mothers for a chance to go see the snow. a coincidence really, the two of you having somehow lived the same experience (one that heeseung was convinced was fate, while you just boiled it down to two four-year-old kids giving into the natural urge to plunge their grubby little fingers into cold, unforgiving snow.)

however, in the last few years, you'd grown apart.

you were freshly out of university, and heeseung had recently taken a job as a backup vocalist for one of the local entertainment companies. he'd been a singer his entire life, something you never allowed yourself to pick up because your mother had always taught you that safety nets were better. while heeseung openly explored his talents, eventually learning guitar and slowly, piano - you buried yourself in mathematical equations that made your brain hurt but forced yourself through it all because, after all, you needed a plan.

heeseung lived life on the edge. he didn't care if he had money, if he had belongings - life was more than that to him. he ventured out into the city with nothing but his headphones sometimes, not even so much as bothering to bring an umbrella if it looked like rain. "if i get soaked, i get soaked! life is more than staying inside with your head heavy from studying." he told you once, and you had just shaken your head.

"come on, y/n! don't you want to dance in the rain? don't you want to risk getting sick and having your mom make you that soup you really like? live a little, life is too short to waste away in our bedrooms." he tugged you out of your house that day, making you leave your phone behind as you trekked the entire city by foot, and once the rain did start falling, you were a mile from your house. "heeseung, i can't get sick! i have a presentation–"

"screw that presentation! live in the now!" he held you close as the rain pelted your backs, spinning you around as your laughter echoed in the neighborhood. "isn't this fun! aren't you enjoying this newfound freedom, no expectations? no logarithms, no polynomials!" he exclaimed, making you only laugh harder. "hee, i'm a finance major. that is fun for me!"

"and i'm a y/n major, i know you fucking hate math!" he giggled as he set you down, his fingers brushing your wet hair off your face. "i don't have things like you do, hee! i need a plan, i need something to fall back on. you work to make money to invest into yourself, you don't follow dreams!" you say as the two of you make the route back to your house, making him scoff.

"are you saying i'm wasting my time living the way i do?" he asked, a twang of hurt in his voice going unnoticed by you as you nodded. "i do. i think you are wasting your potential." your words pierced him, but he said nothing more as the two of you reached your mom's house. "see you later, hee."

"see you later."

that had happened three years ago. heeseung noticeably distanced himself after that day, limiting your hangouts to once a week instead of dropping by whenever he felt like it. soon, what were weekly hangouts became biweekly, before you were only meeting him for dinner on a random wednesday night in the middle of the month. you never asked so he never explained, and he simply assumed your silence on the subject meant that your puzzle of a life no longer had a need for a lee heeseung-shaped piece.

it pained him to think that you were outgrowing him.

heeseung was taking classes while working, having finally let your words get to him. you were right, in a way - he couldn't live his life on the edge forever, but the fact that you actually said that to him after constantly reassuring him that you believed in him was...unexpected, to say the least.

"she's just worried about you, hee." his older brother rattled, and heeseung shook his head. he had long told him about that day, and continued to try and decipher it for the years after. he didn’t really understand why it bothered him so much, but his only guess was the same — you had pretended to have an interest in his life, but yet, just like everyone else…

…you had no faith in him.

“yes, hee, i’m getting married! focus!” you tapped your pen on the notepad in front of you, the ice in your matcha long melted. heeseung was gripping his mug of hot chocolate for dear life, wondering where he missed the fact that you were even in a relationship to begin with. “i didn’t even know you had a boyfriend, forgive me for being curious.” he scoffs, making you roll your eyes.

“you would know if you answered any of my calls.” you say pointedly, making him groan. “okay, sorry i’ve been so absent from your life. what’s this guy’s name anyway?”

“sim jaeyun. you can call him jake.” you scribble something onto the notepad, before tearing it off and handing it to him. “this is his number, you’re going to have to talk to him at some point for what i’m about to ask you.”

your smile is mischievous, one that heeseung could never forget. it was engraved in his memory, it lit up his dreams and haunted his nightmares. the same smile he’s written endless lyrics about, the same smile he’s fallen in love with but refused to admit it.

“y/n, i haven’t seen you in six months. how can someone possibly gauge if a person is marriage material in such a short time?” he argues as he folds the scrap of yellow paper. you huff with a frustrated look on your face, “jaeyun and i have been seeing each other for a year! we made it official nine months ago, and we’ve been engaged for three months! i told you this already!”

“when the fuck did you even mention him!?” he groans, and you click your pen angrily.

"hee, if you hadn't been so focused on your own life, you'd be up to date with mine." grimacing, you reach into the knapsack you brought with you. pulling out a pink binder, you set it on the table, facing him. the paper sheet behind the vinyl reads the sims - may 2026.

he snorts inwardly, before you open the binder. "i know we haven't been as close as we'd like the past few years." you start, clearing your throat as he glances at you. you pull apart the binder rings, pulling out a folder as you continue to speak. "but, i know that you're still doing the singing thing, and i wanted to offer you a gig."

sliding the folder across to him, he glances down at it. it's thick with pieces of printer paper, lyrics typed neatly in times new roman. he recognizes the first song as he slips it out of the folder, his eyes scanning the sheet over and over.

"you want me to sing at your wedding?" he asks incredulously, and you take a sip of your watered down matcha. you press your lips together as you nod, staring at your fingers. "i showed jaeyun some clips of yours from a few of your other gigs, and he really liked it. this is our song, and we want you to sing it for our first dance." you tap the paper with your pen, and heeseung sighs.

"then why are we here alone? why isn't he here, showing face and asking me with you?" he accuses, and your frown is deep enough that he's sure you're about to throw your drink at him. "he's at work, if you must know. he's busy."

"and what does he work in that he can't come with his future wife to a measly two-hour lunch?" he taps his finger on the table, his eyes boring into yours, searching for any sign of the best friend he'd become estranged from. you weren't there.

"he's..." you bite your lip, staring at whatever was behind him in order not to meet his eyes. he looks at you pointedly, brows raised in expectation - a look he'd always hated from other people. you grimace before responding. "he's a singer, he's recording his album right now." heeseung blinks slowly, something you knew meant he was about to either get up and leave, or he was going to scold you once he processed the information. your best friend was nothing short of an open book, but as he looked down at the sheet in his hand and shook his head, you suddenly couldn't read him anymore.

"after all the shit you gave me." his tongue drips with poison before he shoves the sheet of paper back in the folder, tapping it with his hand before grimacing. "when is the wedding? do i have to be there for the whole thing?" his eyes are full of fire as he stares at you, and you can feel yourself shrink under his gaze. heeseung was rarely ever mad at you, even during these years of estrangement. you were never really on the receiving end of his anger, so you never handled it. "may second. you don't have to stay, if you don't want to. but i'd love for you to be there." your words are softer than you intended, and you can really feel the tug on the invisible string that ties the two of you together.

he nods, pressing his lips together as you watch his eyes brim with tears. "okay." he looks away as the first tear falls, wiping it away quickly before getting up. "just…send me the address when the time comes." he tucks the folder under his arm as he quickly walks away, trying not to let any more tears fall as he exits the cafe.

he can't help but hold everything in as he walks to his apartment, his mind spinning with potential thoughts. when did you get so far? how did he let you stray so deeply, and where did you even meet this guy? why didn't you tell him sooner? or did you, and he just blocked it out? he can't remember, no matter how hard he skims his memory. "fuck!" he screams as he slams his door shut, throwing the folder onto the table in the foyer.

he slides down the door, a sinking feeling taking over his stomach as he hits the cold tile. he can't help but sob into his hands, his shoulders shaking violently as he does. you're getting married and he missed the entire thing, he's missed the past year of your life and has no remorse in doing so. he only feels sorry now, now that he's realized he's too late.

april 30.

heeseung was increasingly stressed.

you had told him over text (because he wouldn't answer your calls) that he had to take the week off so he could participate in bonding activities with your fiancé's groomsmen. he'd been reluctant, and said he'd get there the thursday before the wedding, nothing sooner – making you upset. he didn't care, he wouldn't lie to himself – he felt betrayed that you were getting married to someone else. it was childish of him and he knew it, but as he aimlessly wandered jeju island alone – it only sank deeper into his bones that he had truly fucked up.

he didn't bother to bond with any of your bridesmaids, either – despite their starry eyes and warm smiles, he could only see the dread in your eyes, the twitch in your lower lip as you greeted your guests with your fiancé. he kept his hand on your lower back at all times, and heeseung wonders if jake knows that he did that in the past. heeseung wonders if jake knows that he held your hand as you both skipped through the sand on family vacations with your families, heeseung wonders if jake knows that he shared a bed with you on nights where thunderstorms would scare you out of your sleep and heeseung would run the three blocks to your house to comfort you.

heeseung wonders if jake knows that he was your first kiss, in the back of heeseung's '96 civic when you were both juniors in high school. heeseung wonders if jake knows that he is in love with you, and that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stop.

not that jake knowing any of this would matter, because come saturday night, you'd be out of his grasp forever. he would never place his hand on the small of your back to ease your nerves, he would never hold your hand, he would never share a bed with you. he would never kiss you again, and he'd rather never see you again if it were up to him.

but it wasn't, was it? "heeseung! you made it!"

heeseung turns to see park sunghoon walking towards him with his hand shielding his eyes from the sun. "oh shit, hey! i didn't think you and y/n kept in touch after high school, it's great to see you." heeseung greets him, and sunghoon snorts.

"we didn't, actually. jaeyun and i go way back." sunghoon nods. sunghoon had been a friend of the two of you, but it was hard to keep in touch due to his prominent ice skating career. he was always busy, and it was easier to cut ropes than continuously make promises to see each other only to fall short.

"i'm sorry i didn't reach out more." heeseung starts, but sunghoon shakes his head. "don't even worry about it! my life was too crazy to keep tabs on everybody." sunghoon shakes his head, and heeseung tilts his head at him. "was?" sunghoon shifts in the sand, picking his cuticles as he sighs. "i had to quit, i got injured pretty badly during the finale of my last competition. i won, though, so at least i went out with a bang." he shrugs, and heeseung can see the disappointment in his eyes before offering a hug. "i'm sorry, hoon. that really fucking sucks."

sunghoon rejects the hug with a shake of his head. "it's fine, i'm doing other things now. i work as a backup vocalist for jake, me and jay. oh, jay's here, too! have you seen him?" sunghoon gestures to the air, and heeseung offers a small smile before shaking his head. "haven't seen him yet. to be honest, i don't want to be here." heeseung's confession, if surprising, doesn't seem to faze sunghoon. instead, the younger boy nods. "i figured you wouldn't. you're singing for them, right? i heard through the grapevine." sunghoon smirks, and heeseung rolls his eyes before lightly punching his arm. "stop lying, you brat. you read it on the wedding program."

sunghoon gives him a soft pat on the back, before leaning closer. "she wasn't going to wait forever, heeseung." with a curt nod, sunghoon continues down the beach towards the resort, leaving heeseung with wide eyes and a heavy heart. what did he mean by that?

🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊

the night was heavy as the last of your guests straggled in, and your feet were swelling in your shoes from standing for so long. jake had offered to take over as you went up to your room to change them, and you were internally thanking him as you hobbled to the elevator.

only for you to arrive and see your best friend waiting there calmly, headphones over his ears as he softly nods along to whatever is playing. he looks up when the elevator finally opens, completely oblivious to your lingering presence behind him. it's only when you get in after him, feeling the shift of the elevator's floor, that he looks at you.

his eyes are unreadable as he skims them over your face, a soft tilt to his head before he presses button six, hand hovering over the button as he waits for you to speak. you put up five fingers, and he presses it carefully as the doors close. it's silent, and for the first time ever since you were four years old, heeseung feels like a stranger. a polite stranger that presses the elevator button for you, that has come all the way from seoul on a ferry to sing at his estranged best friend's wedding.

except he's not a stranger, and you're the estranged best friend getting married this weekend. you're the estranged best friend who lied about your fiancé being excited for him to sing your first dance song, and you're the estranged best friend who wants it to hurt him. you want it to hurt, seeing you dance with your soon-to-be husband all night, you want it to burn in his chest when the two of you kiss at the end of the aisle.

you want him to ache as badly as you did when he basically abandoned you for no good reason. you want him to stay up all night in tears like you did when he wouldn't answer your calls, you want him to rant passionately about you to whoever gets the privilege of being his girlfriend like you did to jake when the two of you first started dating, and you want him to ignore the questions of if you're in love with each other.

just like you did.

loving heeseung was a thing of the past. he was out of your heart and out of your head, for the most part. you only ever thought of him when you'd talk to jake about old high school stories, skipping over the parts where you and heeseung shared loving caresses that the two of you convinced yourselves were nothing more than platonic. it didn't matter now, though, because there was no piece shaped like you in heeseung's puzzling life anymore.

you love jake. he's your endgame, and you're glad to be marrying him.

"are you excited? big day soon." he says gently, and you can feel your stomach turn as he nudges you with his elbow. you nod, a small smile on your lips as you glance down at your engagement ring. jake had it custom made, a marquise diamond nestled onto a thick gold band. it was a little tight, but you promised yourself you'd get it resized after the wedding.

"very excited. are you nervous? about your performance, i mean?" you ask, genuine concern in your voice as he shakes his head. "just another gig, really. it's special to you, though, so i've been putting my all into the rehearsals." he itches his neck, a nervous tick you'd picked up on through the years. you nod, patting his shoulder gently. the conversation stops as the elevator does, the number five on the elevator's neon sign.

"my stop. i'll see you at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow, right? you need to be there." your eyes are pleading, and heeseung can't help but sigh. "i'll try."

the answer doesn't seem to satisfy you, but you nod anyway, turning on your heels to go to your room. the doors close, and he lets out a shaky breath. you're very excited to marry sim jaeyun in less than thirty-six hours. you're very excited to be mrs. sim, you're very excited to have your first dance with your husband to the sound of your best friend's voice singing the song that reminds you and jake of your relationship.

a song that insinuates the two of you are unbelievably high off each other in every which way, and how ruined one of you has made the other for anybody else. but this song doesn't take into consideration how he is ruined for anyone else, how he is in pieces at the mere thought of you wearing white while meeting someone else down the aisle.

he doesn't want to feel like that anymore.

may 01.

"hey! you must be heeseung, i've been waiting forever to meet you!"

heeseung doesn't recognize the voice as he turns, eyes swollen with sleep when he looks to see you, and who he presumes to be sim jaeyun. he nods absently, before glancing at his cup of hot water. he'd stumbled down to the hotel's complimentary lounge, a packet of fennel mint tea in his hand.

"give me a moment, i'm sorry. i'm barely here." he apologizes sheepishly, tearing the bag open and dipping the bag into the cup. he wipes at his eyes once more, before turning to face a smiling jake. "you're jaeyun, right? nice to finally meet you man, y/n has said some awesome things about you."

lies. heeseung doesn't remember a single thing you have ever said about jake, just that he's a singer. but out of courtesy, and jake's business-like grip on his hand, he smiles through it anyway. "i heard that you asked for me specifically. your wedding song is beautiful." heeseung sees you wince out of the corner of his eye as jake looks a bit taken aback. he tilts his head slightly, but goes along with what heeseung now knows is a lie. "i'm glad you could make it. y/n talks a lot about your singing skills, are you working on any projects right now?" your face is pained as heeseung looks you dead in the eyes, "no, i'm just a backup vocalist. i gave up on that dream a while ago." he looks back at jake, who has a sad smile on his face. "the fame, the money…i was never suited for that life, anyway." "i'm sorry to hear that things didn't work out for you." jake sounds genuine, a flash of sadness in his eyes as he shakes heeseung's hand again. "i hope to see you at the rehearsal tonight. have you got a girlfriend? there'll be quite a few people at our singles' table." jake wiggles his brows and heeseung wonders when you're going to speak.

"actually, heeseung won't be able to stay. he's got another gig on sunday." you lie, and jake's eyes widen. "oh, you'll be missing our reception?" "i'll be leaving right after your dance, i do sincerely apologize." heeseung gives jake a sheepish grin, to which jake nods slowly. "that's unfortunate, there's a lot of people you could network with here! take advantage of it, dreams are meant to become reality." jake finalizes, before giving heeseung another warm smile.

"i will do my best! thank you for having me." heeseung says, and you can feel the fake tone of happiness in his voice seep into your bones. you'd been the only person to ever recognize it, and heeseung knows you're aware he used it as he takes the tea bag out of his mug. "i will see you both tonight."

he spins on his heel as he hears jake whisper to you.

"you asked him to sing our song? when? why didn't you tell me?" "we can talk about this later, okay? he's really good, i promise."

🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊

your mother had been staring at heeseung for the last fifteen minutes, and heeseung was almost sure she was trying to figure out if he was who she thought he was. he gave her a small smile and waved, and the moment her eyes lit up, the person in front of her turned.

jake. he frowns as she walks away from him mid-conversation, stumbling over only moments before the rehearsal dinner is set to start.

"sorry, sweetie. i didn't know you and my y/n finally made up! it's so good to see you!" her embrace is crushing, and heeseung doesn't have the heart to tell your mother that you're a horrible liar. you hadn't 'made up' – he was simply doing you a favor, something else you'd lied about. he just smiles as she pulls back, ruffling his hair gently. "love the red, it really suits you." "thank you, auntie. it's nice to see you again." he remains relaxed as he sees her eyes soften. "what's wrong? not ready to see your little girl walk down the aisle?" he teases, and the older woman sighs inwardly. she turns, her shoulder brushing his as they stare into the room full of tipsy bridesmaids and boisterous groomsmen. "if i admit something to you, you'll keep it quiet, right?" she murmurs, and heeseung suddenly feels like this conversation isn't going to be one that favors his unruly feelings for you. "of course, auntie. who am i to tell?" "i always thought you'd be the one to marry my y/n." she sighs, clasping her hands in front of her as her eyes watch jake speaking to you gently as he hands you a glass of wine. heeseung's eyes follow hers and the two of them can see as your face falls and jake quickly moves to hide you from any lingering gazes. "i should go see what's wrong. it's nice to see you, heeseung. please enjoy the wedding!" he nods as your mother quickly crosses the room, her arm around you as jake gets pushed to entertain the guests while you get taken care of. jake looks nervous, and heeseung can't seem to stop his body as he also crosses the room, a small smile on his face. "good evening, jake." "oh, hey! how are you liking the venue so far?" a small flash of relief passes onto his face, and heeseung feels guilty as he shrugs. "it's what i expected for someone like y/n. so floral, so bright. are you sure you had any part in this?" he snickers, and jake laughs genuinely.

"she wouldn't let me even look at the flowers with her. babe, you're going to pick the wrong ones!" he imitates you, and heeseung shakes his head in amusement. you'd always been a bit of a control freak when it came to your visions, and now that your life revolved around financial decisions, you were wound up extra tight. "yeah, she's always been like that." he sighs, and jake doesn't miss the slight tone of sadness.

"listen, i don't know you very well," jake starts, reaching for a bottle of cabernet across the table. he grabs two glasses, uncorking the wine as he leans to pour. "but i want to say thank you." he holds the wine out to heeseung, and he tries not to look curious as he takes it.

"thank you for what?" heeseung asks, and jake gives him a pointed look as he blindly pours his own glass.

"for taking care of y/n all these years. i know you and i probably won't be the best of friends, i'm the first to admit that i'm not very good at sharing her attention." jake grimaces to himself as he replaces the cork into the bottle. "but i'm glad that she has someone as reliable as you, that can just… be there for her. it's a beautiful thing, your friendship."

heeseung almost feels nauseous as jake continues talking about how sweet your lifelong friendship with him seems. it just confirms that you told jake everything and anything you could about it, and based on his mention of jealousy, that includes the first kiss you shared. he can barely hear jake over the sound of his heart beating in his ears, but understands enough when jake pats his shoulder.

"...and i figured i'd be honest. y/n didn't say anything about you singing our song, we had originally planned for sunghoon to sing it with the band we hired. i guess she thought you'd be better for it, and i trust her judgment." jake says, pulling heeseung back in. "oh, i'm sorry." "don't even worry about it, man. hey, why don't you just relax, enjoy the dinner tonight. tomorrow is going to hit us like a fucking train, we should be well rested today." jake nods, and heeseung reciprocates with a gentle smile as someone else calls for jake's attention. "remember, just chill! network!" jake gestures to the room as he walks backwards towards the people looking for him.

heeseung can't shake the nausea from his throat, setting down the glass of wine to wander to the bathroom. but, the hall seems to get longer and longer, the temperature changing from the cold air conditioning to the humid spring air. he can feel a breeze in his hair, and then he realizes he's on the beach. his feet are buried in the warm sand, shoes in his hand.

sighing, he reminds himself he can't zone out like that all the time. it's not healthy, you had told him once. what if you end up in the middle of nowhere?

he reaches into his pocket, pulled out his spare headphones. he was supposed to bond with everyone at your stupid rehearsal dinner, but he didn't care to do so as he stared at the crashing waves. plugging the headphones into his phone, he gently speaks to siri as he lays on his back, looking up at the cloudless sky.

"hey, siri. play are we still friends? by tyler, the creator."

he stares into the water as the song pours into his ears. he doesn't know where things went to shit, but he knows it's his fault. he should've told you that what you said hurt his feelings. he should have communicated, then maybe it'd be him sitting next you in the private jet your mother rented solely for your honeymoon escape after the reception.

maybe it'd be him spinning you around in your beautiful wedding dress, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you dance the night away. maybe it would be him, like your mom had hoped. maybe it would be him, like he had hoped, too.

his fingers dig into the sand as he swallows the lump in his throat. there is nothing in hell, heaven or earth that would stop you from trekking the aisle tomorrow afternoon. nothing would stop jake from kissing you tenderly right in front of him, and doing it for the rest of your lives. it would taunt him, it would haunt him like the ghost of your friendship. you weren't friends anymore, the two of you knew it. things would never be the same between you, and yet, neither of you was brave enough to ask the question.

why?

"heeseung! are you out here?!" he can hear sunghoon's voice over the fourth replay of the song, lowering the volume as he tilts his head to find him. "over here, what's up?" "what's up? they're waiting for you, man!" sunghoon is standing in the doorway of the resort, the soft breeze blowing his hair back as a bridesmaid also peers over his shoulder. heeseung sighs as he stands, wiping his pants of sand and shoving his phone into his pocket. he walks quickly, humming quietly to himself to semi-prepare his voice for the perfect delivery of the song you wanted him to sing.

everyone is chatting quietly around the tables as heeseung steps inside, running his fingers through his hair as he walks forward. your mother catches his eye, a concerned look on her face, but he can't hold eye contact. he faces the floor as he reaches the small stage the venue has set up for the band, jay perched on a stool holding a guitar.

"hey, hee. you ready?" he asks as he tucks in his in-ear monitor, and heeseung shrugs as he takes his place behind the microphone. only then does he notice that the chatter he heard was just two bridesmaids, kim sunoo, riki nishimura and yang jungwon – all friends of yours and jake's that he hadn't bothered to meet further than reading their names in the program.

he watches silently as you and jake take the center of the dance floor, your eyes slightly reddened as you gingerly drape your arms over your fiancé. your smile doesn't fill your cheeks as jay begins playing softly.

heeseung takes a deep breath, and your eyes catch him as he begins to sing.

one touch, and you've got me stoned. higher than i've ever known…

you were both thirteen.

he remembers the way you held onto him the night that you lost your first mathletes competition. you cried so hard that you'd almost thrown up, and heeseung could only soothe you by dragging you to the nearest convenience store and shoving a melona popsicle in your hand. you went silent after that, gripping his hand tightly as he walked you home. you'd squeezed his hand three times that night, something he'd always done but you'd roll your eyes at.

"why would i squeeze your hand when i can just tell you, hee?"

you call the shots and i'll follow. sunrise, but the night's still young…

you were both seventeen.

he remembers when you called him to come over while it was storming, because your mother was out of town. your house was a little over a mile away and normally, he didn't mind the walk. it was almost three in the morning, and he'd been sleeping when your ringtone went off for the third time. "hello?" "hee, please come over. it's storming so bad, i'm so–"

he hadn't even let you finish before ripping his bedsheets off his body and sprinting for the door. his clothes, his shoes, everything was soaking wet by the time he got to your house. you'd embraced him anyway, your own clothes soaking through as he trudged into your home – only for the storm to stop a few moments after his arrival.

no words, but we're speaking tongues. if you let me, i might say too much…

you were both twenty.

he remembers when you asked him, in the middle of your kitchen during your graduation party, if he could kiss you. the house was empty except for the two of you – his parents and your mom had decided to throw a joint party, using the excuse that two best friends should always stick together. your mom had sent you inside for more hor d'oeuvres, and you'd dragged him inside with the excuse that you couldn't carry them all yourself.

"you don't have to, hee. i'm sorry." your eyes were full of embarrassment as heeseung stared at you, a bit in shock at your question. only as you begin to move further into the kitchen does he register what you've said, and grabs your arm, pulling you toward him. "ask me again, i'm sorry. i zoned out, i thought you asked me to kiss you."

"i did." you repeated quietly, and heeseung blinked twice before nodding. "o-okay. yeah, i can do that." he cleared his throat, looking over your shoulder into the foyer to ensure no one was opening the door.

"are you sure? i mean, it's your first kiss, wouldn't you want to have it with someone special?" he's rambling, and your gentle laugh pulls him right back.

"you are special, hee."

without another word, he backed you up against your kitchen counter, his hands on your hips as he softly kissed you. your hands were on his biceps, and he could feel your nervousness seep through your locked lips. he carefully circles your thighs to lift you onto the counter, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck before he breaks the kiss.

"how was that? okay?" his eyes searched yours, a shy smile playing on his swollen lips as you blinked. "uh, i'm not sure. i think–" "you want to try again?" his head tilted to the side, a habit you loved and eventually also caught. you nodded silently. his smile was wide as he closed the gap between the two of you, the hands on your thighs squeezing softly. once, twice, three times.

i love you.

your touch blurred my vision. it's your world, and i'm just in it…

you're both twenty one.

he remembers how he stared at his bedroom ceiling, clothes soaked in rain from prancing around the city with you. how piercing your words were, how he thought for so long that you believed in him. how all of these events he can't stop thinking about, are about you. how proud he was of you, how lucky he was to have you, how insane it was that you wanted him. you wanted him at one point.

how he didn't care that he got sick, but certainly didn't understand why your sore throat and stuffy nose didn't make him feel a pang of distress. how he didn't care that no one else was refuting his talent, because they weren't you. he didn't care about anyone else in this world, but you.

even sober, i'm not thinking straight…

you're both twenty two.

he remembers his birthday going abhorrently wrong. you weren't there, per usual – you were too wrapped up with school to give heeseung a second thought. he'd long realized that he didn't want to lose you, but it seemed that you no longer cared to keep the friendship alive. he still has the messages he sent you, and is still amazed at the lack of typos despite being absolutely shitfaced.

message to: my y/n <3 [2022.10.15 | 11:23pm] it's my birthday, baby. [2022.10.15 | 11:24pm] you can't be here for me today? [2022.10.15 | 11:24pm] i miss you. i miss our friendship. [2022.10.15 | 11:26pm] i can't believe you're missing my birthday. i never miss your birthdays. [2022.10.15 | 11:30pm] is this it? are we done? [2022.10.15 | 11:34pm] when will you come back to me? when, how much longer? [2022.10.15 | 11:35pm] when you graduate? i can wait. (not delivered!) [2022.10.15 | 11:47pm] just tell me how long. i'll wait. (not delivered!)[2022.10.16 | 12:02am] i'd wait forever for you (not delivered!)

he changed his number after that. he still doesn't know how you got his new one. he doesn't care to ask, either.

cause i'm off my face, in love with you…

you're both twenty five.

he's watching you slow dance with your fiancé, fingers interlaced behind his neck as jake's hands rest on your hips. he hates the jealousy that boils in his stomach, but doesn't bother to break eye contact with the tile on the ceiling with water damage.

i'm out my head, so into you…

he can feel his fingers tightening around the microphone stand, but can't seem to stop his eyes from averting as jake spins you gently, before your soft giggle hits his ears. you look up at jake with what he can only assume is adoration, before resting your cheek on his shoulder. you're looking right at heeseung, mouthing along to the song.

and i don't know how you do it…

you're fixing your posture instead, still staring at heeseung as jake takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckles. you instinctively smile at the feeling, and heeseung's eyes zero in on your fingers as you squeeze jake's hand.

once, twice, three times. i love you.

but i'm forever ruined by you, ooh, ooh, ooh.

"i love you." your eyes haven't left heeseung as you whisper the words, and you can see the way his eyes fill with fire as he looks away. you get a twisted feeling of satisfaction in your gut, before finally averting your eyes back to your fiancé. jake is smiling softly at you, and you quickly close the gap between you as heeseung continues to sing. your lips press against jake's smoothly, before he swiftly moves away. "i can't wait to marry you tomorrow." he whispers.

"me, too."

liar.

may 02.

the wedding is in twenty minutes.

your pantyhose has ripped, you tripped going up the stairs. you're not even wearing your dress yet. there are storm clouds gathering, and you can’t help but feel like everything in the universe is working against you. the only thing holding you together is your mother, her arms are wrapped tightly around you.

“are you sure we can’t just run away and elope?” you mumble into her shoulder, and your mother laughs. “not anymore. but,” she pulls away from you, cradling your face in her hands gently. “i love you, honey. everything will be okay.”

you hate the churn in your stomach at the word everything. because if everything were okay, it'd be sunny. if everything were okay, you'd be staring down an aisle full of people and only see heeseung at the end of it. if everything were okay, you would've never said yes to that first date.

“i love you.” you repeat, your hand resting on her wrists as you nod robotically. “i’ll see you out there, okay?”

“okay.” you breathe out shakily as she presses her lips to your hairline, lingering slightly before pulling away and leaving your room. you were alone now, and you glanced out the window at all the guests gathering on the beach. everyone is dressed so brightly, bunches of pinks and lilacs scattered across the sand. jake is waiting patiently at the end of the aisle, the forest green of his suit making his skin glow slightly brighter. how he does it, you don't know.

and then you see heeseung.

he’s dressed in black, despite the theme of the wedding being floral and natural. you grimace, forcing yourself to look away before spotting your dress hanging on the back of the door. you'd have to shimmy into it on your own, having sent everyone out in a fit of anxiety.

sighing, you unhook the heavy dress from the door, carefully letting the skirt pool on the floor as you step into it. it slides on perfectly, and you can't help but lose your breath at the sudden weight of the world on your chest. you're getting married, and you love jake.

but he'll never, ever be heeseung.

"tighten up, y/n. you've got this." you shake your head, reaching back and forcing the zipper up as high as you could. you had a hook-and-eye closure at the top, something you'd simply have to forego if you wanted to make it downstairs on time. groaning to yourself, you attempt to pull up the zipper just a bit more, before giving up and covering it with your veil. grabbing your bouquet, you give yourself a final glance in the mirror.

"you've got this. everything will be okay."

your voice is shaky, but you swing your room door open anyway – only to be met with heeseung on the other side. his eyes widen, mouth slightly agape as you come into his view. "wow, you look…" "what are you doing here? you're supposed to be downstairs." you scold, shoving your keycard into the pocket of your dress. oh yeah, you've got it like that. "your mom asked me to come see what was taking so long. i told her you'd be down soon, but she insisted." he shrugs, so nonchalantly.

like none of this is eating away at him.

"ugh, whatever. come on." your tone is angry, but your face shows nothing but fear. his eyes follow as you storm towards the elevator, seeing the zipper of your dress slowly sliding down as you reach the doors. "here, hold on."

his fingers move your veil carefully as you step into the elevator, before pulling the fabric tighter together and pulling the zipper to the top. he carefully clasps the closure, and you swear you feel every hair on your body sticking up when his fingertips gently graze your back. "don't touch me, heeseung."

"i'm trying to help you. otherwise, you'd flash that entire crowd." he scoffs, pressing the floor button. you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself as the elevator becomes silent. the tension is thick between you, you know it. your eyes never leave the neon sign, watching the floor numbers go by before heeseung reaches over and pulls the emergency lever.

"what the fuck are you doing?! i'm already late!" you gasp, hitting his arm with your bouquet when he stands in front of the lever. "i can't let you do this unless you hear what i have to say."

"heeseung, i'm getting married. this is the biggest day of my life–" your whining is cut short by his hand on your mouth, and only then do you see the unshed tears in his eyes. "the biggest day of my life was when i met you on that stupid playground. i never, ever in my life thought our friendship would end this way, and you know what, it makes me kind of sick."

he breathes deeply, removing his hand from your face as he sees the shock in your eyes. "you're saying you're already late to your big day, well i just want to say i beat you in that department. i've never had a problem with punctuality, but i really missed the mark on this one." his chuckle is dry, humorless as he looks at the bouquet in your hand. "i don't think i'll get over this, ever. i'll never get the chance to be in his place. but," he steps back, fingers gripping the emergency lever in his hand.

"i want you to know that it should be me. i should be the one waiting for you at the end of the aisle. i should be the one who gets to love you until the end of my days, and even then, you'd never die. you'd be loved by me forever, the evidence strewn all over the world in compositions and lyrics. i would never let you die."

he pushes the lever back, before moving back to his original spot next to you. the elevator doors open, revealing an empty lobby. the storm clouds are no longer that far away, and you can feel the humidity through the open plan of the resort.

"i am foolishly, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you. and i hope you realize this is the biggest mistake of your life." his voice is soft, as is his smile when he offers his hand. "here's to your forever, my love."

you say nothing.

🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊

if heeseung was anything, it was a sick bastard. a sick, rat bastard who had no shame. your mother took you from his arm at the end of the aisle, and you didn't even realize you'd allowed him to lead you there. jake's eyes shone with what could only be identified as jealousy.

he smiled the entire ceremony, clapping and whistling alongside your other guests through the vows. the sappy vows jake had penned were poetic compared to yours, but he knew what you meant anyway. you felt several fat raindrops plop onto your head and shoulders, while heeseung had come prepared and shared his umbrella with your mother.

he even helped her inside once the rain really started pouring, just after your first kiss as a married couple. your stomach was boiling over in fury as you watched him laugh with her, his eyes only meeting yours once with a soft smile.

you and jake slipped away to change into your reception clothing, his suit jacket abandoned and sleeves rolled up, showing off the watch you got him for his birthday. your ballroom white dress, now stained with sand, was traded in for an a-line style. jake met you in front of the resort, his fingers curled in yours when he finally spoke.

"we really did it, huh." he says quietly, his eyes scanning the shut doors of the reception venue. you nod, your breath caught in your throat when he takes a step back, his hand squeezing yours. "two years." your ears twitch at this. "what?" "all i ask for is two years. we can have a kid. we'll have an heir to our wills. we can get divorced after two years, and you can be with him." he breathes, eyes following the pattern on the heavy wooden door. you choke out a scoff of disbelief, your throat burning. "what the fuck are you talking about, jaeyun?" he winces at the use of his name, so used to gentle baby and sweetened honey. a sigh escapes his lips as he turns to face you. "i know you love him, y/n. you don't have to hide it from me. you wouldn't have brought him all the way out here, you wouldn't have gone behind my back and changed the plans for the band. your mom loves him, for crying out loud. i never stood a chance." he chuckles sadly, and your tears are hot as they flow down your face.

"how can you say that, jaeyun? i'm married to you, i've chosen you, over anything and anyone in this world! how can you say such things?!" your hurt is evident, but he can't figure out if it's because of the little blame game or if it's because you truly, deeply love him. he doesn't know what to say, but reaches to wipe your tears. you jerk away, a frown etched on your glossed lips as you wipe them yourself. you take a deep breath, grabbing the door knob.

"fix your face." you mutter, a tone jake had never received from you as he sighed, painting a smile of everything's okay on his face as the two of you threw the doors open in unison. your crowd of guests cheered loudly, rice flying everywhere as they welcomed you in. the band was loudly playing got to be real by cheryl lynn, and you almost forget jake's painful words behind the door. you almost forget that heeseung will be queueing up to sing for you and your husband, for free, on the very stage you're now standing in front of.

jungwon hands you a microphone and two champagne flutes, before slinking away to his seat. you hand one to jake, who swirls it nervously.

"wow, it's such an honor to have all of our loved ones here today." your voice is shaky as you take them all in, dozens of eyes staring you down. "i mean, i've waited for this day since i was a little girl. it's a blessing to finally see it in color, in person. thank you." jake breathes in deeply, before looking away to blink back tears. "i'm not crying, my eyes are just sweating." he speaks into the microphone, earning an empathetic laugh from the guests, your hand ghosts over his back, and he stiffens at it. "i'm so…so terribly in love with y/n. i can't believe this day is real." a soft aww echoes in the room, your chest tightening as you see heeseung sitting next to your mother. he's cooing with everyone else. "and i can't wait to be a man that is continuously worthy of her love. to y/n."

you almost burst into tears as everyone raises their drinks to you, the clink of glasses adding to the emotion as you and jake find your seats at the end of the hall. you sit gingerly, holding jake's hand under the table tightly. "i love you, jake." "i love you, y/n."

🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊 – 🟊

the speeches were a mess. jay was a mess of tears, and minjeong spewed bullshit about the two of you being like sisters. heeseung hadn't met her until five minutes after the ceremony, and if you had been close to anyone enough to consider them a sibling, he'd know them. no one knew you like he did.

"and now, for the newlyweds' first dance! we have a very special guest singing for us today, please give a warm welcome and round of applause to y/n's longest friend, lee heeseung!"

he smiled nervously as he took the stage, a puffy-eyed jay sitting behind him as he tested the microphone. "thank you for having me, and congratulations to the newlyweds. y/n, i'm eternally proud of you and so grateful to be here on your special day. i love you." none of the guests know it means something more to him, to you, as they let out an aww. how heartwarming, that your lifelong best friend was here for you. how lovely, that he was supporting you every step of the way.

he sang carefully, watching as you and jake held each other tightly, swaying to the song. he can hear your sniffle, a soft sob into jake's shoulder as he lovingly strokes your back. he looks away.

it should be him.

it should be heeseung, that gets to see you wear white. it should be heeseung, that gets to plan a tedious wedding at your instruction. it should be heeseung that gets to take you on a romantic honeymoon and spend all day in the sun and all night glued to your bed. it should be heeseung that gets to shampoo your hair for you when you're feeling too tired, it should be heeseung that gets to watch you put lipstick on in the morning just to ruin it before you're out the door.

it should be him. and everyone knows it, no matter if they know your history or not.

"thank you, everyone. let's hear it for the newlyweds!"

october 15.

"hey."

it's been over a year since your wedding. you and jake had happily posted tons of wedding photos, piled over with honeymoon flicks. you and heeseung hadn't spoken since the wedding. he left right after the first dance, catching the first ferry back to seoul. he didn't bother contacting you to see if you'd made it back safely, he didn't bother to message you a happy birthday when it came around. he just didn't care.

he dropped out of college for the second time, and spent the summer going around seoul auditioning for companies. decelis entertainment finally gave him a break, and only after he got his contract did he find out that jake and all of his friends were also at this company.

he was polite in the hallways. he smiled, he waved, he engaged in small talk and perused the past. he didn't ask questions, he didn't initiate. he spent his time holed away in the studio with a producer named yeonjun, recording for hours on end without a break. he was set to debut in two weeks, having dropped his first teaser just two days prior.

all without you to cheer him on.

"what are you doing here?" his voice was cold, nothing you weren't used to at this point. his hair wasn't red anymore, now a natural chocolate brown. it suited him. "came to visit, heard from jake that you've been training for a year." "what's it to you?"

he's being harsh, he knows he's being harsh.

"hey, y/n. nice to see you." jake calls from across the hall, exiting his studio with jay and sunghoon in tow. the two of them seem to say nothing at the sudden casualties between you and jake, or the insinuation that he hadn't seen you in a while. heeseung gives you a glance, your hands holding a gift and a grocery bag. "may i come in?" "i'm busy, at the moment." he coughs, ignoring the way your eyes roll. "too busy for a slice of cake?" you hold up a bag in your fingers, and his eyes narrow. he leans back into the studio, his eyes scanning the calendar for any potential special dates. he's not even flipped to the right month, the calendar reading july.

"shit, did i miss something?" he whips out his phone, which you simply cover with your hand. a soft laugh escapes your lips as you lift your other hand, the gift bag screaming happy birthday in gold glitter flashing at him. "oh, man." he moves away from the door, allowing you to walk in. you look around, and although the studio doesn't belong to him, it sure smells like him. it looks like him, it's covered in him, it feels like home.

"happy birthday, hee." you say gently, setting the gift down on the couch and slowly sitting down to unwrap his cake. "i know it's not much, but i'm barely here." you chuckle, tapping your temple as he takes a seat in his desk chair. he's wary, you can tell.

"something on your mind?" "why are you here? i debut in two weeks, i don't need any bullshit." he rubs his temples, and you only frown. "you know, once upon a time, you would've been happy to have me here." your tone is pointed, and heeseung sighs. "fine, fine. i'm sorry."

"i'm the one who should be sorry." you murmur, and heeseung says nothing. he knows you're right.

you're both quiet, before heeseung notices the candle next to the cake. he rolls the chair over, his fingers carefully centering the candle. "have you got a light?"

you shake your head no, a sheepish look in your eyes. "i'm sorry. we can pretend, if that's okay?" he hates the way his lips twitch into a smile at your wide eyes. "yeah, we can pretend."

you sing for him softly, your cheek squished into your hand as you lean on the armrest. he closes his eyes, making a wish and blowing the makeshift flame out. "what'd you wish for?" you yawn, and he shakes his head.

"won't come true if i tell you." shrugging, he rolls back over to his desk, leaving the cake on the table. you just make a noise of agreement, before a sigh slips past you. "i heard your teaser, you know." he doesn't care to react, only giving you a short sound. "mhm?" "is it about me?" you ask, and he straightens in his chair before spinning around to face you. "all my songs are about you. every single one of them." he gestures to a tattered journal on the soundboard. it's covered in stickers, and…a taped photo of you and him as toddlers. "oh."

"i mean what i say, y/n." he rolls his eyes, before spinning back around. "if it were me, i'd never let you die."

but it is you, you think. it's always been you.

"why did jake say it was nice to see you?" he asks, too cowardly to look you in the eyes. he hears your sigh, before hearing you shift around on the couch. he spins around again, only to see you have removed your shoes and tucked your legs beneath you. his eyes scan you, before looking at your fingers. your ring is gone, replaced by a chunky painite stone in silver. your eyes are gently burning into him, and he shivers in the warmth. "well…why?" "before the reception, he told me he knew." you shrug, "he knew how you felt about me, and how i allegedly felt about you. he brought up my mother, and how he felt like he'd never stood a chance."

"but he did. you married him, after all." heeseung rolls his eyes as you shrug, blinking slowly as you speak again. "we gave it a good shot. maybe i should've listened to all those superstitions, they're not such bullshit. the tripping, the rain, god, the way my ring was too tight." you scoff sadly, before glancing back up at him.

he seems to understand. if he doesn't, he doesn't say anything. sighing, you reach over to rustle the gift bag with your fingers. "you've got to open this, you know."

"y/n, i can't do this." he breathes out, eyes screwed shut. "i can't sit here with you and pretend like we're all good, like you're not married to the same guy i share a company with. we stopped being friends a long time ago, what are you trying to do here?" "i'm not trying to do anything but reconnect. i fully accepted the fact that whether or not you're with me, you're still someone i love. i spent years trying to figure out why you drifted away from me, and then jake and i sat down at our dinner table a few weeks ago after meeting with the lawyer and he asked me about our friendship. so i told him everything, from the very beginning."

heeseung can't breathe as you get up, walking towards him and slowly sinking into a squat. your hands are on his knees, giving a gentle squeeze before you speak.

"i'm sorry i made it seem like i had no faith in you. i said horrible things to you, even if they seemed right to me, and i'm so sorry that it took someone else to tell me that i'd treated you so badly that day."

his eyes are brimming with tears, but he looks away from you. he can't cry, not now, not in front of you.

"you've always been like that, though." he murmurs, picking at his cuticles when you carefully take his hands in yours. he suppresses a sob as the warmth of you envelopes his fingers, "i was projecting. i thought that everyone had to be like me, that everyone had to have a plan. some people are just better at flying by the seat of their pants, i mean, look at all you've accomplished despite me saying such shitty things to you. you're about to debut, you're going to see great success. everyday i'm rooting for you, even if i'm not the person you go home to."

you give his hands a firm squeeze. once, twice, three times. i love you.

"are you divorced?"

you scoff out a soft laugh, looking down at his jeans. "jake and i haven't been together since the wedding. we spent the honeymoon playing mermaids and crying over whiskey sours."

"i can't forgive you right now." he confesses, making your head snap up to look at him. he swallows hard, "i can't forgive you right now, because i'm still mad at you. for saying those things to me, and…and you hurt me, when you asked me to sing for your wedding. it hurt me a lot, y/n." "i'm sorry, hee." you whisper, your thumbs wipe at the tears spilling from his eyes. he leans into your touch, before pulling away. "i know you are, y/n. i know."

he gently pushes away, offering his hand to help you up. you take it, and he waits for you to put your shoes on before leading you back to the door. "i'll call you, okay? when i'm ready."

you step out of the studio, peering up at him with sad eyes. "you promise?"

he sighs, nodding his head. "i promise, baby."

528 notes · View notes

renjunphile · 5 months ago

Text

freedom ain't nothing but missing you ☆ jung sungchan

ᯓ★ WORD COUNT: 13.6k

ᯓ★ PAIRING: riize's jung sungchan x female!reader

ᯓ★ TAGS & WARNINGS: college!au, second chance romance, college antics - partying, drinking, brief mentions of vomiting, reader has mad commitment issues you wanna punch her in the face, pining

ᯓ★ SYNOPSIS: the last time you saw him was when you looked over your shoulder at his weeping figure one last time at the airport. four seasons have passed and your heart tightens at the sight of his smiling face, wishing it was directed at you.

ᯓ★ NOTES: what would a renjunphile fic be without a second chance romance element ! sorry it's my favourite trope i can never let go of it :') all my stories are really the same now ! also me *handshake* using aespa members as side characters lol at the start of story, y/n and hyung line are going into 4th year, sohee and seunghan into 3rd year and anton into 2nd year.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You hear your best friend's voice before you see her. If you had just looked a little more to the left, you would've spotted her immediately anyway as she waved a large piece of pink card-stock with your name displayed in a glittery explosion.

"Y/N! Over here!" she cooed at you loudly from behind the barrier, "Y/N!!!"

You quickly weave around the other passengers as expertly as you could with your trolley of bags, but Minjeong is quick to meet you at the exit. She drops the sign onto your cluster of suitcases and wraps her arms around your neck, squealing into your ear with glee.

"I missed you too, Jeong," you giggled at her embrace, "I told you that you didn't have to get me!"

She scoffed at you as she pulled away, "What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't welcome you back home after a year away! You said your parents couldn't come and meet you, so I came!"

You think back to your conversation just before you got on the god-awful long flight with her, recalling how your parents thought it was too far for them to drive up from your hometown when they were already coming the week after for your birthday.

"Thanks babe," you thanked her sincerely, bumping your hip against hers while the two of you began to push the cart together. You couldn't believe that you were able to pack your whole life in just two large suitcases and one small one, "By the way, how are we getting back into the city?"

Minjeong didn't drive; she'd rather walk to her destination in the wind, snow, hail or storm than learn how to get behind the wheel. She was a self proclaimed "passenger princess", which you admired and envied from the way your friends (including her) used you like their own personal taxi service when you had your car. Sadly for your friends, you were not hesitant when it came to selling your car at the end of your second year of university, just weeks before you packed up your life and moved to New York for the new school year. While you sometimes missed your slightly beat up Hyundai on the days that you had to get on the subway with arms full of groceries, you couldn't justify the purchase of a car again for your final year of university.

"I assisted the help of a special someone," Minjeong winked at you happily, watching your face contort in horror immediately, "Wait, no. Not that one. I promise."

You let out a sigh of relief that you didn't even know you were holding back as you cramped together in the car park's elevator. There were many people you haven't seen in a year. There were many people you've missed and wished to see. But you didn't think you could face him right now, at this very second.

"Who is it?" you prodded curiously, but she just gave you an innocent smile and pushed the cart out of the elevator and towards a shiny car about 30 steps from the doors

You couldn't make out the figure sat in the driver's seat, no matter how you craned your head until he got out and faced you straight on.

"Chanyoung!" you gasped in surprise, welcoming him in a tight hug, "Since when did you learn how to drive?"

"Just this year, noona. Welcome home!" he chuckled from above you. You wondered if he grew any more since the last time you saw him, cause it definitely felt like it.

Chanyoung was Minjeong's little cousin that began his studies at your university as you were leaving. Despite that, he grew to be a familiar presence as he lived nearby and always dropped by the apartment you shared with his cousin. He was truly one of your favourite people since he was so sweet and caring.

Before you could finish your greetings with Chanyoung, Minjeong had already loaded your (very heavy) bags into the trunk of Chanyoung's new car and had collapsed in the back seat, "Let's go guys. I'm sure Y/N's tired, but you can sit in the front."

Without another word, she dropped her head to the window and began to doze off. You clambered into the front seat and gave Chanyoung a thumbs up to head out.

"How was your first year at university, 'Ton?" you asked.

"Super good, actually. It was really helpful to know all of your friends before I entered so I never felt alone or lost or anything," he recounted the times that you missed, "By the way, thank you for letting me stay in your room. My first year definitely wouldn't be the same if I still lived at home."

You shared a two-bedroom apartment with Minjeong just off campus during your second year at university after meeting her on the first day of first year and becoming fast friends. You had warned her that you probably would have to find a temporary replacement while you were halfway across the world, but when word got out to her little cousin, he begged to take over your room while you were gone. Since he lived in Seoul already, his parents weren't very willing to let him test his luck and go into dorms with a stranger, but they were much more open to letting him live with his older and allegedly more responsible older cousin until he found friends to live with for the next year.

"No worries; I'd rather it was you than a stranger," you shrugged, "Who are you living with again?"

"Sohee and Seunghan," he tapped his finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the song quietly playing on the radio, "You know them, right?"

Your heart squeezed again at the thought of the boys you got to know in the year before you left, "Yeah, a bit. Haven't spoken to them in a long time, though. I hope it's not awkward to see everyone again, otherwise I'll just lock myself in my room until I graduate."

"Everyone misses you, noona," Anton assured you softly, "I know that for sure."

You opened your mouth to say what your heart desired, but closed it again hesitantly as your brain came to the rescue of your emotions. Anton flashed a look at you from the driver's seat, but chose not to comment when he saw the conflicted expression on your face.

"Tell me about your time in New York," his soft voice pulled you gently out of the mess that was unravelling in your head.

You gave him a small, knowing smile and began recounting your favourite memories and your life in the city that never sleeps.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Around 4PM, you waved your parents away as they pulled out from the car park under your apartment complex. They had a pretty long drive back to your hometown with work early the next day, but you were grateful they made the drive up in the morning to celebrate your birthday with you. You had taken them to your previous favourite Italian restaurant for lunch, but after tasting more authentic cuisine in New York in the predominantly Italian neighbourhoods, you weren't sure if the restaurant was as good as you remembered it to be. Still, you enjoyed the lunch and catching up with your parents with what had happened in the last 6 months since they came to visit you abroad. With a hug and a kiss goodbye, they were driving away from you once again.

When you returned back upstairs to your apartment, Minjeong was waiting for you patiently on the couch with her legs and arms crossed and a mischievous smirk on her face.

"What?" you groaned in anticipation.

"I picked out an outfit for you while you were out. It's on the bed. Get ready," she grinned, clapping her hands together, "We have dinner plans. Meet back here in an hour and a half."

"That's really not necessary, Jeong," you pleaded, but she just turned her nose up at you, reiterating her instructions.

To be honest, you had planned to spend the rest of your birthday cuddled up on the couch with your best friend, probably watching a chick-flick or a horror or both. She stomped away to her room and you fearfully tiptoed to yours. Knowing her, she would have picked out something a bit more showy than you would like.

However, you were pleasantly surprised at the dress laid out on your bed, with a note in her handwriting. It wasn't something she picked out of your closet- it was a dress she had bought for you. It was a flowing mini dress with ruffles extending from the skirt and a corset bodice you knew would flatter you. You sent her a grateful text and began to freshen up your hair and makeup from your morning outfit.

From your outfit, you guessed it would be in a sit-down restaurant that was more refined than a bbq restaurant whose smoke would cling to your hair, skin and clothes for days. However, knowing Minjeong, you couldn't put anything past her. After all, she was the one that convinced you to drink soju with her at a stall on the side of a dirt road in your floor length silk dresses after your first year ball. An hour and a half later, you had curled and then re-curled your hair, did your eyeliner twice and marvelled at how the light pink dress your best friend bought you fit you like a glove. When you heard Minjeong calling out your name, you were finishing buckling the heeled Mary Janes that you loved and made sure that everything you could need for the night was in your purse.

In the week you had been back in Seoul, all you had done was unpack your suitcases and make the room feel like yours again. School wasn't starting for another week, so all the friends that you tried to meet up with told you that they were still in their hometowns, due to come a few days before the fall semester began.

"Urgh, I knew it would look amazing on you!" Minjeong analysed you in awe. Trust the fashion design and marketing major to have an eye for these types of things.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" you eyed her suspiciously as she looped her arm around yours and dragged you out of your shared apartment.

"You can find out when we get there," Minjeong tapped on her phone, "The taxi's outside, quick!"

The destination set for the taxi was somewhere you weren't familiar with. The street name definitely didn't ring a bell. Perhaps a new restaurant had opened in that area while you were gone and Minjeong was just trying to catch you up to the city again.

Speaking of the girl beside you, she spent the whole ride with her eyebrows furrowed together as she furiously tapped away on her phone. You wouldn't say that you were a particularly nosy person (lie), but her privacy screen protector made it impossible for you to see who she was texting. It was probably Heeseung anyway- her on-again, off-again boyfriend of four years, but more like two.

"Are you guys fighting again?" you teased.

"Huh?" she looked up at you in confusion and her face flashed with recognition, "Yeah, yeah. It's nothing. Don't worry, but look we're basically here."

Apparently 'here' meant on the street that was lined by endless blocks of high rise flats and a few convenience stores dotted about.

"Did you make me dress up to eat ramen at a GS25?" you prodded your finger in the direction of the store.

Minjeong laughed heartily, "No silly! I made you dress up to eat ramen at a 7/11!" she pointed at the stripy neon sign at the opposite end of the street. She captured your arm in hers once more, tugging to make you walk with her, "Just trust me. It's the hottest place in town."

You don't think that the hottest place in town was Block 7 of this high rise complex, but you say nothing as she buzzed for apartment 08 and caught the lift up to the 4th floor. Minjeong was known to find all the hottest spots in town, so you really try to keep it to yourself as she knocked on the door that looked far too much like an apartment door, including the mail next to the door mat.

She didn't even wait for someone to answer, just pushed down on the handle and nudged for you to enter into the darkness.

"Surprise!"

You clasped a hand over your mouth as light flooded the room and a group of about 20 people screamed at you. From behind you, Minjeong was cheering, pushing you further into what now seemed to be an apartment instead of a restaurant. With 20 pairs of eyes staring at you all at once, it took you a few seconds to shake yourself out of the shock and recognise anyone. The place was decorated with banners and balloons of your favourite colours, with steaming food on the dining table in the corner of the room.

"Happy birthday! Welcome home!" Karina, Yizhuo and Giselle were the first to crush you ina hug.

"We're sorry we declined your plans to hang out," Yizhuo pouted, "We thought we would give away the surprise that Jeong planned if we saw you."

You waved a dismissive hand at your younger friend, "It's okay. This is so sweet of you guys!" You felt Minjeong join the embrace.

"We thought you deserved it since we didn't get to spend your birthday with you last year," Giselle added on as the group pulled away from you.

Last year, you had spent your birthday alone, wandering around New York City for the first time and procuring free birthday goods from all the establishments that offered it.

"Happy birthday, Y/N!" you heard a deeper voice coo at you as you were pulled away from your girls. You were suddenly face to face with one of your closer guy friends from before.

"Eunseok!" you accepted his side hug, "Hi!"

"Welcome home! We all missed you so much," at his words, you dart your eyes around the room and find 5 boys hiding behind Eunseok's tall figure. They each hug you one by one, ending with Chanyoung who gives you the cheekiest grin.

"Welcome to our apartment," he grinned proudly, gesturing at himself, Sohee and Seunghan.

"Where'd you get all this money from, huh? I should've charged you more rent," you teased, eyeing the modern, open-plan space. The floor to ceiling windows on one wall of the room with a view over the river really sold you on the idea that this was an expensive apartment.

"You can throw as many parties as you like here," Shotaro giggled, "We know we're going to!"

"Yeah, whose birthday is it next?" Wonbin pondered.

"Oh! It's-" Eunseok smacked Sohee in the stomach before he could finish his words, laughing nervously.

The 6 boys in front of you watched in despair as your smile fell ever so slightly before you recovered it again.

"I'll go say hi to everyone else," you murmured softly, catching Wonbin's regretful face.

"Y/N, he's-"

"It's okay, Bin," you smiled softly, ignoring the pounding in your heart and head, "I wouldn't have expected him to come. He probably hates me, right?"

You turned around without letting any of the boys say another word, joining your group of friends from your dance club. While your friendship with them was something you treasured deeply, you fell out of touch with them in your year abroad quite quickly. You didn't put much thought into the people that did or didn't keep in contact, considering you were focused on making friends and trying to live in the moment abroad. Besides, you were coming back anyway. What's a year in the grand scheme of things?

Your heart panged at that thought, but you tried to push it away as Jisung tackled you in a tight hug. Ryujin and Yeji had to physically peel the towering kid away from you as you dove into conversation about what you had spent the last year doing.

As the conversation came to an end, your eyes fell on the 6 boys stood around in a circle, whispering hushedly and stealing quick glances at you. When you caught Seunghan's eye, he just chuckled nervously and dismissed you, but the sight of them, incomplete, caused your heart to tense up.

All the most important people in your university life was in this room. All, except one.

"Jeong, I'm just gonna catch some air. Just quickly," you tapped your best friend on the back, just before waving and greeting her potentially current boyfriend Heeseung.

"Oh, I'll come with!" she began to untangle herself from his embrace, but you just clicked your teeth and shook your head.

"No, it's okay. I can go alone; I'll be quick. Just buzz me up when I ring?" you requested. She gave you an unsure look, but settled back into Heeseung's form.

Ignoring the stares on your back, you ran down the two flights of stairs and pushed open the door to outside. Since it was the start of fall and 6pm, the sun was beginning to go down. The sky wasn't yet pink and purple, but instead glowing an ethereal gold, bathing you in light rays. You fiddled with the phone in your hand, grasping it tightly as you debated what to do. His contact was staring up at you, almost taunting you to do something with it. Call it? Message it? Delete it?

Your finger hovered over the phone symbol. Surely he'd want to hear from you, right? The way you ended things wasn't... satisfactory. It gave neither of you closure. You needed to speak to him, right?

Fuck it, you think to yourself. It's your birthday. You can do whatever you like. As you pressed the call button, you shakily lifted the phone up to your ears, counting the rings.

Ring ring, ring ring, ring-

"Y/N?" his voice is familiar, soothing the nerves that plagued you at the thought of him letting your call go unanswered.

"Sungchan," you began hesitantly, "I'm not sure if anyone told you, but I'm uh- I'm back in Seoul."

"Y/N," he repeated, making you aware of the sounds of his feet hitting the pavement through the phone and his laboured, shaky breaths.

"Shit, are you busy? Am I interrupting something?" your stomach folded in on itself as you realised he didn't answer your statement. He was probably at the gym- Minjeong told you he'd taken that up in your absence.

"Y/N," he breathed out again, the patters of his feet coming to a stop, "Look up."

You tore your eyes away from your feet- the only thing that was distracting you from internalising too hard that you were calling your kind-of ex-boyfriend.

As you lifted your eyes up, a tall figure came into view across the street from you. Sungchan was stood panting, one hand holding his phone up to his ear and the other holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Sungchan?" the call dropped as the figure took a step into the street, hastily running over to stop just shy from you.

"I don't hate you," it's the first time you're hearing his voice in one year, "The boys- they said that you said- I wanted to come, but I didn't know if you wanted me here."

He's trying to maintain eye contact, but he's clutching the flowers to his chest as he pants. You were at ease enough to chuckle, "Sungchan, did you run here?"

In this light, his eyes shined and sparkled. You've missed looking into them and getting lost all night in his gaze. You missed the way he would look at you like you were the most precious thing on earth to him.

He flashed you a toothy smile, "Mhm, didn't want to make you wonder. Just wanted to tell you that."

"A text would've sufficed."

He analysed your expression and took one large step back, "Ah, am I reading this wrong? Did you not want me to come?"

You took one step forward, "I'm sorry I didn't call as soon as I got back."

Relief flooded Sungchan's whole body as he stretched his arm to offer the bouquet to you, "It's whatever. Happy birthday, Y/N."

"Thanks, Sungchan," you smiled sincerely, "Do you want to head up now together? I'm kind of hungry and I think there's pizza."

"Yeah, sure!" his face is practically lit up at your invitation, but he hesitated to follow you, "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you," he whispered shyly, "Just so you know."

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You met Sungchan three weeks into your first year of university. Minjeong's boyfriend Heeseung had joined the soccer team in the first week and their first game came around quickly. The two of you were like two peas in a pod, bundled up together in matching scarves bearing your university's colours and logo, shivering on the school's bleachers.

Your friend's eyes were trained on her boyfriend from home, but you had the lucky status of being able to cast your eyes on each player and make your judgement. The game had been going on for about 30 minutes with your school being 2-0 up. Both goals had been scored by the team's #23, a scrawny tall boy whose name you could just about make out from your distance.

"Jung's pretty good," you hummed to your friend.

"#23? His name's Sungchan, I think. Hee says he's really nice. Want me to get you two acquainted?" Minjeong wiggled her eyebrows at you, but you rolled your eyes.

You were determined to find love as naturally as possible at university. Back home, you'd been on a few first days with a few guys set up through your friends, but they were all the same to you- not cute enough, not interesting enough. You hadn't been desperate to get into a relationship, especially knowing that you were going to apply to spend your third year abroad if you kept your grades up. But when Sungchan slid in to the seat beside yours for your shared lecture meeting your GenEd requirements, you had lost all semblance of that.

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" he had offered his hand out to you, "I'm Sungchan. I've seen you around with Heeseung's girlfriend and I've seen you in this lecture a few times."

You had taken his hand in yours, gripping firmly and giving him a shy smile, "Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you,"

When he continued to sit beside you for another few weeks, asking you questions in hushed whispers and explaining concepts to you when you looked lost, you said nothing. When he started asking if you wanted to study in the library together in your two hour gap after your shared lecture, you said nothing. When library study-seshes turned into studying at a cafe where he'd buy you a drink, you said nothing. When that turned to just two hours of the two of you chatting and getting to know all about each other's lives with your laptops abandoned on the table, you said nothing.

It then turned into butterflies slowly erupting in your stomach as his face lit up the second he saw you in the theatre. It turned into your heart beating a little faster whenever his hand brushed against yours on the walk to the café you now frequented with him. It turned into finding comfort in him as he slowly began introducing you to his best friends, who would tease you endlessly. It turned into nervous giggles and pink cheeks as you spent the whole fall and winter denying anything was going on with you and Jung Sungchan.

When spring of your freshman year began to roll in, Sungchan had mustered up the courage to take your hand in his whenever your fingers did graze each other on the walks. Whenever you'd look up at him to question it, he'd just smile slyly and look off into the distance, quickly changing the topic before you could address it.

Spring break had you realising how much of a presence he was in your life. Walking through the parks of your hometown felt melancholy without him by your side. Studying at a cafe alone was productive, but you would miss the way that every time you looked up from your screen, he'd already be staring back at you, a soft smile permanently etched on his face.

Cherry blossom season was your favourite time of the year. So when you returned to your campus and found out the main square was lined with these bloomed trees, you had dragged Sungchan there immediately, even if he had just arrived from his hometown.

The joy in your eyes must have been so evident, reflecting back in his eyes as sparkles. When Sungchan had placed his hands on your shoulders to stop you bouncing, and then leaned his head down closer to yours, you didn't stop it. You had long been used to the way he made your heart race. It was a welcome feeling as he softly planted his lips on yours for the first time under the falling petals.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"Y/N," the sharp voice plucked you from your daydream, a bag making a thud on the wooden table, "What are you thinking about?"

"Huh?" your eyes focused in on Karina taking a seat in front of you at the café, "Nothing, nothing. Did you just have class?"

"My class ended early and I was just walking to my next class in 15, but I saw you through the window looking all sad and aloof," she explained, her eyebrows drawn together in worry, "Are you okay, girl?"

You met Karina with Minjeong at a club in the first week of your freshman year. She had been throwing up in the toilet with the door open and no one holding her hair, so Minjeong did that while you rubbed her back and cooed reassuring words. After confessing that she was getting drunk because she had just broken up with her high school boyfriend, the two of you captured her in your little group.

"It's just weird being back," you admitted.

She pouted at you sadly, "Aw, don't tell me you like your New York friends better than us?"

"No!" you squealed, laughing, "It's not that. I love you guys. It's just weird being back with Sungchan."

Her eyes morphed into a mix between empathy and sympathy, "Aw, babe. I'm sorry; I know it's weird. Whenever I meet my friends back home, I get a weird feeling seeing my ex there too. I imagine it must be worse for you since you ended on better terms than me and Mark did. It must be confusing, huh?"

Out of all your friends, Karina was the best one to be having this conversation with. While you loved Minjeong more than anything in the world, she was famous for breaking up with her boyfriend for random spats, but calling him and asking to get back together the very next moment she missed him. Absolutely no sense of longing in that department.

"I just don't know how I should act around him. Do we just go back to being friends like in first year? Should I pursue him again? Why does it feel like we're strangers to each other?"

During your party, you had thought Sungchan would stay by your side, but he quickly excused himself to join his friends and only gave you reluctant smiles through the night. Where had all the confidence disappeared to?

You saw him one more time in the two weeks after your party at the library. Eunseok had booked a large private study room at the library and texted you to come. Sungchan was already there when you came, his head stuck in a textbook. Other than shooting you a greeting and sliding the box of cookies in your direction, you got nothing else from him in three hours.

"You just need to get the worst of it over and talk to him. He must be just as confused as you are, to be honest," Karina sighed.

"He hasn't found someone else, right?" you asked reluctantly. Even if he had, it would have been your own fault anyway after the way you left him for dust at the airport.

Karina scoffed and rolled her eyes, "The only thing he's found in the past year is the gym. Taro says he's gone crazy. You know- post break-up glow up? He's become quite the heartbreaker, actually. All these girls started to notice him, but he never gives any of them the time of day."

You fight the scowl threatening to display on your face, "Oh, really?"

"Please, Y/N, he was always going to wait for you. I'd never seen a man so down bad and I know Heeseung." she scrunched up her face at the thought. Heeseung was famously untouchable by the girls at university, no matter how much they threw themselves at the football captain. Anyone else would be embarrassed by getting broken up with by their girlfriend every couple of months, but Heeseung always took it with stride and came crawling back with on his hands and knees towards her every time.

"Hm, you're wrong. I don't think anyone can beat that man," the memory of him scoring a hat-trick in the regional final with the words 'Take me back, Minjeong' written on his undershirt that he flashed while he celebrated the last goal cemented his position of number 1 loverboy in your mind.

"Potentially, but Sungchan drove four hours overnight to your hometown when your pet hamster died to comfort you in the summer between first and second year," Karina reminded you, "He charmed your strict parents so hard that by the time the night came, they let him stay in your room with you!"

"He brought expensive melons," you rolled your eyes, "I don't even know where he got those from at 2 in the morning."

"Exactly. Even I wouldn't gift my in-laws that expensive of a fruit no matter how much I wanted to impress them," she countered, "Just talk to Sungchan, I beg. I don't want to watch you go through the whole will they-won't they song and dance of first year again. I gotta go to class, but text him now, yeah?"

You dumbly nodded at her instruction, watching her race out of the cafe and waving goodbye through the large window. Everyone always teased you about how much Sungchan seemed to like you. They never knew that you were equally as smitten.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You made it to the café before Sungchan. Unfortunately, that just gave you more time to panic and stress over what you were going to say to him after all this time. Your chocolate frappe and his iced americano sat in front of you, slowly melting in the unrelenting sun. You asked to meet at 1 and there was still 5 minutes 'til then, but Sungchan had the habit of being early. That was one thing he passed down to you.

"Y/N," Sungchan gave you a gentle smile as he slid into the seat across you. It was hard to meet his eye, but you held eye contact for as long as you could (not very long) before you tore your eyes away and slid his drink over to him. He thanked you sincerely and took a sip, giving you the chance to speak first.

"Thanks for meeting me, Sungchan," you began nervously, "I know it's been, um, confusing recently- at least for me. I just wanted to catch up and see where we are or get some closure, I guess. I feel like you deserve more of an explanation than what I was able to give you."

In an instant, you're transported back to one week before your flight to New York in the comfort of his bed. You had tearfully explained how hard you thought it was going to be to do long distance even when you had spent a better part of the situationship deluding yourself and each other that it would work out not matter what.

You don't think you could ever forget the look of heartbreak plastered on his face as you spilled your worries to him that night. You don't think you'd ever forgive yourself for making his body shake with sobs, pleading you to think about it again.

That's why it's hard to face him right now- because of all the shame and guilt.

"To be honest, Y/N, you told me before we got involved that you were doing your year abroad and that you didn't think it would be in the best interest of either of us to be in a new relationship by the time you left," Sungchan hummed, swirling his straw in the ice of his drink.

Suddenly, it's a year and a half earlier in your head as you and Sungchan celebrated and 'not really 1 year anniversary' because you two refused to label yourselves as a couple despite functioning identically to one. You remembered the cake, the flowers, the candles that you blew out together.

"I feel like I led you on," you admitted.

"Maybe," he shrugged, "I don't feel that way. You didn't want to get into a relationship, but I kept pursuing you anyway until you fell in- until you liked me," he coughed.

Your demeanour softened as the words slip from his mouth. When Sungchan tried to utter those three words to you at the airport for the first time and you stopped him before you could, you instantly knew you were making a mistake. But by the time you had gotten through security and settled yourself at your gate, you had manipulated yourself to think otherwise.

"Stop being so nice about it, Sungchan. I did you so wrong," you frowned deeply at him, picking at your nails in nerves. Your heart and stomach honestly ached in displeasure every time you thought about what happened.

"We made choices, and I guess we're better people now for it," Sungchan returned a tight-lipped smile, turning his head to stare out of the window and into the street.

When you left, Sungchan was shy and awkward with his limbs flying all over the place and never seeming like he had control over them. His hair fell around his eyes in an adorable cut and it would take him a while to muster up the courage to look anyone in the eye. That wasn't to say he wasn't a friendly and amazing guy- just one that had to warm up to you.

The Sungchan you returned to walked with confidence and seemed like he was now sure of himself. He kept his head up, initiated conversations with people and just moved through life more freely. You can't help but think that you were the one thing holding him back.

You didn't know what to reply with. Were you really better off? You had spent the past year trying to enjoy your life abroad, but grovelling with guilt for the life back home that you left.

Before you can open your mouth, someone beats you to it.

"Channie?"

The affectionate nickname falling from another person's mouth instantly conjures a bitter taste in your mouth. Your heads snap towards the guest standing at the edge of the table, smiling down at the man in front of you.

"Ah, I knew it was you," she beamed brightly, "Haven't had the chance to talk to you- how was your summer?"

Sungchan's eyes flickered to you so quick that you almost didn't catch it. You could tell he was hesitant in his reply, "It was good, Jiyoon. How was yours?"

She clapped her hands a little and nearly let out a squeal, "Awesome! Went to that mountain you recommended climbing! You're playing at the game tomorrow, right?"

Game? Oh, he was still on the soccer team, of course.

"Yeah," his grin was lopsided and awkward as he turned to you, "Um, Jiyoon, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jiyoon. We met in class last year."

"Nice to meet you," she extended a hand down to you, which you reluctantly shook with a terse smile. You could practically feel the uncertainty and jealousy bubbling in the pits of your stomach as she continued, "Me and Channie were seat mates in our lectures last year! It's such a shame we don't share any this year."

The feeling is so unfamiliar that it makes you uncomfortable seeing the way she grinned and looked at him. He used to look at you like that too- the longing and the pining in the gaze when you wouldn't give into him. It was clear they weren't dating, but it felt like there was something more.

"Nice to meet you too," you clutched your drink tight in your hand as you picked up your bag, "I actually have to run somewhere so why don't you take a seat and catch up? Seems like it's due. Bye Sungchan."

In your rush away from the table, Sungchan caught your wrist again, "Y/N, don't-"

Once again, you'll never forget the face of heartbreak written all over his face as you pulled your wrist away with a sigh, "Thanks for speaking to me, Sungchan. Good luck for tomorrow."

You don't dare look back as the bubbly Jiyoon slid into the chair you were once occupying.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Minjeong has her arms crossed in your doorway with a pointed look directed at you.

"Why aren't you ready?" she squinted her eyes menacingly at your slumbering position on the bed, "We're going to be late! You're lucky I asked Sunghoon to save us two seats."

You pulled the covers over your head, "I'm not going. Leave without me."

The little pitter-patter of her footsteps on your hardwood floors echoes before she ripped the sheets away from you, "And why is that?"

You made grabby-hands at the duvet, but she tossed it behind her. You gave her your best innocent look and produced a cough, "I'm sick?"

Minjeong scoffed loudly and tugged on your arm, "I'm not taking no for an answer, missy. This is your final first game of the season! And we're playing our rival team, so show some school spirit."

"But 'Jeong," you whined in protest as she threw open your wardrobe and began to search for your school merch.

"You don't have to see him if you don't want to," she sighed empathetically, "We'll run away as soon as it's done, but you loved school football games, right?"

It's about the time you realised that Minjeong wasn't going to let up on her insisting, so you slipped on the crop top and jacket with your school's logos and shimmied into the skirt she was making you wear, despite the temperature outside. Arm in arm, but in measured silence, the two of you fast-walked to the football arena that was only 15 minutes from your house. Thankfully the game hadn't yet started when you two clambered into the seats between Sunghoon, Heeseung's friend, and Anton.

"It's nice to see you again, Y/N!" Sunghoon grinned, taking you into a hug, "Did you miss Korea while you were gone?"

"Of course, but it was nice to experience a new culture for a bit," you replied, trying your hardest to keep your eyes off the pitch where the teams were getting into their positions, "How's the skating?"

"I won college nationals this year," he said proudly, to which you clapped and congratulated him. He was truly one of the school's pride and joy, but he didn't want to take it any further than collegiate sport, "Anyway, are you going to the after-party later? It's at the Rho Zeta house."

Minjeong's face planted into your right shoulder, "We are!"

"Jeong! You said we're leaving straight after the game!" you protested, turning your body to face her's.

"Yeah, to the party," she cackled, slapping an arm around her cousin's shoulders, "Tell her, Chanyoung. We're going to the party, right?"

His eyes suddenly turned pleading and you knew you were doomed for, "C'mon, Y/N! It's the first party of the year win or lose so you have to come."

Sunghoon looked at you with expectant eyes too and you honestly believed they were about three seconds away from begging on their knees when you rolled your eyes and dismissed them. Minjeong took this as a win and began to cheer, while also redirecting your attention back to the game in front of you.

When you were dating/not-dating, you used to come to every one of Sungchan's games wearing his jersey rain or shine. That's how you gained the status of being one of the most notorious couples in the grade. You didn't know why, but you were glad to see that no other girl was sporting his name and number on their back from what you could see. They weren't a famous team; they didn't sell jerseys with the players' names in the school store, so you were a little bit relieved to realise Sungchan wasn't giving out his jerseys to girls left, right and centre in your absence.

What was evident though, was the rambunctious screaming every time the ball fell at his feet. He was one of the team's star players along with Heeseung and Lee Minho, so you weren't surprised. However, the cheering had definitely stepped up a notch ever since he checked himself into the gym while you were gone.

The game passed by pretty quickly. Both defences were very good, so there weren't many goals scored. Heeseung had scored two both assisted by Sungchan and the other team had done the same. Though the game ended in a eventful tie, the crowd was still buzzing with pride and school spirit. Through the streets around the arena and the campus, you could hear them chanting some school songs.

"Are we meeting Heeseung there?" you asked Minjeong curiously as you walked together towards Greek row. Sunghoon had disappeared after the win to find some of his friends before the party, meanwhile Chanyoung was whisked away by Seunghan into the crowd

"Yeah, they'll be a while before they get to the house, I think. I know I was heavy persuading you earlier, but you're actually fine with coming to the party, right? You can tell me if not," her eyebrows are stitched together in worry, but you just link arms again and continued walking.

"It'll be nice to go out and do my normal things," you reassured her.

The Rho Zeta house was one that was very familiar to you. It was a house you had spent many a nights in during your second year when Sungchan lived at his frat house. You wondered if he stayed there or moved out with his friends.

There's some rushing freshmen on the door duty and you were let in swiftly when Minjeong uttered your names. Though Heeseung was a member of a different fraternity, the friends and partners of the football team were always invited to the post-game ragers. Making your way down to the basement where most people chose to spend their time, you waved to Eunseok in the kitchen making cocktails.

A fair few spectators had already made it to the party after the game finished, knocking back their third, fourth or fifth beer or beverage of choice already. When Wonbin pressed a shot into your hand and clinked it with the one in his, you had no choice but to chug it down with a grimace. Before you knew it, Eunseok was tipping back a cup of mojito down your throat and you and Minjeong were doing shots of tequila with your arms intertwined.

The Rho Zeta basement was expansive, but very busy. There were people playing beer pong in one corner (Sohee was losing badly to a grinning Anton) meanwhile sober monitor Shotaro was trying to pry the darts out of a drunk Seunghan's grip before he could try to throw them and potentially hurt someone. You swore that they kept those locked away in a cabinet during parties, but Seunghan was always a crafty guy.

Endless bodies swayed in the gaps of the basement to the rhythm of the music- the music being the mixes that Nu Sigma Tau alumni Johnny Suh was producing from his speakers in the far corner. He was truly a man stuck in his college days, but he always provided the best tunes. You had lost track of time early into the night before losing track of Minjeong completely when the football team arrived. You hid behind Johnny's equipment, making small (loud) talk with him about what he had been getting up to. In the corner of your eye, you had spotted Sungchan hovering in the crowds since he was probably a whole head taller than most of the attendees.

"I heard what happened to you and our bambi over there," Johnny uttered nonchalantly as he prodded at some buttons that you could never grasp the use of, "How's that working out?"

"It's the consequences of my own actions," you hummed sadly, "I've never regretted anything more."

"Does he know that?"

You flick your glance to the guy chatting with his best friend Eunseok by the wall, "I think I owe it to him to let him move on. There's so many girls interested in him since I left."

"And clearly he rejected all those girls if he came alone. I'm banishing you from my booth, so go talk to him." Johnny cooed at you before pushing you lightly away and into the crowd with a wave.

After the fiasco that was the café and Jiyoon, you certainly weren't prepared to face Sungchan. What could you even say to him? That you were burning with jealousy that you couldn't help but run away?

Yizhuo and Giselle occupied your time for a little bit on the couches, but once the smell of sweaty party goers began to invade your senses even while getting progressively drunker, you dashed/stumbled up to the second floor living room that was always much more chilled out.

"Y/N!" Soobin cried out excitedly as you entered the large room. He was already reaching over to offer you a beer, which you took. Behind Soobin's tall stature, you don't even notice the people sat in a circle behind him, "We're playing truth or dare."

Soobin was one of your friends you made in a club you joined in your freshman year. You didn't speak to him very much over text, but the two of you always had a good time when seeing each other. He wrapped his large hand around your wrist and dragged you over to sit in the circle. You recognised a few familiar faces as you cast your eyes around, namely Karina and some of Heeseung's friends, but your heart dropped when you saw Sungchan and Jiyoon sat cross-legged next to each other a few spaces to right of Soobin.

Even in your state, you weren't so much of a masochist to stay and watch. Leaning over to Soobin's ear, you whispered, "Shit Bin, I think I'm gonna sit this one out."

"No," he whined like a baby, "I haven't seen you in a year, so stay!"

His protest was so loud that it called the attention of some of your other friends who all drunkenly pouted and pleaded for you to stay. Some guy who you recognised as Sunwoo reached over the space in the middle and spun the bottle. You kept your eyes trained on it as spun around and around, praying it wouldn't land on you. A sigh of relief left your mouth as it fell on Chaerin, who quickly chose dare.

"Text your most recent ex and tell them that you miss them!" Sunwoo giggled through his drink.

As you nursed your own drink, you mirrored Chaerin's grimace and fought all your might to avoid looking at Sungchan. You would be horrified to have received that. Chaerin gingerly pulled out her phone and typed a few words before flashing her screen around the circle as proof. She then grabbed the bottle and spun it harshly.

"Jiwoo, truth or dare?" Chaerin taunted. Your eyes flashed to her figure momentarily as she giggled and chose dare as well.

"Kiss the person you'd most want to date."

You don't think you've ever felt such burning sadness as you watched Jiwoo quickly grab Sungchan's face and bring it down to hers for a quick peck. The grip on your bottle was nearly enough to smash the glass into a million pieces the way your heart was breaking.

It took everything in you not to get up and run away, especially when the alcohol in your bloodstream was making you feel your emotions ten times as strong. You couldn't make it about you- Sungchan didn't deserve that. The rest of the group's eyes had already turned to you after Jiwoo's kiss, considering that you and Sungchan never really kept it much of a secret. Even Karina was making 'are you okay?' eyes at you from across the circle. You simply gave her a subtle nod and a smile as Jiwoo spun the bottle too.

"You and Sungchan aren't back together?" Soobin dropped his face low to your ear.

"Does it look like we are, Soob?" you exhaled, watching Nayoung give Jay a drunk and joking lap dance.

"Shit," he breathed out under his breath, "Sorry I made you stay."

"It's okay. I should move on anyway, right?" you smiled assuringly at him. You don't think you've ever given such a fake smile in your life.

"Y/N," Soobin trailed off, trying to pry the bottle that you were sipping on away from your hands, "Should we go?"

"No, it's fine," you gritted out, pointing at the bottle spinning to direct his attention. Your heart dropped as it landed on you.

"Truth or dare, Y/N?" Jay mumbled.

You weren't going to risk it; Jay was known for giving batshit ideas, so you settled on, "Truth."

"How many people did you sleep with or kiss on your year abroad?" he smirked.

"Zero," you deadpanned instantly, "For both."

Jay pouted at your boring answer, but gestured for you to choose the next person. It landed on Yuri, who chose dare bravely. You were starting to dissociate a little, but managed to murmur some dare about giving her phone to Sunghoon and letting him post whatever on her story.

The game continued a while with you trying to focus as much as possible at burning a hole through the glass of your drink with Soobin asking you if you were okay every couple of minutes. It was hard not to turn your head and steal glances at Sungchan and Jiwoo, whose laugh reverberated through the room, your bones and then into your heart.

You were certain Jiwoo was a nice girl, but where did she come from? All your friends convinced you that Sungchan hadn't entertained anyone despite the newfound attention that you leaving brought to him and even his friends never mentioned anything when they would occasionally talk to you. Surely Jiwoo and Sungchan were close, right? Close enough for them to be recommending each other things to do in the summer and close enough for Jiwoo to quite literally kiss him in front of everyone.

"Sungchan, truth or dare?" an unfamiliar voice caused your head to slowly lift up.

"Dare," it's the first time you've heard his voice the whole game.

"Kiss the person you'd want to date in this room."

A light gasp escaped nearly everyone's lips as you examined the smirking player. You definitely didn't recognise him; maybe he was a freshman. His eyes were darting with a cheeky glint between Sungchan and Jiwoo, assuming that he was setting up a couple by echoing Chaerin's earlier dare for him.

"Taesan, choose a different dare," Karina's voice boomed as she directed laser eyes towards the boy. He instantly frowned.

"Why? It's fun!"

"Choose a different dare," Soobin repeated next to you.

In that moment, you wanted the world to just cave in and swallow you up whole. You didn't think that you could bare to watch your ex-boyfriend- the one who held your heart but the one whose heart you stomped all over- kiss another girl in a confession. Despite that, you were completely paralysed in your spot, cross legged and head having turned to Sungchan's direction.

At the same time that Karina began to get up and say, "Y/N, let's go downstairs,", Sungchan had pushed himself out of his seat under the watchful eyes of Jiwoo.

"Fuck it," he had laughed dryly.

Your vision changed in a moment's notice. Sungchan was staring straight into your eyes bearing the emotions of pleading. Pleading to ask you if what he was about to do was okay.

You think that you probably nodded unconsciously, because in an instant, Sungchan's plump lips found yours again for the first time in a year. They slotted perfectly in between your hesitant mouth, but like a reflex, your brain had finally connected to your body again and started moving against him.

Similar to the earlier gasps from all those who had known about your history together, the whole group had gasped and fell silent as they watched the scene unfold.

The kiss was not gentle at all. He moved against you harshly, desperately and his hands on your cheeks burned your skin, lighting a thousand flames inside you. Sungchan tasted a bit like the beer he was drinking, but also like the cherry lip balm that you had once bought for him and got him addicted to in the past. It caught you so off guard that you fell back onto your hands behind you, causing him to push deeper against you.

You were both panting when he finally pulled away.

"Y/N," he murmured lowly against your lips, "Let's go to my room."

You remembered getting up. You remembered his fingers interlacing between yours. You remembered practically running through the corridors to reach his familiar door at the end. You remembered Sungchan pressing you up against the wall inside his room and connecting his lips to your neck.

Then you don't remember anything after.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The next time your brain registers you're awake, there's a swirling in your stomach and something rising up your throat. In the lamp-lit glow of the seemingly strange room, you peeled the duvet off your sweating form and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom.

You didn't realise how you even knew there was a bathroom behind the door you had opened until a familiar hand was pulling your hair away from your face and rubbing your back as you emptied out the contents of your guts into the toilet.

"It's okay, baby," he cooed sweetly. The term of endearment flew over your head pretty much immediately, but your heart probably skipped a quick beat.

Tears brimmed at your lashes and threatened to spill as you hurled and hurled. How much had you had to drink?

"Sungchan?" you croaked out in between heaves.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here," he whispered into the dark, "You're in my room at the frat house."

Binge drinking wasn't a common reoccurrence of your freshman and sophomore days, but when you did, you always threw up in the middle of the night and became disorientated. You never knew where you were and how you got there.

When you finally finished throwing up, Sungchan had already tied your hair back with a tie he found on your wrist and had pulled you up against his body in the bathroom. With the lamp in his room on and the door open, you could make out his sleepy figure and messy hair in the mirror.

"Here, wash your face and brush your teeth," the toothbrush he handed you was old, but you recognised it as the one you kept in his room for the nights you would sleep over. Despite the banging headache and the questions floating around in your head, you managed to follow his instructions. There was no makeup left on your face from what you could tell, so someone must have taken a wipe to your face. You just splashed some water to refresh yourself and brushed your teeth to get the nasty taste out of your mouth.

Looking down, you were still in the skirt and college top from the party, but your socks and shoes had been replaced with fluffy socks that you loved to sleep in and all of your jewellery removed. Sungchan was waiting at the edge of his bed, eyes only half opened until you stepped back into the room again.

It looked the same as when you left, with a few pictures of you together removed in places. There were some weights in the corner too, but otherwise, it was a picture perfect reflection of before, as if time never passed.

"What happened? What am I doing here?" your throat burned from all the heaving you had been doing, but Sungchan passed you a water bottle and a pill, "All I remember was the game and you kissing me."

"We went to my room, but you passed out pretty quick," Sungchan recounted, "Sorry I kissed you. I slept on the floor, by the way."

You noticed the pillow and blanket missing from the bed. From the digital clock on Sungchan's desk, you could see it was still only 4am.

"Thanks for taking care of me. I'll catch a taxi home now," you looked around the room for your shoes, "Sorry for the vomit and stuff."

Sungchan rose to his feet, "Y/N, just stay. It's dangerous for you to leave at this time and you need to rest. It's okay. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can sleep in Eunseok's room."

Although your brain was blaring alarm signals in your mind and telling you to get out of there before anything else tragic could happen, your heart belonged to the bed that you missed sharing with him.

You sighed heavily and crawled back under the covers. With your eyes closed, you bared your true feelings into the silent room, "Please stay."

"Okay," he hummed, walking over to the other side of the bed where you assumed that he set up the pillow and blanket.

"Can you sleep with me? On the bed?" your voice was so quiet and hesitant despite your state that Sungchan didn't know if he just conjured that in his imagination until you spoke again, "Please?"

You shuffled over closer to your side of the bed closer to the door. He slid in on his side, closer to the window. Your head was spinning even lying down and you could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness already as his body heat combined with yours to wrap you up in a comfortable and familiar sensation.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm lying. I'm not sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry that you had to see her kiss me though."

"Why?"

"I'd never want you to think that I want anyone else other than you."

Your awareness faded into nothingness as you felt Sungchan's hands slip in between yours under the sheets.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"Y/N? What the fuck happened last night? Karina texted me and said some shit went down upstairs and you disappeared with Sungchan?" Minjeong's voice was laced with worry as she rushed to the door the second you stepped through.

Although she looked as haggard as you, she was much more preoccupied about where you went after she handed you your 3rd mojito of the night. You winced at her volume, "My head hurts like shit, Jeong. And my heart too."

"Jay told me what happened. Are you okay?" Heeseung's voice was quieter as you entered the open plan living space. He was sat on your couch with a bowl of cereal in the space between his crossed legs and Minjeong's iPad playing some TV show on the coffee table.

"Y/N? Hello?" Minjeong waved in your face.

"I don't want to talk about it, guys," you groaned, "Some girl kissed him. He kissed me. We went to his room. I passed out immediately and woke up throwing up. That's all."

"You didn't talk? Not this morning?" she prodded on.

It was only 11am. Your face involuntary cringed with regret.

Minjeong gasped dramatically, "Y/N, if you tell me right now that you left before he even woke up, I'm literally going to kill you. Y/N, that's such shitty behaviour. Honestly."

"Please don't make me feel worse than I already do," you sniffled as her words brought tears to your eyes, "I literally don't know what to do. All I want to do is let him go for his sake, but he keeps dragging me back to him."

She wrapped you up in a tight hug and smoothed out your hair, "Y/N, just go back to his room and tell him how you feel. Let him tell you how he feels too. You're going to keep going around in circles if you keep running from him, and it's going to end in heartbreak again."

You cried into her shoulders for a few minutes in sheer frustration, until she pushed you out of the door and made Heeseung drive you mid-bowl of cereal to the frat house to make sure you actually went inside.

On your grand exit out of the house that you prayed would go unnoticed, you had ran into Shotaro in the living room cleaning. He had given you a disappointed look, but your pleading eyes convinced him not to say anything as you slipped out of the door shortly after waking up. The expression on your face must have told him that you were sneaking away from his best friend.

It was Shotaro who opened the door for you when you knocked just 20 minutes after you left.

"You came to your senses?" Shotaro quirked an eyebrow at you as he stepped aside to let you in. You waved goodbye to Heeseung as he drove back in the direction he came in.

"I'm sorry, Taro."

"I'm not the one you should be saying that to," he sighed defeatedly, "Please don't hurt him again, Y/N. I love you both, but please."

All you could give him was a faltering smile as you ascended up to the second floor again. There were still some cups and miscellaneous items left strewn around the house, so you assumed that the frat brothers were mostly still asleep.

You tiptoed up to Sungchan's room and knocked three times, lightly, before pushing the door open. He was still curled up tightly on his side of the bed, cuddling a stuffed bear that you got him. It was exactly how you found him when you woke up again in the morning.

His face was so peaceful and angelic when he slept, soft snores escaping between his parted lips. In the past, you used to wake him up by peppering kisses on his smooth skin until he woke up. He used to wake up confused, until a smile would invade his face when he realised you were there. It used to make your heart feel all tight and warm in the best way possible.

Your breath hitched when Sungchan stirred to face his body towards you. Though his eyes stayed close, his breathing became noticeably shallower.

"You left," his voice was mercifully devoid of accusation, but it made your heart split down the middle all the same.

"I'm so sorry," it was pathetic, but that was all you could bring yourself to say.

Unwrapping his arm out from the tangle with his stuffed plushie, he patted the empty space on the bed that was still a bit warm. The weight of your body dropping onto the bed caused him to scooch a bit closer to you with his eyes still firmly closed.

"Can we just stop being sorry now? You're back now with no plans to leave again, so why do you keep running away from me?"

"Sungchan," you breathed out his name, but he opened his mouth again.

"I'll prove to you that all I want is still you. There's no one else, Y/N. You hurt me a lot, but I know you didn't want to. Let's give it another go. Do it properly and call each other boyfriend and girlfriend," his lips tugged up into a soft smile.

You didn't even know when you started crying but at the sound of your sniffle, his hands came up to wipe at your cheeks.

"Why are you crying?"

"What did I do to deserve someone like you? You deserve someone better," you choked out through your hot tears.

He let out a soft laugh as his eyes finally opened slowly and met yours, "Stop asking questions and saying sorry and just accept that I want to love you, Y/N."

His words triggered a waterfall of tears to stream down your face, but he pulled you down into the bed with him and wrapped you up in his arms tightly. It felt like home again.

"I loved you, Sungchan. I did."

He brushed the hair out of your face and planted a searing kiss on your temple, "I know, Y/N. I knew. Stop crying and go back to sleep with me. It'll all be okay when we wake up. I promise, baby."

He tucked his bear into your grasp and pulled the sheets over your bodies again. His arms returned around you and he continued to press the most gentle touches of his lips on your forehead, your temples, your nose and finally onto your lips that held back choked sobs until you slipped out of consciousness.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"I wanna know everything you did in New York," Sungchan requested softly as he swung next to you. On the walk to your apartment from his that he accompanied you on after you both woke up, you spotted the playground equidistant between both residences empty. The two of you had spent a few nights there in the past swinging beside each other and talking, so it seemed perfect to go there again to talk- somewhere public and open.

You texted Minjeong that you were on the way back to your flat to change and freshen up and she kindly left with Heeseung as to not make the situation any more awkward or tense by having them meet in such a circumstance. Sungchan just sprawled in your bed and scrolled on his phone as you showered, changed and applied your skincare. After a night of drinking, throwing up and not moisturising after washing your face in the middle of the night, your skin had been going through it. When you plugged in your hairdryer and made him scooch over silently so you could sit on the bed, Sungchan had sat up and taken the dryer out of your grasp, motioning for you to turn around.

"Someone's watched Queen of Tears," you humoured over at him as the humming and heat began to fill the room.

"Just like the entire country," he jested back, "I guess we're a bit like them."

"Chaebols who get married and hate each other until one of them gets a seemingly incurable illness?" through the mirror at the end of your bed, you saw Sungchan roll his eyes playfully.

"Two people that find their way back to each other," he had corrected softly.

His words struck you silent, just watching him direct the dryer at your hair while thoughts swarmed in your head. You weren't sure if your neck was burning up from the dryer or from his fingers bumping against your skin every so often.

Since the two of you woke up, you could probably count on your hands how many times you'd spoken. You'd settled into this comfortable, but weighted silence knowing that sooner or later you'd probably have to properly talk to navigate the events of the night prior. You had delayed it a bit by asking to go home and change and he walked you all the way wordlessly other than suggesting to go to the park after.

When you were done getting ready, the two of you made your way to the park. This time, Sungchan had grabbed your hand firmly in his at the very first instance of your skin brushing. He was much more bold than when you had left.

"What do you want to know?" you quirked an eyebrow as he kicked off the ground to swing higher.

"If it was everything you dreamed of. If you missed home. If you made friends," he listed out, looking over at you.

You sighed and thought back. Over the past few weeks since you'd been back, everyone had asked you the same questions. For the most part, you had given the same answer to all of them robotically, but you felt like Sungchan deserved a bit more than your usual spiel.

"The city was incredible. New York was always my dream. I got to travel a little around the country too, so that was nice. It got really lonely pretty quickly, even though I made a lot of friends. It's just so busy and everyone has their own thing," you recounted slowly, "I missed home as soon as I left, but I do miss the friends I made in New York. America is very different to Seoul though."

"Did you mean what you said at the party? There was no one else?" his voice was shaky as he asked. You knew it wasn't something he took lightly.

"I wouldn't lie to you," you affirmed strongly, "I really did miss you and regretted everything the second I left. I was too ashamed to admit my mistake, so I'm sorry for hurting you unnecessarily. I don't regret going to New York, but I regret leaving you."

He stops the swing by planting his feet firmly. His eyes bore into yours as he tried to analyse your emotions.

"I grew a lot in that year apart, so I guess I should thank you for that. I learned that I should fight for what I want and I think we can be better this time around," Sungchan nodded, "And I missed you a lot. I keep saying it, but I just want you to know I never hated you or thought of you in anger while you were away."

The silence that followed must have freaked him out a little because he quickly continued.

"And about Jiyoon. Just, um, ignore her, please. I never knew she felt that way and I promise that I never acted in a way that might have conveyed that I felt the same," Sungchan blurted out with wide eyes, "I just- didn't know how to bring you up to her. We honestly didn't see each other very much; she just exaggerated."

You giggled a little at his panic and reached over the iron links to take his hand, "I trust you, Sungchan. You were free to do anything you wanted, but still, I trust you. You're allowed to have friends."

With a squeeze of his hand, Sungchan stood up and loomed over you on your swing. He tugged softly to get you up on your feet and clasped his hands around your waist when you did. Sungchan pulled you close to him, chest to chest.

Gasping, you looked around to make sure the playground was still empty, "Sungchan!"

He nuzzled his face down, close against yours with your foreheads pressed together, "You're all I could ever want. Please don't leave me again."

Your body completely melted into his as you brought your cold hands up to his warm cheeks. Bravely, you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely missing his lips, "I won't, Channie."

"Is it too fast to tell you I love you? I've been waiting to say it for over a year," Sungchan pulled his head back and scrunched his face up, "Does that make me too much of a loser? Being this down bad for you?"

All the tension and stress left your body; you could finally return to normal and joke with Sungchan as you giggled into his neck, "Maybe. Do you not want to be?"

"No, I love you," he chuckled along, grazing his nose against yours again before pressing his warm lips on yours.

His lips were pillowy, parting your lips and allowing him to push deeper. He was much more gentle this time than the night before, but a squeeze on your waist caused your breath to hitch and allowed him to run tongue along your bottom lip. You could feel the outpour of emotions in his kiss and how desperate he was to let you know them.

In the year without Sungchan, your heart grew fonder and fonder and you thought to yourself how you were never going to waste another minute with him.

Sungchan had been the first to pull away, looking down at you with half-lidded, passion-filled eyes, "Let's go back before some family comes and reports us to the police."

"Ha, for doing what?" you teased, hooking your fingers around his belt loops.

His eyes transformed into a glare as he stepped away from you and moved towards the exit, "Very funny, Y/N. Yours or mine?"

"Mine," you shrugged, "Minjeong's out with Heeseung and your frat brothers are all home and hungover."

Sungchan just grinned at you, swinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you tight to his body, "I can't wait to tell everyone you're mine again."

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The last game of the season was the national finals. You had been nervous all week watching Sungchan leave every day for extra practice when he usually only trained once a week with the team.

With a cup of cola in one hand and a cardboard sign in the other, you fought through the crowd on the bleachers to find the available seat between some of your friends. Minjeong was already settled in her seat, scolding Seunghan and Sohee for playing with her I <3 Heeseung homemade headband.

"You made it!" Chanyoung clapped happily as you sat between him and his older cousin. On the other side of him, the rest of the boys waved at you excitedly.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, of course!" you beamed. The whole arena was vibrating with excitement as nearly the whole student population turned up for the game. It was the final big event in the school calendar before the stress of final exams took over, so everyone was letting their hair down a little.

There was a section of supporters of the other team tucked away in the corner, but otherwise the people meshed together in a sea of your school colours. They had won the draw as to which school the game would be played at. You yourself was sporting a jersey nearly identical to the one that Sungchan would be coming out in soon. The shirt on his back fit his frame nicely, but it draped over you like a dress.

"Channie's gonna play good tonight because his lucky charm's here," Wonbin snorted teasingly, "He was shit all of last season."

"Wonbin," Eunseok hissed, but you just laughed with the long-haired boy.

"I'm really excited. I know they'll win." you waved the "GO #23" sign towards them.

You watched the field in anticipation as they ran out to erupting cheers from the supporters and watched as Sungchan searched the crowds for his group of friends as soon as they settled in a line. He waved in a small gesture, but all of you stood up and flailed your hands everywhere. You shook the sign vigorously and watched as his face contorted in awe and appreciation.

The game was absolutely nerve wracking. Your arms were interlocked and clutched tightly with Minjeong's and the two of you moved like one being standing up to shout at bad referee decisions or cheer at good tackles. Heeseung and Sungchan were playing well up front together, dominating the field so far with a few decent shots on target. Being the most dangerous on the field, the other team's defence were taking them on left, right and centre, causing your faces to be stuck in a permanent grimace for the first half.

Seunghan tried to start a cheer at half-time and that provided enough entertainment for your group when it miserably failed to notice the passage of time. In fresh shirts and refreshed motivation, your team went all out and scored 2 goals. Heeseung's celebrations towards Minjeong were sweet and had her swooning with flushed cheeks.

The other team had managed to score a goal, but in the 87th minute, Sungchan had broken away from his marker around the halfway line and poured all of his might into completing his run to the goal. The goalkeeper had a lot of time to anticipate Sungchan's goal, but his left foot was powerful enough to send the ball hurtling past the keeper's fingers and into the back of the net.

Screaming and yelling in joy, Sungchan slid in the direction of your friends and blew kisses in your direction. Beaming ear to ear, you deafened your friends with your ecstatic whoops. His teammates jumped on his body and then dragged him back to his position for the final 3 minutes.

Safe to say, they won the final.

After a celebration with medals, Prosecco and school cheers, you were waiting in the lobby just outside the changing rooms.

Sohee was talking your ear off about some game that he had started playing with Seunghan when a hand snaked around your waist and you felt the flutter of lips hovering over your neck.

"There's my girl. Hi, baby," he murmured against you. After sweating for 90 minutes, the boys definitely all had to take showers, so his hair was still slightly dripping over the jersey on your back.

"Channie, I'm so proud of you. Congratulations!" spinning around in his grip, you hooked your arms around his neck as he buried his head in yours.

"Your support meant everything to me. Thank you for the banner! I have the best girlfriend ever," he pulled back and beamed down at you, planting a peck on your expectant lips.

Despite having been officially his girlfriend for over 6 months now, the title still made your heart flutter to this day. You'd never forgive your past self from depriving yourself from having Sungchan as you had him now. Despite being the sweetest companion in your early university days, he had held himself back a little due to your hesitation.

Now that you were all in, Sungchan showered you with love, praise and support in anything you did. You tried your best to reciprocate and most days, it felt like your heart could explode every time you looked at him from how your love seemed to grow more and more every day.

He was the perfect gentleman and the perfect boyfriend. He brought you snacks whenever you had to stay late at the library and tucked you tight in his chest under the covers on the days that the world seemed to be collapsing - it never did, maybe thanks to him.

In short, adoring Sungchan became part of your daily routine. A task that you were happy to continue for the rest of your life.

"And I have the most amazing boyfriend in the world," you rested your cheek against his chest as you squeezed him tighter, "I love you, Sungchan."

His heartbeat thumped in your ear as he smoothed out your hair with his palm. The rhythm was strong and constant, as dependable as he was. You felt the love in his touch, no need for words.

Jung Sungchan was a man of his word. As long as you stayed by each other's side, everything would be okay. The world continues to spin. Your heart continues to beat for him.

630 notes · View notes

hier--soir · 11 months ago

Text

a lover's pinch | seven

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: things get a little messy after returning home. a confrontation sparks the beginning of a new stage in your relationship with joel. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, angst, miscommunication trope, self-doubt, alcohol consumption/hangover, joel is 50 and he texts like it, les mis spoilers???, phantom of the opera spoilers???, jealous!joel, food/eating, hurt/comfort, professor DAD, professor COWBOY, soft emotional smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, oral [f!receiving], joel says dadgum cause i think it's so classic him and so cute. word count: 11.1k jesus series masterlist | main masterlist chapter moodboard a/n: merry christmas to all that celebrate. as always, thank you for your patience and kindness. the love for this series is nothing short of mind blowing, and i appreciate you all endlessly. i hope you enjoy this angst and potentially the most flowery + emotional ALP smut yet [if that's even possible]. also rachel i love you i'm sorry. without further ado, the beginning of our descent into The End Times x follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is part seven of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six.

Tuesday.

It's nine thirty in the morning and you buy a Coke anyways.

It’s raining heavy outside; fat droplets of water that splatter against the windscreen of your car and dribble down, slipping through the crevice at the top of the bonnet, searching for the engine, for the oil gasket, for somewhere undercover to dry out.

You tuck your legs beneath yourself, sit criss-cross in the driver’s seat, and take small sips of fizzing black sugar. Allow it to moisten your lips, coat your tongue and your teeth in that sickening, viscous way soda always does, before it slips down your throat.

There’s something unearthly about the day, unnerving—it’s Tuesday morning and you’re hungover. A dull ache behind your left eye, a kink in your neck. You check your phone.

Thick, rolling clouds loom across the sky. Occasionally, a flash of lightning, a thrum of thunder. You tear open a packet of peanuts and pluck one out, and then another. Eat until your lips are dry and puckered, and then take another drink. More peanuts then. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet.

It’s all you can stomach as your liver pumps and spasms, still working to cleanse your blood of the night before, spent sprawled on the couch with Trin and Nora.

Wearing sweaters and thick socks, gripping full glasses of wine, and watching Les Misérables. Nora, tears on her cheeks, had sung along with Hugh Jackman—'This innocent who bears my face, who goes to judgement in my place, who am I?’—and you, bleary-eyed and tipsy, had discreetly checked your phone.

You didn’t cry during I Dreamed A Dream but you’re crying for this? Trin rolled her eyes.

He sacrifices his freedom to save that man, Nora whimpered.

You woke up starving and the traffic was slow. At every red light and stop sign your fingers itched against the wheel, desperate to press inside your bag and pull out this little packet. And now, safe in the campus parking lot, you feast. Salty, sweet, salty, sweet. You feel a fleeting moment of pity for people with peanut allergies, and then you check your phone.

Still nothing.

Since you left New York on Monday morning there’s been no sign of life from Joel. No get home safe, no see you on Tuesday; no acknowledgement at all.

You stare dejectedly at the messages you’ve sent him.

First from yesterday afternoon:

Home now. Enjoy your last day in the big apple x

And then from late last night, two bottles of wine deep:

It’s raining and miserable here

Wish I was still in new york

With you

Sitting in your car now, glowering at the blank space where his response should be, you reconcile with the thought that perhaps he wants what happened in New York to stay in New York. Stolen glances and all-too-brief touches in a conference hall, his hand on your wrist at the museum, skin against skin in his hotel room, and in yours—perhaps it was supposed to happen there, not here. The lowering of walls came with a change in location, and maybe that was his intention. But those thoughts don’t ease the sharp twist in your chest when you think of him. Doesn’t take away how much you wish he would give you something – a morsel of communication, even a single word of acknowledgement. For as hard as you try to understand, you can’t forget the look in his eyes when he touched you at the cloisters, the way he breathed your name into your mouth. Sewing the seed of JoelJoelJoel into in the soft folds of your brain, impossible to forget.

You don’t think about his dinner with Rachel. Don’t consider that something may have happened that night, something that changed his mind about you. Something that made him rethink the entire weekend as you slipped into the shower and out the door, leaving him alone in your hotel bed while you headed to the airport.

No. You don’t think about that at all.

When you make it inside, clothes wet and cool from the rain, you shake your hair out like a dog. Let droplets fly across the hall as you make your way into the lecture theatre; a drizzled trail left in your wake.

The room is full when you step inside, but there’s no sign of him yet. You collapse into an empty chair in the front row and wait. The final few students filter in through the door, shaking out umbrellas and wiping their feet. And for another ten minutes you, foolishly, still expect Joel to show up.

It’s only when the door creaks open and an old man walks through, that you let the hopeful feeling rest.

He lays a worn old satchel against the desk and turns to smile at the room.

“Hello,” the stranger smiles, and his jowls quiver as he speaks. “I’m Jerry Dorfman, a Professor from the literature department, and…”

You zone out for a second, eyes darting down to your phone screen. Nothing.

“Oh, and Professor Miller,” Dorfman says, as if he’s just remembered that he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be standing up there, in his spot. “Is tied up with a family matter. I trust he’ll be back with us later in the week.”

A family matter?

Slick with rain, staring at this stranger stood in Joel’s place, you feel like a kind of newborn. Some fresh lamb, soaked in the blood and amniotic fluids of her mother’s womb, staring through unseeing eyes, hoping to glean some understanding of this moment. This sudden burst of light, this shocking cold after so many weeks of warmth, of sweat and strong hands on your skin, holding you close. But this is Eros; the blacksmith, the limb-loosener, the crusher. A deviation from stoking the flame to the suddenly desperate, grasping loneliness of feeling as though you are standing by a lover’s window, staring helplessly through the glass, and watching them from the outside. Alone.

Dorfman tries and fails to connect his laptop to the projector.

Numb fingers type;

Are you okay? Where are you?

But no response comes.

No, not until later that night, not until you’re tucked beneath the covers of your bed, showered and sleepy, does he finally reach out.

The clock has just ticked past midnight when your phone vibrates.

Hey, I had to stay in the city another day. Just landed at PWM. See you on Thursday.

A hot, jagged feeling swims in your gut as you read the message, and then reread it. Twice, three more times, searching for some hint of familiarity. Some indication that he has been thinking about you as much as you’ve been thinking about him. That the past weekend meant something to him, like it meant to you.

Minutes pass, and when you don’t find what you’re looking for, you fall asleep without responding.

Thursday.

Nora wakes up with a stuffy nose.

This always happens to me, she sniffs. I hate being sick.

The tiles in the kitchen are cold beneath your bare toes and rain smears heavily against the windowpane. You can hear fat blooms of thunder bellowing outside. Nora’s sullen, husky voice paired with the steam rising from your mug are all it takes to convince you to stay home with her.

The two of you spend the day curled on the sofa beneath blankets. You stare at your laptop, a document open on your screen with the title of an essay sitting pretty at the top. The cursor blinks and blinks at you, taunting you, daring you to write something, anything. But Sex and The City is playing on the tv, and Nora is snoring at the other end of the sofa, and you can’t help but watch the minutes tick by on the clock. Listen to Carrie and Miranda argue about Big, and wonder if Joel has even noticed your absence.

Trin gets home from class, and you follow her into the kitchen. Peel and slice oranges and apples and lemons while she tells you about her day. Boil them in sugar with cinnamon and star anise while she complains about an argument she had with her boyfriend. Add red wine and brandy while she tells you that her Dad sent her some money, and she’ll order take out for the three of you.

So together you huddle in the lounge and eat hot Indian food with your hands. Soak pieces of naan in tarka dal and saag paneer and top if off with mulled wine, unphased by the clashing of flavours in your mouths.

And you don’t check your phone, or look at the time, and you don’t complain when Nora asks, with glassy-eyes and spinach in her teeth, if she can put on another musical.

He’s a freak, Trin frowns at the TV.

He loves her, Nora implores, staring doe-eyed at a masked Gerard Butler.

Nor, Trin scoffs, he put a wedding dress on a mannequin that looks just like her. In his fucking lair, no less. That’s freak behaviour.

He has amazing sideburns though, Nora grins. So he gets a pass.

Your phone vibrates as Erik strokes a passed-out Christine’s face, singing help me make the music of the night.

Careful that Nora won’t notice, you pull it from beneath your thigh.

Where were you today?

You stare at the words for a moment and feel your lips curl into an disbelieving sneer.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, and shove your phone into the crevice between the sofa cushions.

Wednesday.

A week goes by with no word from Joel.

No word from you either.

You stay home every day. Write and read and catch up on work and take Benadryl and sip soup and then you wake one morning, relieved to find that Nora’s cold has finally left your system.

So you tug on jeans, a sweater, and share a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Share quiet conversation with Pete in his shitty old Beamer as he gives you a ride to campus, and walk into Rachel’s lecture with zero expectation that today will be the day you finally see Joel again.

“We understand that Antigone is a victim of her father’s sins,” Rachel explains. “In the wake of patricide, of incest, every one of her actions is seen as a direct consequence.”

“Even her fate to be buried alive was sewn by her father’s unwitting actions,” she pauses, eyes searching the faces across the room, gauging reactions. “And, of course, this concept isn’t unique to Greek mythology. We see it plainly in the Bible, in Exodus; the sins of your father are to be laid upon the children… these themes of ancestral curses, of the inevitability of fate – they are integral to understand when looking at our tragic heroines. We saw it with Medea, we see it with Antigone, with Iphigenia, with Electra. Electra herself said, we are bound to acquiesce—”

An interrupting knock sounds against the door. Rachel’s head swivels around, eyebrows knitted in frustration as she calls for whoever it is to come in.

The door creaks open and her expression lifts. A saccharine smile spreads across her face, shoulders loosening.

“Joel,” she says warmly. “What can I do for you?”

A shiver wracks down your spine, toes curling in your sneakers.

The broad mass of him rests in the doorway. His head peeks past the wood, just a glimpse of his curls, his glasses, visible from where you sit. Your heart thunders in your chest, palms going damp at the prospect of this being the moment you finally see him again.

He speaks a few words in her direction, too quiet to catch, and then he’s taking a step into the room. His hand grips the edge of the door, keeping it open, and he casts a glance out towards the audience. Dark brown and searching, those eyes filter through countless faces until they finally land on yours.

And for a second, he doesn’t say a word. Just gazes out at you, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of his forehead, and then—and then he fucking looks back at Rachel. Your stomach goes hollow when you see the smile on her face. She lazes against the corner of her desk, and it feels like minutes go by as the two of you stare at him. And there’s something about waiting, you think, that feels like torture. That slow, painful build-up of pressure as you sit and stare and prepare yourself to discover who he’s here for. You or her.

You’re reminded painfully of a Graham Greene quote. A passage from The End of the Affair – one you’d, perhaps foolishly, found romantic when you read it that first time. Chosen words that had warmed your chest and made you feel light, lighter than air; the way only words could do sometimes.

‘Yes, Henry?’ and then ‘You?’ She had always called me ‘you’. ‘Is that you?’ on the telephone, ‘Can you? Will you? Do you?’ so that I imagined, like a fool, for a few minutes at a time, there was only one ‘you’ in the world and that was me.

Now, as you stare at Joel in the mouth of the doorway and memory of that passage sinks its hooks in, you feel only contempt for Greene.

For you had always read that passage imagining yourself as Sarah. And someone else, some misfortunate Maurice Bendrix, had fallen into your lap, and he was the ‘you’. But not you, never you. And it’s that pride which deceives. That pride which lulls us into false senses of security.

Joel says your name then.

Says, “Can I speak with you?” You, you, you.

And it should feel like relief, to hear your name on his lips again. But you catch the way he spares another glance, soft and sympathetic, in Rachel’s direction, and that sickly hurt isn’t abated.

Her face falls, but she smiles at you. Nods her permission for you to leave the room, and only when you’re halfway across the lecture theatre, bag swung over your shoulder, does she continue speaking to the class.

Palm flat against the door, he holds it open for you, making you press against him as you slip out of the room. It clicks shut behind you and he begins to move down the hall, leaving you to follow behind with no explanation. You assume that he’s going to lead you to his office, or anywhere more private than this, but a metre from the door Joel pauses abruptly, turns, and you slam into his chest with a huff.

“Jesus,” you mutter, stumbling a few steps back.

“Where have you been?” he glowers, brows drawn tight and angry over his eyes.

“What?”

“I’ve been busy,” you grit, glaring back. “Where have you been?”

“Busy?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ve been busy too. Busy teachin’ the classes that you don’t even show up for.”

“I’ve been sick,” you roll your eyes, unable—or perhaps just unwilling—to stray from nastiness, from spite. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Don’t—” Joel snaps, and flinches as quickly as the word comes out of his mouth, surprised by how harsh it sounds in the air between the two of you. He takes a step closer, voice low now—“Don’t call me that.”

“Fuck, what is your problem?” you huff, eyes widening, exasperated. “I missed two classes, it’s not a big deal.”

“And the silence?” Joel takes a step forward as he says it. Close enough now to see the smudges on the lens of his glasses. Close enough to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Too close for public; too close for here. “Can’t even text me back, huh? What the hell is goin’ on with you?”

Your body pulls taut at that, hands balling into fists at your sides.

“Oh, you don’t like silence?” you hiss, matching his volume. “You can’t be serious. Joel, I didn’t hear from you for days after New York. Why would I waste my breath when it’s obvious you don’t want to fucking hear from me?”

“It was barely two days,” he shakes his head, shakes off the insinuation, shakes off whatever blame you’re trying to put on him.

“Two days,” you nod, smirking angrily. “Two days after we spent an entire weekend together. Two days after we kissed and fucked and practically went on a date.”

And the word date must elicit something in him. Some minute, man-brain trigger that snaps him to attention and helps him understand the hurt on your face, the tremble in your hands. Because he says your name, voice softening, posture loosening, every bit of his body language screaming out that he wants to step forward and touch you.

And he’s speaking again, voice low, but there’s people coming down the hall, heading your way. Two figures that you can’t make out through the haze of Joel in your immediate vision. So when he reaches out and touches your hand you flinch, jutting your chin over his shoulder. A warning. Don’t do this here.

One of them calls your name and you pause, mouth open. Drag your eyes away from Joel’s features to watch the figures get closer.

“Pete,” you force a smile. “Hey.”

You realise quickly how it must look; your sullen expression, Joel staring down at you with his shoulders hunched. He must understand at the same moment, because he takes a quick step away, folds his hands behind his back.

“Hey,” Pete takes a step closer. He glances warily between you and Joel, confusion colouring his face. “Everything cool?”

Stony faced, Joel looks between the two of you, posture stiffening the longer he stares at Pete. So much larger than him, taller and broader and far more intimidating. But a man with a secret to keep isn’t one to jump quickly at confrontation, so he keeps his mouth shut. Let’s you do the talking.

Ian catches your eye over Pete’s shoulder and offers a sleazy sort of smile. You swallow down a glare and hold Pete’s gaze.

“Everything’s fine,” you lie, taking a step towards them. A step away from Joel. “What’s up, what are you guys doing in this building?”

Pete’s eyebrows pull together, and he cocks his head at you. “Said you needed a ride home today. This morning, remember?”

“This morning,” you repeat, nodding slowly. You raise your hand and pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking quickly, mind a mess. “I, uh… right, look, Pete, I actually forgot I have a meeting with Professor Miller about my final essay this afternoon.”

“Your final…” Pete trails off, frowning. “Isn’t that due in like a month?”

“Yeah,” you say vaguely, and do not look at Joel. “I’ll find a way home later, okay?”

“I mean, sure. I guess,” Pete agrees reluctantly, reaching up to grip the strap of his satchel. “Call me if you need me okay?”

And Joel’s face turns to stone at the insinuation in those words. The idea that Pete could give you anything he couldn’t. That anyone would need to swoop in and save you from him.

The pair of you stand in silence for a moment, eyes trained on Pete and Ian’s retreating backs as they head down the hall. You watch and watch until they turn the corner, disappearing from sight, and only then do you exhale a breath of relief.

You contemplate leaving him there. Turning your back on him and returning to Rachel’s lecture, ignoring his texts and letting this all fade into some painful memory. But when you look at him again—at those big brown eyes that gaze back at you—you know you couldn’t if you tried.

“You look tired,” he frowns, and it’s not angry anymore. A little sad, maybe.

“I am,” you admit, and wonder if your face betrays how much of a role he plays in that exhaustion.

“Are you hungry?”

You stare for a moment, blinking slow, and then say, “Yeah.”

Joel nods, attempts a crooked smile, and says, “Let me take you to get something to eat.”

It’s silent in Joel’s car, aside from the soft patter of rain against his windows and the dull squeak of his windscreen wipers sliding it away. The truck glides through the winding streets of Biddeford, cruising down the main road and into the left lane of a fast-food drive thru. Orders you a burger, fries, nothing for himself, passing the bag into your lap and then continuing to drive.

The bun is soft beneath your fingers. Grease soaks your skin, and you taste beef, taste onions so soft, so sweet. A crimson dot of ketchup spattered onto your pants; a bright shock of mustard on your tongue. A fry here and there. Joel’s hand, outstretched fingers, sneaking across the centre console to steal one. You shift the paper bag on your lap, tilt the opening so it faces him, easier to access, but he doesn’t take another.

He grips the wheel and asks, “Do you want me to take you home?”

You think about Pete waiting for you at the house. Think about if Ian and that filthy smirk on his face and whether or not he’ll be there too. Think about having to flesh out your excuse, your lie, and finally say, “No.”

Joel keeps driving. You eat until your pants feel tight and the greasy brown bag is crumpled in your fist and he’s pulling his truck off the road and into a short driveway.

“Full?”

“Very.”

“Good.”

“Is this your house?”

“This is it.” He drags the keys out of the ignition and knocks the door open. It’s not long, barely a second, before he’s pulling yours open with a rough yank and a soft, “Door always sticks on this side.”

A vague sound spills from the back of your throat, and he guides you up a path towards the small home. Single storey, with a large brown door and windows decorating the outward façade. Your immediate thought is that it’s very Joel, but you stop the idea in its tracks. Remind yourself that maybe it isn’t your place to think things like that.

Inside it’s even more silent, even more tense. The two of you stand in the entry way, toeing off damp shoes. Your eyes flit around his front room, but it’s difficult to focus on anything. Too much to look at, too much you want to know, and you find it easier to just look at him.

“Realised you’d never been here,” Joel murmurs after a while. He shifts awkwardly on his feet, decidedly unsure of what to say as he rests beneath the weight of your stare. “This is the, uh, the livin’ room. Kitchen’s over there.”

When you don’t respond, he clears his throat, ticks his head towards the hallway. “Bathroom is down the hall. Bedroom too.”

You feel your face shift. Deadpan stare turns to surprise, to incredulity, to blatant anger.

“Oh, the bedroom, huh?” you smile, sardonic, cutting. Your throat feels tight. “S’that seriously why you brought me here? Ice me out and then come crawling back when you want something to fuck again?”

“Woah, hey,” his eyebrows shoot up, hands drifting forward like he’s trying to calm a startled animal.

“Don’t,” you hold up a shaking hand, eyes wide and wet suddenly. “Just… don’t touch me right now, okay? What are we doing here, Joel? Seriously.”

He says your name hard and fast, surprised by how quickly it’s all unravelling, spilling from you in a tidal wave.

And spill it does. The words are wet and watery, a tsunami of pent up emotions pouring from your mouth without permission, without forethought.

“I mean, we haven’t seen each other since New York. And I… I thought being there changed things between us. But maybe I was wrong… and then you pull me out of a lecture, bring me here and say my bedroom is down the hall? Am I just… do you just like having someone to fuck whenever you want? Is that it? Someone at your beck and call?”

Joel repeats your name, sharper this name. “Don’t put fuckin’ words in my mouth.” His face pinches in anger, hands dropping.

“When it’s not convenient you try to shake me off, but when it is—at a bar, or out of town—” you list them off on your fingers, eyes growing wider and wider. “Oh, you want me then?”

“That ain’t fuckin’ true and you know it—”

“Do I?” you scoff.

“I came that night when you texted,” he implores, voice raising, all wild-eyed and pleading. “You were drunk, and textin’ and you needed a ride.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that—”

“You didn’t ask me not too either,” he crosses his arms across his chest. “You wanted me to come. Don’t fuckin’ deny that now.”

You open your mouth but he’s too quick, matching your spill with his own now.

“And as if you’re any better?” he bares his teeth now, voice low. “As if you didn’t find out I was your teacher and keep fuckin’ me just for the thrill of it. As if you actually wanted me, and you weren’t just gettin’ off on chasin’ some forbidden fantasy.”

“I…” you gape at him, unafraid to let the hurt show on your face. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to think?” he hisses, exhaustion evident in the way he runs a hand through his curls and sags against the door. “You tellin’ me I should believe that you just want me for what I am? A fifty-year-old teacher who spends his time giving fuckin’ speeches to people that are hardly listenin’? Who goes home to an empty bed? That’s what you want?”

And it deflates you, a little. The wounded expression on his face – the devastating truth in those words, splashed across his expression so plainly for you to see. Disbelief.

“Is that such a crime?” you ask quietly. “To want you… and have it be that simple?”

“You shouldn’t,” he shakes his head. Grimaces. “You shouldn’t want me, I’m—I’m no good for you.”

You swallow. Feel tears hot and sharp behind your eyes.

“Then why do you keep letting me?”

“Jesus,” he exhales, and his hand is on the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re pressed against his chest, hands coming up to grip his shoulders and steady yourself. “Because I can’t fuckin’ quit you, alright?”

“Because I don’t just want you when it’s convenient,” his lips curl around the word, disgusted by the insinuation. “Because I think about you all the god damn time and if I can only have you some of the time then I guess I’ll take it. Because if you want some fucked up fantasy, then I’ll play my part if it means I get you, I don’t care—”

You cut him off, lips firm and searing against his. He goes still for a moment, mouth parting with a surprised exhale, warm when you press inside with your tongue. And then warmer, salty; tears on his cheeks, on yours.

“That’s not what this is,” you whimper into his mouth, desperate for him to believe it. “It was never about that, it was about you, Joel. I want you.”

He kisses you again, slow. All of the anger and hurt and frustration pools out of the both of you, spilling from your mouths and into the air. His lips mould over yours and his hands are warm on your waist, your back, holding you tight against his chest. When you sniffle, he pulls back, forehead heavy against yours, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, eyes closed. “I missed you, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for—"

“Where were you?” you interrupt. “What happened in New York?”

He hesitates for a moment, nervous and calculating as he stares you down.

You wilt a little; dejected all over again. Recoil from him and quietly ask, “Why won’t you let me know you?”

Joel’s hand hovers in the air, as if contemplating reaching for you again, but then it drops and he says, “I was with my daughter.”

You blink.

Daughter.

Daughter?

“She lives there now,” Joel sounds a little breathless, cheeks pink as the words spill from him. “In New York, with her girlfriend. I’d planned to spend an extra day there with her, and then Nina—Nina cut her hand open at the studio and we had to go to the ER, and she had to get stitches and—” He pauses, waiting for you to jump in, to interrupt, to say anything. When you don’t, he takes a breath and continues. “And I wasn’t gonna stay any longer but Ellie was worried, and she needed me. She needed me there, and—and I’m never fuckin’ there, because she never needs me anymore. So I stayed, and I’m sorry I went silent but I was… I was takin’ care of my kid.”

You think it might be the longest—and the fastest—you’ve ever heard him speak outside of a lecture hall.

His eyes drift to something over your shoulder and his entire body seems to sag a little. But it isn’t sad. It’s a resigned, sort of relaxed thing that happens – the corners of his mouth tilt up and he smiles weakly.

You turn, follow his eyeline until you see them.

Pictures, so many pictures, lining the walls of his home. Ones you’d paid no attention to when you first stepped inside, but can now see clearly. Bright eyes and wide toothy grins.

Some of Joel younger, leaner, smiling beside a little girl with curly hair. Some of him as you know him now; scruffy and greying, beside a different girl. This one lanky and pale and grimacing toward the camera as if she were forced into being placed in front of it.

There’s one picture of the girls beside each other, teenagers maybe, sat on either end of a seesaw. The curly-haired girl is on the upper end, grinning madly at the lens, while the other sits with her feet planted firmly on the ground, laughing up at her. Two of them. Two daughters?

“Please say somethin’.”

There’s a picture of Joel and he’s holding a tiny little bundle in his arms, and he looks so young and so fucking afraid. Dark eyes wide and teary as he gazes down at chubby cheeks, his index fingers crooked around the edge of her swaddle. A warm feeling swells in your chest and your body softens the longer you look at it. He’s a father.

Joel says your name and when you turn his face is all twisted up, and he looks the smallest you’ve ever seen him. Almost curled in on himself.

“I should’ve told you,” he nods, brown eyes darting across your face in an attempt to decipher your silence. “I know that, and I—”

“I’m an asshole,” you interrupt softly, and the tears never left but now they feel heavier on your waterline. Begging to spill over again.

“Hey,” he frowns, hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb swipes at the soft skin beneath your eye, begging the wetness there to disappear. “Hey, hey, no—”

“I didn’t think…” you trail off, sniffling. A sickly cocktail of embarrassment and guilt and shame swirl in the pit of your stomach and you try to swallow it down, try to send it away, but it’s persistent. “I never stopped to think that something had actually happened, that you had… I feel selfish, Joel, I’m sorr—”

“You’re not,” he hushes, fingers curling into the hair behind your ear. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you before, and I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were staying away because of me,” you offer a watery smile. “I thought maybe you and…” You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. Can’t make your lips form the name Rachel.

“No,” he shakes his head, jaw tight, as if reading your mind.

“Is she okay?”

“Ellie?”

“Ellie,” you roll the name around in your mouth. His daughter. “Yeah.”

“She’s okay,” he smiles, nodding. “They’re both fine.”

“And…” You look back at the pictures. Two. “And the other girl?”

“Sarah,” Joel says softly, pointing at wild curls and brown eyes that look just like his. And he must see the questions swirling in your brain because he speaks again. “I was twenty. My, uh, my girlfriend at the time didn’t know what to do. Didn’t wanna be a Mom, but didn’t agree with abortion, and we were so young and… well, I asked her to marry me cause it felt like the right thing to do, but she didn’t…” he shakes his head a little, a faraway look in his eye as he remembers it. “She said no. She never wanted that… so, after Sarah was born, I told her that she didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” you repeat the words, eyebrows furrowing.

“Didn’t have to stay,” he clarifies. Your lips part, surprised. “So, she didn’t, and we ain’t seen her since Sarah was a few months old.”

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes widening as the information finally starts to sink in.

“And Ellie,” he laughs then, gazing at a picture of auburn locks and shock grey eyes. “Well, that one showed up on my door some time fifteen years later. Been in ‘n’ outta foster care for years, and just started followin’ Sarah home from school one day. We did this little dance for a while; dinners and sleepovers and me slipping money into her backpack so she could buy lunch at school. And then one day she just… begged me not to make her go back to her own house. So I didn’t.”

“Wow, I…” you blink. “You adopted her? Alone?”

“I…” Joel pauses. Wets his lips, frowning as he collects his thoughts. “Alone is… I don’t think that’s the right word for it. You see Ellie was… Sarah and me, we just knew. She was family so fast. It was the only thing that made sense, you know?”

And it does, you suppose. The image isn’t hard to conjure. Joel at the dinner table with two teenagers on either side of him. Arguing over homework, over curfews, over what movie to watch. You can see the fondness in his eyes as he talks about them – the emotion laced through his words; we just knew.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” Joel says, and that line between his eyebrows is back and it’s so deep that you can’t help yourself from reaching up and smoothing it over with your thumb. He catches your hand and holds it against the centre of his chest. Lets you feel the way his heart thuds heavily beneath the skin, a sturdy rhythm against your palm.

“It’s… it’s a lot to take in,” you confess, and his hand tightens over yours. “But I’m glad you told me.”

Brown eyes search yours, gaze heavy. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay then.”

You flex your palm against his chest. Dig your fingers into the flesh there a little.

“Can I…” he hesitates, eyes flickering down. “Do you… Can I kiss you?” You, you, you.

Your heart beats fast, and you feel his do the same, and Joel is a father, and two daughters, and I can’t fuckin’ quit you, and you’re breathing into his mouth yes, yes you can kiss me, please kiss me.

It’s warm and it’s gentle and it feels like such a kindness to kiss him now and feel less space between the two of you. Feels like a thousand apologies and explanations slipping off his tongue and you opening your arms to him, saying I understand, saying thank you for telling me.

And when you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck, he meets you in kind, pressing your back against the wall. He shifts his hips between yours and shows you how much he’s missed you, and only when his hand drifts beneath the hem of your shirt do you pause.

He stills, warm breaths drifting across your mouth as he looks into your eyes.

“Talk to me.”

“I’m exhausted,” you admit shyly, twisting a finger through a frizzy lock of hair at the nape of his neck. You tug at it, not meeting his eye, and watch it bounce back into a curl when you let go. He nods and kisses you again, closed lips soft and not asking for anything, never asking for more than you want to give, before he takes your hand and leads you through his house for the first time.

He runs you a bath. Makes you sit on the edge while he lays out a towel and checks the temperature every few minutes. Only when he’s satisfied that the water is perfectly warm does he help peel the clothing from your body. He grips your hand and helps you step into the tub, lowering you down into sudsy water. And when you’re settled, he pulls a stool nearby and sits, keeping you company as you soak.

“S’nice,” you tell him quietly, dragging a foamy sponge across your arms. “Thank you, Joel.”

The weight of before hangs over you a little, pressing down against your shoulders as you watch him. Gauge him. But he doesn’t seem angry or upset anymore. He leans over the lip of the tub. Runs his hands through the water, over the skin of your calf, your knee. Feels the coarse hairs that have grown there over the past fortnight and smiles when they scratch against his palm.

“Said you were sick?”

“Mhm.”

“What kind?”

“Just a cold,” you whisper. He squeezes your knee, palm against your patella, fingers soft in the flesh around it. “M’fine. Past it now.”

In the soapy water, his skin feels like silk against yours.

“Changin’ of the season,” he muses with a nod. “Normally gets me too.”

And you laugh a little at that, because it’s such a fatherly thing to say and you can’t believe how naïve you’d been to not see it before. Can suddenly picture him doing this a thousand times over; resting by the bath while one of his little girls floats in the water, nose all stuffy from the flu.

At the sound of your laughter he smiles, gaze dropping to your mouth, and the skin beside his eyes pinches. Little wrinkles, so soft and so beautiful that you want to reach out and brush your fingers across them.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, and his voice is hushed, so low in the small bathroom.

His fingers skirt against the inside of your thigh and you splay your legs open for him, knees knocking against the sides of the tub. He glances down through the water to where you’re spread open for him to see, shameless, and smiles.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he repeats.

“So are you, Joel.”

“Psh,” he rolls his eyes, offering a delicate little smile. So shy, so feeble, and so desperate to believe you. A little glimpse of that wary weight, still pressing down on him as well.

“Mean it,” you insist in a whisper. You lift a hand from the water, wet thumb grazing the corner of his mouth. Feel the bristles of his moustache, the hairs on his cheek, prickling against your skin.

“Swoony type,” you say, smiling when recognition flashes in his eyes. Stroke the fresh blush on his cheeks. “Long hair, bedroom eyes, cheeks like wine.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against your palm. “Can’t get away with plagiarisin’ Carson in this house, baby.”

“She just said it so well.”

“She did,” he agrees. “So did Tartt.”

“Tartt?” your mind wanes, the warm water lulling you into a sleepy sort of daze. You rest heavy against the side of the bath, gazing up at him

“Beauty is terror,” he quotes tenderly, eyes bold and earnest as he holds your stare. “Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.”

You wrap an arm around his shoulders, water droplets staining his shirt where your fingers grip the material, and pull him forward to kiss you. Joel grips the inside of your leg and kisses you until your skin prunes and wrinkles. And when he notices he laughs with you, gripping your hand to press his lips against fingertips that look like raisins. Worships the soaked skin of your fingers until you pull his face back to yours; jealous of your own hands, fearful that they might come to know his kiss better than your lips.

And when the water goes lukewarm and you don’t know what time it is anymore, he dries you off with a soft towel and offers once more to take you home. But you say no, so he smiles and kisses you again—your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids—and leads you to his bedroom.

He drags a too-big shirt over your head, helps you loop your arms into the sleeves. Dark blue and warm, so warm, against your skin.

The two of you slip beneath the covers on his bed and he drags you against his side; lets you press your cold toes against his shins without so much as a flinch.

Facing each other on your sides, those hands slink beneath the shirt, rough palms cradling your ribs, your back, holding you tight against his chest until your breathing falls in sync. And those hands don’t stray, don’t move down, they just embrace you. A carefully held apology that promises I want this, to hold you, to be with you, too.

It stays like that, nothing more, until your eyelids are heavy, and his breathing has evened out. Stays like that until your hand drops from his back to the band of his boxers, sleepy little fingers plucking at the material, trying to slip underneath.

“You should rest.”

But you whine softly; needy and insistent as your fingers press harder.

“What do you need?” Joel rasps into your neck, helping you shift them down his legs.

“Need you,” you whisper back into the darkness of his bedroom. “Wanna feel you, I—”

His mouth is soft against yours, plucking those words from your mouth and swallowing them down. He sucks your bottom lip between his, prying your mouth open so he can slip his tongue inside.

His hand in on your knee, pulling your leg up until your thigh rests heavy around his hip and you can feel the hot weight of him against your core, still slick and warm and needy from when his hand rested on the inside of your leg in the bath.

And if you’d ever subscribed to the meaning behind words like sin you suppose that once this might have counted as one. An act worthy of being sent to reside in that second circle of hell, reserved solely for those overcome by lust; left to blow back and forth in the storm of their own desire. Two people who cannot touch, should not touch, who hold their hands out to feel anyways. A touch once spiteful, once desolate and removed, now so forthcoming. A touch that says this is the only way it could have ever been. And there can be nothing sinful about it anymore. No more shame or derision behind heavy eyelids, no more you shouldn’t or I’m no good for you. Here you rest comfortably in the hurricane of that second circle, and you welcome the breeze as a comfort.

Lips against yours, Joel feeds his cock to you in slow, careful passes.

Ensures you feel every ridge, every hard line of his body. And with each gentle press inside he murmurs against your mouth. Incessant, low nonsenses of so fuckin’ beautiful and god I missed you and that’s it, baby, I know, I know. His kiss smooth as an almond, tender as a fig. Ripe and wet and tremulous as his tongue finds a home against yours, over and over.

The comforter on his bed stays pulled high, up to your shoulders, and it traps the warmth of your bodies between you.

He coaxes rough, gasping sounds from you with every shift of his hips.

Long fingers grip the back of your thigh, using his hold there to rock your body into his over and over again, slowly, making sure you feel every second of it. Slick seeps out of you around his length, smearing against the inside of your thighs and his, and he groans at the wet sounds that slip from where the two of you are connected.

Joel says your name, low and gravelly, praising every syllable. He tells you how good it feels, how perfect you are, and every word is like an undressing of the flesh. Like you’re some tender butcher, peeling back layers of his skin to let the air hit hot, red, pulsating matter, flashes of thick, porcelain bone swimming amongst it all. He keeps you close, hardly an inch of your body not touching his, and yet you can see all of him. The whole surface and everything underneath it now too. And when you say his name in return and he moans, begs you to say it again, say my name again, it’s hearts on wings, thin fire racing beneath the skin, eyes unseeing, drumming filling your ears. It’s the cold sweat on his hands that hold you shaking, that feel the way you tremble and grip tighter. It’s wanting to take those bones of his and suck them clean; lick past the gristle and taste the marrow beyond it.

It's everything and it’s nothing and it’s that silly little four-letter word that you can’t bring yourself to say, let alone think, and it doesn’t even matter because he’s here and that’s enough.

His nose rests in the hollow above your collarbone and he inhales, smothering soft kisses to skin and bone there.

He says, “You smell like me,” and when he looks up and presses his forehead against yours, he almost looks wounded by it. He stills, holds himself deep inside and just stares, and his eyes are screaming I can’t fuckin’ quit you, so you lay your thumb over the dimple on his cheek and smile. “S’my clothes, my soap…”

Your body flutters and tightens around him, and your mouths fall open in soft moans, lips slotting together again.

“You like that?” you breathe into the kiss, and he tightens his fist around the back of the shirt, pressing inward until your back is arched, and your stomach is flush against his and he’s groaning yes.

“Want you in my clothes all the fuckin’ time,” he pants, and the tip of his cock presses so deep inside that you’re gasping, mouth hanging wide open. “And when you give ‘em back I’ll wear ‘em and smell like you, and then we’ll be even.”

“Even?” you laugh a little, nipping at his bottom lip. He smiles, eyes glinting in the darkness.

“Yeah, even,” he repeats it and presses forward in a sharp thrust to emphasise his point. You don’t need to hear it again to know exactly what he means.

“Tell me you’re mine,” you whisper, and he grunts, hips shifting a little faster against yours. You feel him pulse inside of you, his stomach tightening against yours.

“M’yours,” Joel murmurs, voice like velvet and honey, so soft as he leans forward to kiss you, licking the words into your mouth. You say it back, spell it out against his teeth, his lips, his jaw. Yours, yours, yours.

He says something else then, lips soft against your chin, and you’re so close; can feel it hot and burning in your gut, almost at tipping point.

“Hmm?”

“Baby,” Joel nips at your jaw, sharpening your senses. “Tell me you’re on the pill or somethin’.”

“I am,” you whimper honestly, and his body seems to sag against yours, hips shifting in sluggish, tired movements.

Something snaps at the base of your spine, and you tremble against him, gripping the back of his neck. Soon enough he’s shuddering into you, arms going tight around your back, trapping you against his chest as his cock pumps inside your core. And it’s warm and wet and sticky and his seed drools out of you, down to your asshole, smearing against the inside of your thighs, his sheets. Your legs wrap around his waist, holding him to you, keeping him there as long as you possibly can. Riding out your highs, and then the trembling, stuttering aftershocks in each other’s arms. He pants into your mouth and all either of you can say is mine or yours, until the words mix together and become a meaningless blur of sound murmured between locked lips.

It could be minutes or an entire hour before you manage to separate from each other. All eager little kisses and whines as his soft cock slips from your hold, thick spend seeping out of you in his absence. And you just want to sleep, want to curl up in his arms and never leave, but you slink off to the bathroom first. Wet your face and drop down on his toilet. Urinate and feel his come drip out of you. And where once, with someone else, you might have cringed at the feeling, you only feel warmth; calm.

In the bright lighting of his bathroom, you can see yourself reflected in the mirror above his sink. Hair a wild mess, cheeks and lips swollen with warmth. This woman in the mirror stares back at you and she has bright eyes. She smiles at you, and you feel your lips peel back, teeth on show just like hers. You stare at her and think god, she looks happy. When you wipe between your thighs and stand, she does too. And with your finger on the light switch, a wet handtowel clutched in your other palm, you give her one last look before turning out the light, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Thursday.

Joel sleeps on his stomach. At least, that’s how he ends up overnight.

Face buried deep in a pillow, one leg slung outside of the covers, with a heavy arm out to the side. When you wake, at first, you’re careful not to move. Not to breathe too heavily, not to cough or jostle him awake. He looks so peaceful like this. Heavy breaths puffing from chapped pouty lips, forehead smooth and devoid of the stress and exhaustion that often lines his face. A large hand rests close to you. Despite you drifting a part in the night, the body heat getting too much for you both, his fingers remain outstretched in your direction. The tips just grazing the skin of your stomach as you lie on your side and watch him.

A low murmur escapes from his mouth, face twitching a little, and then he’s relaxing again, humming in his sleep. You smile, and let your eyes wander.

There’s a pile of books on his bedside table, reading glasses dropped haphazardly atop them.

An Idiot’s Guide to Space, one of the weathered spines reads. Interesting.

A framed painting rests above a set of drawers on the side of his room. A vast landscape with a herd of horses galloping across it. Gorgeous hides of orange and brown and black splashed across green grass and blue sky. And on the back of his door… hangs a cowboy hat.

You move slowly, careful not to wake him as you rise and tip toe across the room. Coming to rest directly in front of the closed door, you slip it off the hook and admire it. You don’t even hear his breathing change as he wakes up.

Dark brown with a curved brim; the felt is soft beneath your fingers. The image of Joel wearing it, perhaps often, while living in Texas flits through your mind and you can’t help but smile. And then warm hands are on your hips, arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into a warm chest.

You gasp in quiet surprise, but your smile only broadens when Joel rests his chin on your shoulder, peering down at the hat in your hands.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice gruff and deeper than usual. A pang of arousal swims in your core at the sound of it, but you ignore that, turning in his grasp.

“Good morning, cowboy.”

Joel groans, sleepy eyes drifting closed as he hugs you to his chest, swaying the two of you from side to side.

“Wanted to lie in,” he grumbles. “S’too early for this.”

“For what?” you blink in mock confusion, holding the hat against your chest.

“For you to see that.” He moves quick, tugging it from your grasp.

“Hey—” You gasp, wide eyed and ready to steal it back. But before you can Joel just lifts it onto his head with a heavy sigh. “Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeats, eyes narrowing.

Warmth simmers in your stomach and you smirk, stepping back to give him a quick once over.

“I could get used to this.”

“Jesus,” he rolls his eyes, moving to take it off but you grip his hand, shaking your head fiercely.

“Not so fast,” you coo. “I want the whole experience.”

“And what exactly is the whole experience?”

“You know—” You shimmy your hips a little. Imitate twirling a lasso in the air, wiggling your eyebrows. “Show me some tricks.”

Joel laughs at you, and you can see the desire in him to say no, to refute it, but the longer you stare him down, the more it cracks and fizzles away.

“Go on, cowboy,” you try out your best Texan drawl, falling down to sit on the edge of his bed.

He adjusts his legs, elbows bending as he waves two finger guns in your direction. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down a laugh as he makes a small pchew pchew noise out the side of his mouth.

“Oh,” you smirk. “Is that all you got?”

“I’ll have you know,” Joel huffs, pretending to holster one of his guns. Hip cocked now, still dressed in nothing but his sleep shirt and boxers; he stares you down. “I’m startin’ to think this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

And that gets you. A sharp, barking laughs slips from your mouth, and Joel grins in return, the skin beside his eyes creasing as he adjusts the Stetson over his curls.

As your giggles calm, he just shakes his head, still smiling, and murmurs fondly, “Dadgum, you got a good laugh.”

Your face warms beneath his stare, and you just shake your head, bottom lip snagged between your teeth. Moving quick, Joel pinches the brim of the hat and places it onto your head. It’s a little big, and the brim falls down, obscuring your eyesight before he adjusts it for you. Then he takes a step back, hands on hips.

“How do I look?” You bat your eyelashes up at him, smiling shyly.

“I don’t know,” he fakes an air of contemplation, giving you a long look up and down. “Think you might be all hat ‘n’ no cattle.”

“Hey,” you pout. “I’d make a great cowboy; just need a pair of chaps.”

“Well, you can wear the hat and the chaps all you like,” Joel murmurs, gaze heavy. “But you ain’t a cowboy ‘til you prove you can ride like one.”

Your thighs tense and you arch an eyebrow, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Is that right?”

“S’right.”

“Mm,” you hum. You lick your bottom lip and watch the way his gaze darkens, eyes trained on the movement. “Gonna let me show you what I got?”

And so you end up back in bed, straddling Joel while he smirks up at you, long fingers twisting around the hem of your t-shirt. But when you slip a finger inside the hem of his boxers, the movement so reminiscent of last night, he laughs a little and gives you a look that says, really?

You pout, confused. “I thought you wante—”

“Uh uh,” Joel shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

“Then what?”

“Get up here.” He lifts his chin upward.

Your eyes widen, stomach tensing a little.

Desire warms the inside of your thighs, and you murmur, “You want that?”

“Do I wa—?” he cuts himself off, eyes darkening a shade. “I said, get up here.”

Heart racing, you shimmy up his chest until your knees are planted on the mattress on either side of his shoulders. He smiles, encouraging, and you grip the hem of his shirt, prepared to pull it over your head, but he stops you.

“No,” he exhales, hand quickly gripping yours. “Leave it on for me.” And then he leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and you can only nod, holding your breath as you wait for him to reach where you want his mouth the most.

Face tucked in the cradle of your hips, Joel sighs your name. A rough exhalation, nose pressed into your skin. And it feels a little silly at first – your face is warm as you stare down at him, the wide brim of the cowboy hat tilting forward.

But then, breath hot and heavy against you, he mouths at the crease where your hip meets your thigh. Slow, drawn-out kisses that have your legs tensing over him, his hands slip beneath the shirt, tracing light patterns into the skin over your spine, all the way up to your shoulders. He keeps going until you’re shivering, a wet trembling mess in his hands, hips twitching forward with every touch of his mouth to your skin until he finally glides his tongue through your folds.

Your breathing hitches as he pants against you, chest vibrating with low sounds as he licks thick stripes up the entire length of your pussy. Eyes closed, he tastes all of you; tongue slipping over every piece of exposed skin that the position grants him. And with every broad stroke of his tongue, he dips inside your weeping hole and finishes with a gentle flick against your clit. So soft and so slow, building you up over and over until finally you break and begin rocking your hips into his face.

Joel grunts at first, a little surprised maybe, but in a second his hands are dropping to grip your thighs, locking you in place against his face.

At first, he guides you. Helps you find a rhythm that works, that feels good. Flattens his tongue and uses his grip to rock you back and forth over his face, groaning as you roll your clit against him, huffing and panting quiet little pleas. But soon enough your fingers are carding through his hair, holding him tight against you as you grind down into his mouth. Sharpening his tongue, he dips it inside of you and then drags upward, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking gently.

You gasp, vision going hazy as you try to keep your eyes on him, try to watch, but it’s too good. He knows exactly what you like, and it all moves far too quickly for your liking. You can already feel your hips winding faster and harder against him, breaths falling shorter, everything in your stomach pulling tight and hot.

Joel can tell – he can always fucking tell – and one of his hands drifts over your ass, fingers slipping between your thighs from behind until his middle finger is circling your entrance.

“Fuck,” you inhale sharply, jaw going slack as he prods at your cunt, tongue lapping lazily over your clit all the while. “Please, your fingers, yeah, ohhh—”

A long finger sinks inside and you moan, head falling back.

“You like that?” he murmurs, pulling back to graze his teeth along the inside of your thigh. A second finger presses inside, and he curls them against that soft spot, fucking you slow and steady until you acquiesce, whimpering yesyesyesfucksogood towards the ceiling.

“Good girl,” he hums, slick tongue finding its way back to your clit.

He eats at you so lovingly. So generous as he lathes firm circles around your nerves, only ever pausing to suck you into his mouth again or press wet, open-mouthed kisses against the entirety of your cunt. Nose buried in the short curls over your mound, he doesn’t let up until your moans turn high pitched; strained little whimpers of his name falling from your lips as you press down harder and harder.

“Oh fuck,” you cry, hips rocking back and forth, faster now. He breathes you in, jaw shifting from side to side, matching the intensity of your movements with sharp flicks of his tongue. And when you fall apart, shoulders sagging forward, he moans, taking and taking and taking every last drop of what you have to offer.

And what an image it must be – you, wearing a Stetson, riding Joel Miller’s face. You almost wish you’d filmed it, for posterity’s sake.

He presses a small kiss to one swollen lip of your pussy, and then the other, before his head is falling back into the pillows and he’s smiling up at you.

The lower half of his face shines, lips and facial hair slick with your come, and you can’t help but grin back, a tired snort of laughter slipping from your mouth.

“How’d I do?” You grip the brim of the hat, tipping it down at him.

Joel smirks, hands squeezing your thighs, helping to shift you up and onto the side of the bed so he can sit up.

“I’d say you more than proved yourself,” he hums, leaning in to steal a kiss. You sigh, whining against his warm wet mouth, and reach a hand down to press it against his abdomen. Shifting lower, you trail your fingers over where his cock strains against his boxers, but Joel just tuts, pulling away and slipping off the bed.

“Hey,” you huff, gripping his shirt and trying to pull him back down, but he just shakes his head, laughing, and drags you to your feet.

“Gonna be late,” he tells you, squeezing your hips and pressing a kiss to your temple. “And you needa eat.”

Late. You’d almost forgotten that you had a lecture this morning. Joel’s lecture.

He turns, rifling in the chest of drawers, pulling out clothes, a pair of socks, while you stand behind him and watch, knees still shaking, with a fucking cowboy hat on your head. After a moment he turns, stares, and a rough laugh hits the air. Shaking his head, Joel grips the brim and tosses the hat back up on its hook before pointing towards the ensuite, telling you to shower.

“You coming?” you ask, and he just shakes his head, tugging on socks before padding towards the hallway.

“Cowboys don’t shower, baby,” he flashes a smile over his shoulder at you and winks. “They just dust off.”

When you make your way out of the shower, Joel is in the kitchen. Ironed black trousers and a neat white shirt cover his frame, and from across the room you admire him. That strong back, the pert rounded muscles of his ass. Fuck.

He manages to over scramble the eggs and burn the bacon because he can’t stop looking over his shoulder at where you rest at his dining table. Head resting heavy in your palm, you smile back at him. And when he puts a plate of food in front of you, you don’t have a single complaint.

The two of you eat fast, plucking little pieces of eggshell out as you go, smiling and laughing shyly as your feet tangle beneath the table. He watches you; makes sure you clear your plate before he takes it to the sink, murmuring something about how he won’t make you sit through me talkin’ for hours on an empty stomach. Says he’s pretty sure that counts as torture somewhere, baby.

And when he turns, dirty dishes forgotten in the sink, you’re staring at him, heart on your sleeve, and he must see it in your eyes. You know that it has to be clear as day; that forbidden four-letter word blazing across your forehead in bold letters.

Joel clocks your gaze and moves to hover over where you sit, wordlessly cupping your face in two broad palms and slotting his mouth over yours. And as he licks into your mouth, tasting the remnants of eggs and bacon and every unsaid word, you start to believe that maybe confessing wouldn’t be so bad. That maybe forbidden is a word you’ve prescribed to this feeling all on your own – that he might just be feeling the exact same way.

But he pulls back, presses two more quick pecks to your mouth and tells you to get ready, says he’ll drive the two of you to school, and the moment slips from your grasp.

Back in his car, you feel relieved to replace the memory of yesterday with this one. Windows down, the air is cool and calm against your skin as he drives you through town, sated, dopey smiles across both of your faces.

A Bob Dylan song drifts from the speakers and Joel sings along under his breath.

“We’ll meet again someday on the avenue. Tangled up in blue.” Voice low and breathy, left hand on the wheel, right hand on your thigh. You nod along to the lyrics, your fingers tracing the veins and tendons on the back of his hand all the way until he pulls over.

“Shouldn’t be seen walkin’ in together.”

“Yeah,” you agree, understanding. “Best not.”

The truck idles on the side of the road, somewhere inconspicuous down the street from campus, and you slip out his passenger door. Close it with a thud and peer in at him through the open window, eyes devouring every part of his face as if you won’t be seeing him within the hour, stood up in front of the room giving a lecture.

The truck peels away from the curb, Tangled Up In Blue still whining from those speakers, and Joel sends a quick wink out the window at you, his face a blur as he drives off. And you just smile, chest warm despite the cool Spring air on your face, walking along in the same direction – because you know exactly what that wink means. And you love it.

Our little secret.

a/n refs:

in Dante’s Inferno he said that those overcome with lust were doomed to the second circle of hell, wherein they would be buffeted back and forth by the terrible winds of a violent storm, without rest. slay.

the bacchae tr. by anne carson [read if you have mummy issues, a massive ego, or just like the idea of frolicking in the woods for a while...]

the secret history by donna tartt [read if you like unreliable narrators, strange professors and stranger students, and the nursery rhyme 'the farmer in the dell']

the end of the affair by graham greene [read if you like weird intense guys and angst and infidelity]

eros the bittersweet by anne carson [read if you're cool as fuck]

thank you for reading! x

#finally am i right?#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut

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renku · 9 months ago

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Up and Under

TWICE Chou Tzuyu x Male Reader

Sitting and staring nowhere in the middle of the park, holding a cup of coffee that went cold from that old vending machine nearby, and the freezing evening wind has no effect at all in your current state—high on adrenaline and it looks like it’d take an hour or two before it subsides in your system.

“This must remain just between us. Got it?”

Each word kept playing again and again in your head, like the same lyrics from the song five years ago that’s still not leaving your playlist. Not to mention how Chou Tzuyu—yes, the idol—whispered those words with her sexy yet cute voice along with a warm breath inducing goosebumps; from the back of your neck spreading down to your legs. You even started to question your reality. Did that really happen?

Everything that happened today was messed up, or to be exact, fucked up. But wait, how did you even get to this situation by the way?

It was about noon, and the usual routine at work is to take a break empty space upstairs before Inkigayo broadcast starts. Landing a job at a place like this isn’t something you thought of but there’s no much options on your hand, so here you are. The spot is usually silent since most are out to get their lunch. Lately, you prefer taking a nap up there since a bench is available. It’s crucial for you to have that time alone for yourself. One hour of freedom to collect your shit again is enough to get through to the rest of the shift. Work itself is already draining, but dealing with people is another.

The pace of your steps is increasing yet you still try not to make a sound. I should hurry before surviving another four hours of work, you thought. Getting closer to your so-called sanctuary, this is when things started to take a turn—a complete hundred and eighty turn.

It made you stop, and carefully listen again to make sure it’s not your head playing games at you.

“Yes— Hmm... Ah~”

You’re not definitely hearing things. It’s definitely a moan. A woman’s moan on top of that. She’s really into it; given how she lets out all those moans like no one will hear her and not giving a single damn.

Forget the nap, going back should be the immediate course action in this kind of situation. But, being a man and curiosity got the best of you.

“I shouldn’t be doing this, shit,” you whispered.

Taking extremely careful steps—almost tiptoeing, making that one, tempting peek. Lifted black skirt, fingerless-gloved right hand holding onto the handle for support, and probably her other hand doing the job. It’s quite difficult to recognize who she is since her loose, black hair covered the side of her face and a tent is already forming inside your pants. Each second that passes corresponds to the moans getting shorter and shorter, hinting that she’s close to that release.

“UGH! OH- YES, YES, OH FUCKKK!”

She threw head back, exposing the side of her face.

“Is that... Tzuyu?!” For a moment, you couldn’t move a muscle. Chou Tzuyu, who is known to be pure, kind, lovely, and innocent idol for years. Yet here she is, masturbating and made herself cum.

Your feet went cold stunned by what you just witnessed. Tzuyu then turned her head to where you are like she knew you were there all along, and not showing any sign of surprise at all when both of your eyes met. She's insanely fucking beautiful.

After fixing herself up and the mess she made, Tzuyu went right away to you. “This must remain just between us. Got it? Everything.” she whispered, then grabbed your hard member; fingers making random movements, playing with your already leaking rod making you jolt before adding, “Why don't you come here again next time? Same place, same time then maybe we can do some interesting things, don't you think?”

Does she even hear herself? How could she willingly say those words to someone she never knew her whole life. You can only nod to whatever she'll say, truth be told. The fact that a goddess like her is standing next to you is unreal.

“I got to go now, bye!” she said, winking and waving as she went on her way.

Back at the present—after reminiscing everything that happened all you could think of was, “I need to find a new job immediately.”

A/N: Hi. Ren (new name, can’t remember my old one) here. Plotless fic and not stuffed with much details to make it “smutty” enough, I just want to get the gist of writing again after not being able to make a stable progress after leaving the platform for about a year. So yeah, not much but I hope it will spark my enjoyment of writing again.

#smut #kpop smut #tzuyu #chou tzuyu #twice #twice smut

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h0neylevi · 10 days ago

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After a major shift, your life has become a series of monotonous routines. Eat, sleep, go to work, repeat. But when you find a man bleeding on the subway with no idea how he got there, things become anything but ordinary.

General content warnings: isekai/parallel universe, modern AU, mentions of blood and canon-typical violence, some light angst, eventual smut.

chapter warnings: mentions of blood/cleaning of wounds

word count: 3.2k

It’s just after midnight when you make it to the metro platform.

The descent underground is quiet. Below the bustling city streets, you go through the process of boarding a train back home in a bit of a mindless daze, having done this cycle of late night shifts at the hospital countless times before.

The carriage is empty when you walk on board, silent except for the pneumatic hiss of the doors that slide closed behind you. You fall into the nearest seat with a heavy sigh.

It’s the first time in thirteen hours you’ve really been able to get off your feet.

Working four 12 hour days in a row can be tiring, but it’s worth it most of the time for the following four days off that you’re able to get. Four days off of freedom—which usually means catching up on errands. Laundry, getting groceries, and cleaning.

It’s just you now, so things tend to pile up much more quickly.

As you feel the rumble of movement beneath you, the momentum causing you to sway a little in your seat, you stare unblinking at the opposite window. Flashes of advertisements and thick concrete tunnel walls speed by in a blur, and you allow your mind to wander.

Maybe you could go to that new cafe in the morning that opened up on College Street. It’s been a while since you’ve taken a moment just for yourself. Or maybe you could take a book to the park after cleaning your apartment. The weather was supposed to be nice, and that used to be your favorite thing to do before…

The train slows to a stop before you continue down that line of thinking. With a droning chime, the doors open to signal would-be passengers to either depart or climb aboard.

A pleasant female voice erupts from the intercom system. “This is Freedom Park Station. Please stand clear of the doors.”

It’s not unheard of for others to be out so late, particularly on a Friday night, so to see a man walk aboard doesn’t immediately surprise you.

What does cause you to do a double take is the state of him.

The first thing you see is the insignia of the wings of freedom, a symbol you immediately recognize on the back of the green cloak covering his upper half from one of your favorite shows, Attack on Titan.

The second thing you notice is that he’s soaked.

That’s odd. You don’t remember it raining earlier in the day, but it could have been a brief downpour in another part of the city. And he’s clearly coming from an anime convention. Those were usually held at the convention center on the other side of the city.

The man heavily slumps forward against the railing. His back is turned toward you, but you watch him thoughtfully, admiring the impressive handiwork of his costume. From under the cloak, you see the intricately wrapped belts of the omni-directional gear, as well as the boxes along his thighs that are used in the show to store blades. When you see a reflection of an advertisement briefly glimmer off of the surface, you realize that they’re actually metal.

Those must be heavy. Did he make them himself?

The train begins to move again and your thoughts are stopped short when the man stumbles, nearly falling. That’s when he turns and you notice the blood.

His face is covered in it.

You’re on your feet before you even realize it. “Excuse me.”

He turns at the sound of your voice and you see the source: a rough cut just above his right eyebrow.

The man sways unsteadily on his feet against the movement of the train. The look he gives you is immediately distrusting, but he doesn’t back away.

You stop a few feet from him. “Sir, are you okay?” When his eyes narrow, you point to the badge pinned to your work scrubs. “I’m a nurse, see?”

You wait as his eyes study your hospital badge for a moment.

“Where the hell am I?”

Okay, that’s potentially a cause for concern. “Uh.” You try to remember what stop he got on from. “Freedom Park.” The look on his face doesn’t resemble recognition. “You’re not from around here?”

For a moment, he seems to think. “No.”

There’s a sharp jolt from the train car and you both sway a little, him more than you.

You gesture to the empty seat next to him. “Here. You should probably sit down.”

He doesn’t argue as he takes a seat.

Looking him over, you consider your options. It isn’t too late to take him back to the hospital, but you don’t exactly want to after spending the entire day there already. From the looks of it, it doesn’t look like he’ll need stitches, but it doesn’t feel right to leave him alone in the state he’s in either.

“Can you tell me what happened?” you ask.

The man looks around for a moment. The look on his face turns apprehensive. “I don’t remember. There was a flash… and then I just woke up here.”

You raise your brows. Something about the way he says it feels like he isn’t being completely honest, but you suppose the bleeding itself is a more pressing concern right now anyway.

“Okay,” you say. “Well, that cut doesn’t look too deep, but you should get it cleaned.” You pause for a moment, debating. “My apartment is at the next stop.”

You had meant it as a suggestion, but the man doesn’t seem to follow.

“I can look at it for you,” you add. “Maybe help you find wherever you were supposed to stay.”

He seems to consider it for a long moment, looking from you to around the empty train car and then back to your badge.

“Alright,” he says as the train begins to slow. When it comes to a stop and the doors open with their loud hydraulic hiss, he follows you back out onto the platform.

It’s quiet for most of the walk back. You go through the motions of exiting the station—swiping your pass and leading the way up the winding corridors to street level while the man follows, watching your movements and your surroundings with a puzzled sort of awe.

It isn’t until you’re pulling out the keys to your place before you turn to him again.

“So, what’s your name?”

He gives you a subdued look. “Levi.”

You smile.

“No, really…” you press, looking over his clothes again. It’s obvious that’s what he’s going for now that you see him up close—the scout uniform and the way he’s styled his hair. Come to think of it, he has Levi’s frame as well. And his eyes.

It’s a damn good cosplay actually. If Levi Ackerman were to magically come out of the television screen as a flesh and blood person, he’d look exactly like this guy.

But judging by his expression and the complete lack of response, he isn’t interested in giving you any sort of real information.

You turn then, your smile dropping, and lead the way into the apartment building. “O-kay.”

It’s possible, you guess, that his name really is Levi. Just a very bizarre coincidence that he happens to look and act exactly like your favorite character from an anime and also likes the anime as well. There are billions of people in the world though. Stranger things happen all the time.

Reluctant to piss him off further, the rest of the walk up to the second floor is done in more silence. You unlock your front door and lead the way inside, smiling when you hear the telltale trill of your cat greeting you at the door.

“Hello, Luna,” you greet, bending down to run your hand between the shorthair’s ears. She pushes herself up into your hand a little further with a chirp.

Still at the door, the man—Levi—watches.

“Luna?” he asks in a flat tone.

You straighten back up, noting his hesitancy to walk forward. “You’re not allergic, are you?” That would be some cosmic bad luck on his part to deal with a head wound and an allergic reaction in one night.

But thankfully, he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s affectionate but she’s harmless,” you say, sidestepping around your cat to walk further into your living room. When Levi joins you, you gesture to the sofa. “Have a seat there. I’ll be right back with some supplies.”

You don’t wait around to see if he does what you say, instead dipping down the hall toward a small office. It’s mostly just a place for all of your trinkets—a desk filled with a few figures and a computer. Some bookshelves line the walls, collecting dust. It’s been months since you’ve picked up a good book or did much of anything in this room, really. But you know exactly where to look for the supply kits you’ve managed to stock up on from the hospital.

After you find the suture thread and some wound wash, you grab a towel from the bathroom next door and return to the living room.

Levi is there, sitting on the edge of the sofa as if he’s afraid to get comfortable. His gaze keeps jumping around the room, taking in the layout and decor, and his fists rest stiffly on his knees. Luna is next to him, tentatively sniffing at his knuckles with a curious stretch of her neck.

You shoo her away gently and take her place on the sofa. The angle of light allows you to see the source of the drying blood on his face a bit better.

Quietly, you look him over. “How are you feeling?”

He watches as you slip on a pair of gloves. “I’ve had worse.”

You snort lightly and begin to prep the fresh towel with wound wash.

“Do you have stuff like this happen to you often?” you ask, now reaching to press the towel to his face.

At your question, he pulls his one uncovered eye from you, surveying the room again. “Nothing quite like this.”

“What happened?”

Levi is quiet for a moment before he says, “It was nothing. I fell.”

You pause your movements, frowning. “This doesn’t look like the kind of cut you’d get from a fall.”

“Why does it matter?”

Judging by his defensive tone, he knows more than he’s letting on, but you can’t figure out why he isn’t being honest.

But with him already in your apartment, you don’t want to do anything to unnecessarily antagonize him. Even in his current state, he looks strong and capable enough to hurt you.

Probably best to just change the subject.

“Did you have somewhere you were staying?” you ask, returning to your task.

You gently dab the towel down the curve of his jaw and feel the muscle tense beneath your touch.

“No,” he finally says.

“You came all the way here for a convention and didn’t book a hotel?”

“A convention?”

“Yeah,” you nod, gesturing to his clothes. “You’re a scout, right?”

At your words, his expression becomes a bit more relieved. He nods. “Yes. I got onto that... train thing because I hoped it might take me to headquarters.”

You blink as you listen to him. Did he hit his head hard enough for him to think that he is Levi Ackerman?

Maybe you should take him to the hospital anyway just to get him checked out. He seems perfectly lucid otherwise though, if a bit confused.

You reach forward and check his head wound again. Just like you thought, it’s too shallow to need stitches and isn’t bleeding anymore, so that’s a good sign. Maybe it could wait until morning.

“Do you feel sick?” you ask, searching his expression for any lack of focus or disorientation but find none. “Nauseated? Dizzy?”

“Other than the stabbing pain above my eye?” he deadpans, glaring at you. “No. I feel fine.”

You sigh. This is insane, considering letting a complete stranger stay in your apartment. But he doesn’t have anywhere else to go and he’s still soaking wet. You’d feel guilty if you just let him go and he got into trouble. At the very least, you could make sure he has somewhere to sleep.

You get to your feet and look over his clothes once more. “You can stay here tonight if you’d like. I think I might have some old clothes you can sleep in, and there’s a shower down the hall.”

He gives you a distrustful look. “You’re putting a lot of faith in a stranger.”

You raise a brow. “I guess we both are. But if you’d rather sleep out in the cold, then be my guest.”

That seems to give him pause, and he looks around the room once more.

“Where did you say the shower was?”

“Down the hall, second door on the left,” you tell him. “I can get you a towel and some clothes.”

You dispose quickly of the bloodied towel in your kitchen trash along with your gloves and turn back down the hall again. When you return, Levi is standing awkwardly next to your sofa. He seems to be pointedly ignoring Luna, who is still curiously sniffing him from the armrest.

“These should fit,” you tell him, patting the folded up sweatpants and an oversized shirt tucked beneath your arm. “Just leave your things in the bathroom and I’ll make sure your clothes are washed in the morning.”

He takes the items from you with another skeptical glance. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have to do laundry anyway,” you wave him off. “It’s no trouble.” Quickly, you point at him. “Just don’t scrub at that cut. You’ll just make it bleed again.”

He doesn’t move immediately when you back away to let him pass by, but the promise of a hot shower seems to eventually override whatever keeps him fixed in place. Without another word, he retreats down the hall, right to the second door on the left like you told him.

What a strange man.

It takes fifteen minutes before you hear the shower turn on.

In that time, you busy yourself with finding a spare blanket and a pillow and leave them on the sofa. You tidy up a little next, grabbing leftover drinking glasses off the table and discarded socks that had been pushed under the coffee table. It isn’t much, but you’re left feeling slightly less anxious about the state of your place by the time you’re finished. You like to keep things tidy to begin with, but the place certainly looks lived in right now.

Curious, you sink into a chair and pull out your phone while you’re waiting and click on the search engine, quickly typing in a few keywords to check on any local anime conventions happening in the area.

There are no ongoing events, and the next one isn’t happening until six months from now.

Well, that eliminates your theory. So then what the hell was he doing cosplaying on the street on a random Friday? If he was with someone, he wouldn’t have been wandering around alone and he said he wasn’t staying anywhere in the area.

The thought occurs to you that maybe this is some sort of trap to lure unsuspecting women into vulnerable positions, preying on a person’s compassion. But then, that was very real blood on his face and a very real wound, and he has had ample opportunities to attack and rob you if that was truly what he was after. He might look intimidating, but there’s nothing about him that screams that you’re in any sort of immediate danger either.

Maybe you can get some real answers out of him in the morning when he’s less grumpy.

You’re feeding Luna in the kitchen when Levi reappears.

With silent relief, you note that his wound seems to still be fine. He looks healthier in general after cleaning off, but he also looks… well, even more like Levi Ackerman. It’s kind of uncanny.

“What?”

You jump when you hear his voice. He’s watching you from the living room, looking about as confused as you feel.

Shit, have you been staring? “Nothing.” You sigh and rub at your eyes. It’s been too long of a day to start questioning your sanity. “Are you hungry or anything? I have some leftovers I can heat up really quick.”

“I’m fine.” He shakes his head and turns his attention to the blanket and pillow on the sofa.

Carefully, he arranges it how he likes and sits down. He glances at the television on the other side of the room before looking around again, lingering at times on things like the lamps in the corners and over to the open kitchen.

His hands fidget in his lap.

“I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning.”

The sound of his voice surprises you.

“Where are you going to go?”

He shrugs. “I’ll figure it out.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully. He’s a grown man, so it shouldn’t concern you what he does. But his comments about not being from here, and the whole thing about him trying to find ‘headquarters’? You’d feel better knowing there isn’t anything you’ve missed.

“At least let me take you to the hospital to get that cut checked out,” you suggest. “We can go first thing while your clothes are drying.”

He scoffs but the sound is entirely devoid of humor. “I told you I’m fine.”

“So it’ll be a quick visit and you can be on your way in no time,” you reply. “One of the doctors I work with can look you over before we open. He won’t mind.”

“Or I could just leave in the middle of the night.”

“I guess.” You shrug. “I wouldn’t be able to stop you, but that’s your choice. My conscience can be clear as long as I’ve offered to help you. I can’t make you take it, but I think it’s a good idea.”

He glares at you from the sofa, but doesn’t reply.

You get the sense that he doesn’t want to be bothered anymore. With the night he’s had, he probably just wants some rest, and you’re more than willing to get some sleep yourself.

Now that the shock of the night has worn off a bit, your body feels heavy as you get to your feet.

Levi stays quiet as you move around the room, shutting off lights and locking your front door. He moves to lay down once he gathers what you’re doing.

“I’ll get you up in the morning,” you tell him from the hallway. “Get some sleep.”

That earns you little more than a grunt of acknowledgement.

When you get into your room, you make sure to lock the door and find a baseball bat from the depths of your closet to sit by your bed. You’ve always been a light sleeper, so you hope that you’ll be able to hear if he decides to try anything.

You go through your nightly routine and climb into bed, then send off a text before closing your eyes—a message to one of your friends and fellow co-workers at the hospital.

Hey, could you do me a huge favor tomorrow morning? It’ll be quick.

Hopefully, when you wake up, Levi will still be there.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x fem!reader #levi ackerman x you #aot fic #levi ackerman

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davestone13-blog · 3 months ago

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CJ Hendry's Flower Market Exhibition at FDR Four Freedoms Park

Starting on Thursday, September 13th, The Flower Market, a creation of Australian artist CJ Hendry fills the meadow at FDR Four Freedoms Park on Roosevelt Island. It’s free, but you still need a ticket. by David Stone The Roosevelt Island Daily News The Flower Market “Cj Hendry is thrilled to announce her upcoming exhibition FLOWER MARKET, a stunning new collaboration in partnership with Four…

#CJ Hendry #FDR Four Freedoms State Park #FLOWER MARKET #Roosevelt Island

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the-californicationist · 5 months ago

Note

Let's get you to 100, new gif addition and prompt ask!

Reader likes being controlled, even as she chafes against it, but there's only 1 person she wants to have that privilege.

You decide who, have fun writing lovely 😏

heyyy!! im backkkkkkk 😘 sorry for the wait! had to go on a bit of a hiatus, so thanks for being patient. and thank you so much for the ask!! sexy as hell babes omg. hope you like it. i went a little overboard on the word count sorry 🫣

TW: light bdsm and contol themes, rough sex

Soft Reins

His voice followed you down the wet sidewalk as you made your escape, striding in long reaching steps to put more distance between yourself and your apartment.

“C’mon, bonnie! Ye cannae walk in this shite. It’s pissin’ down. Bonnie!”

You waved and smiled up at Soap as he hung over the balcony of your shared space, a deep frown pasted across his mouth as he tried to dodge the raindrops.

Living with the boys, as you lovingly called them, was full of challenges. For one, they seemed to be oblivious to deep cleaning of any kind, and if you didn’t have the primary school style chore chart hanging on the fridge, your whole house would descend into chaos. The only exception was their captain, and his standards were thankfully on par with your own.

But, even worse, they were nosey. They seemed to love to be in your business, always making excuses to join you on nights out, standing in an all-too-intimidating pack when you brought home dates from said outings. Even Price was not above casually bullying an unsuspecting potential someone. It was enough to drive a girl mad.

You never got a call back. Any bloke brave enough to follow you back to your place, flanked by your surly entourage, was only as courageous as he needed to be to get his dick wet. After that, he’d ghost you. There were plenty of eligible partners who had much less intimidating roommates.

In the past year, the longest relationship you had was with a man who didn’t make it over to your house for nearly four months. You had gone through all sorts of trouble to keep the boys from finding out about him, and you guarded his address like it was the nuclear launch codes. You thought you were in the clear when the team had to leave for another deployment, but one morning — when you were wearing only your boyfriend’s tee shirt — they decided to come tromping back in, totally unannounced.

It was all over, then. Back to the drawing board.

Gaz was the worst offender by far. Once, when you had planned a spa date for yourself, you’d been treated to all sorts of services that you didn’t order. The staff kept insisting that it was complimentary, but you knew in your heart that it wasn’t. By the end of the visit, you were left fretting about the bill. But, when you walked up to the counter, you discovered that it had already been paid.

“Oh! Your mister called it in. Already paid.” The clerk’s smile was blinding in only the way a clerk’s smile could be.

“And who is the mister?” You smiled to yourself, not with much joy, shoving your credit card back into your wallet.

“Well, he said he was your mister. A Mr. Garrick?”

Of course.

You had only to turn around to see his shining red Beamer revved and waiting to take you to lunch. Gaz’s sunglasses gleamed in the daylight as he grinned down at you, standing over his car, his elbows resting on the roof, smug as could be.

You met him in the parking lot, bags and bags of essential oils and spa creams, heavy in your hands.

“Kyle,” you said curtly, “What did you do?”

“Nothin’, babes. Get in. We’ve got a table at that sushi joint you like.”

You complained that Gaz was overstepping. You moaned about Soap being heavy-handed. You lost your temper when you found the fourteenth Air Tag that Ghost had sewn into the bottom of your trainers. It was too much. You hated feeling trapped, and you thrived in your independence. But, living with these men meant that your desire for freedom was directly at odds with their desire for control.

It wasn’t their fault, really. That was who they were. They were good at their high-profile special operation world-saving careers because they were good at control. It was what made them great soldiers.

But, one of them was far better at it than the others.

Captain John Price didn’t follow you down the street. He didn’t chase you in his shadowy, blacked-out Evija. And he certainly didn’t need to hide trackers in your clothes. No; his control was insidious. It made your blood boil, and it had you questioning your every move. He had a way of making you think that what he wanted was what you wanted, and when you ultimately discovered his plans, you could only blame yourself. Price was the king of control, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was that you liked it.

You hadn’t been home for the holidays in years. Ever since lockdown, and your huge workload at your office, you just couldn’t find the time to make it back. International flights were hard to plan, expensive, and it seemed like something always came up. When you mentioned it off-handedly to Price, he’d comforted you,

“Tha’s alright, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll find the time this year.”

That was in June. By December, your boss had mysteriously found out that you had a full week of extra paid time off that you needed to take, and your credit card called you to let you know that your airline mileage points had doubled. It was as if everything in the universe had aligned so that you could make it back to your family.

You’d told the boys over dinner one night, and they celebrated with you, happy for you to be able to finally live your dream. Then, Price had grabbed your phone, reading the email and going over the fine print.

It grated on you, but you needed to learn how to pick your battles in this house. So, you waited for his approval, tight-lipped.

“Double miles… ah, there’s a catch,” his voice rumbled in his chest, low and even.

“What catch?” You panicked. Nothing could upset this perfect balance you’d achieved.

He pointed down to the conditions, and you read it for yourself as he told you,

“Says here they granted double miles for two tickets purchased.”

“Two? Who the fuck am I going to get to come to Saskatoon in December?” You sighed, head in your hands, trying to figure out how you were going to make it work.

“Well, the boys are heading up to check on MacTavish’s mum, but Kate’s got me on a leash. I can ask her to make me remote on this project, if you want.”

His tone wasn’t sly. It didn’t sound like he was hiding something. If anything, he sounded earnest, and it was such a kind gesture of friendship that he would be willing to join you in order to help you see your folks.

But, that’s what wormed its way under your skin. You knew it was him. You just couldn’t prove it. Months of God knows what kind of backdoor, black-market dealing and manipulation, all orchestrated just to…

Just to what? Make you happy?

Inwardly, you struggled against your bindings, the invisible ropes he’d so carefully weaved just to have you come to him of your own free will, bent on your hands and knees, obedient and eager for your reward.

“Jonathan…” You started to resist, to rebel. Every time you started your sentence, you were stopped in your tracks by the cold, hard truth: He didn’t force you to do anything. You’d done it all of your own free will.

That was how it had started. But, holy fuck had it escalated.

Price was the perfect gentleman on your flight over, mysteriously charming his way into business class seats. He downloaded some of your favorite movies onto his iPad, even though you didn’t remember ever telling him that they were your favorites. He even snuck his way back to the flight attendants’ galley, laughing and joking with them, procuring you two extra desserts from the carts since you were such a fan.

Then, he met your family, and he fit in perfectly. It was as if he was the missing member, a long lost kin, just waiting to be reunited into the fold. Your mother couldn’t figure out what had you so bothered.

“About time you brought a good one home. Even your Uncle Billy likes him, and Billy —”

You rolled your eyes,

“And Billy doesn’t like anyone, I know. I know.”

“Honey,” your mother looked at you with a sternness that she didn’t often muster, peering at you over her rose-rimmed glasses, “Why can’t you just let someone take care of you for a change? He’s a good man.”

A good man.

John Price was a killer. No, he was worse. He was a CIA-funded, black ops, government-overthrowing war machine, capable of literal atrocities. You hadn’t heard much, but you’d heard enough. If any of these people knew how quickly he could turn a crowded room into an empty one, none of them would be looking so fondly at the way he snuggled with the dog or complimented your dad’s knife collection.

But, that wasn’t why you protested, was it? If you were really being honest with yourself, the reason why you were so against letting Jonathan War Machine Price run your life was that it was yours to run. You didn’t need anyone’s help.

You didn’t need it.

You could handle things on your own.

You liked being able to spread your wings, fly your own path…

You were nobody’s puppet.

But, you were starting to like the way he was pulling your strings. When he would take the pressure of choice away from you, after you’d already been making a million other decisions at the end of a long day, it eased something inside of you in a way that nothing else could. It was like he was using those huge, rough palms to massage the hurt out of your head, to show you that it didn’t need to be such a battle, you didn’t need to keep fighting. He would do the fighting for you, and he was determined to show you that he was good at it.

Even now, as you stomped through the rain, you knew what you were running from. You told yourself you were avoiding John, that you wouldn’t let him see you struggling to hold yourself together. After a much needed switch into a different position at work, the stress of your own expectations weighed heavy on you. But, you wanted them to. You wanted to know that you could still make it alone. You didn’t need John Price.

But, you’re wearing the slicker he bought for you when yours got left in a cab.

So?

But, you smell like oud, saffron, and bergamot; the perfume oils he found for you at that local boutique you love. The same one he always compliments when he smells you wearing it.

So?

But, you’re tired and wet and cold, and all you want is for him to tell you what you want.

So?!

The soft, amber glow of a cigar stopped you in your tracks. A man was sitting on your bus stop bench, his arm slung over the back of the seat, his legs spread wide, taking up as much space as he liked. He was smoking slowly, enjoying every breath, savoring the flavors. Flavors you knew all too well: vanilla, licorice, sweet cedar, and whiskey.

His sharp, blue eyes only met yours when you let out a labored sigh.

“What are you doing here, John?”

He took another drag, letting the ashes smolder, their warm glow making him look more and more like the Devil, a fallen man bathed in the light of a fire he lit all by himself. And damn proud of the blaze, too.

“Just waitin’ for my ride,” he smiled in the way that a cat must smile at a mouse under its paw, “Do you wanna sit down, sweetheart?”

“No! I don’t wanna sit down,” you threw up your hands, “I want you to stop meddling in my life. You’re not allowed to keep making me feel like… like I need someone… some — Like I need someone’s fucking help. I don’t need anyone but me.”

His tone shifted in a sudden heat, like a flash in the pan, unexpected,

“Do you think I have any bloody help?”

Price let the question sink in before standing in front of you, his gaze never leaving your eyes. His voice was soft and gravelly, thick with smoke, and yet each and every word cut into you as sharp as a blade,

“Do you think anyone comes to help me when I’m deep in some bullshit, fuckin’ around in Rammaza? Just me, is it? By myself?”

“I don’t… no, I don’t know…” You hated how small your voice sounded in this tiny bus stop hut, the pounding rain drowning out your words.

John looked at you as if he was waiting on you to find another answer, and then his face softened. He flung the cigar onto the pavement and crushed it out under his boot, smashing the tobacco into the cement without mercy. The object of his affection, once consumed, now snuffed out under his own power.

His hands wrapped around your shoulders, caging you in, warm and safe from the wind blocked by his broad back. He sighed, his mouth drawing a tight line across his face,

“Of course I need fuckin’ help. I have my men, and they have me. And I keep you here,” he jammed a finger hard into his chest, “Deep inside me, remindin’ me what I need to come home to. I’m not… meddling in your life, love. I’m trying to put you in mine. I thought…”

He pulled away, sitting back down, looking up at you with a unique look on his face,

“I thought that’s what you wanted. If I’m wrong,” he let out a dark, bitter chuff, “You need to tell me right now. ‘Cause all my plans have you in them.”

The rain made the plexiglass roof sound like it was shattering, over and over, the concussive slam of the storm created an oppressive din. He was waiting there, looking at you, asking for your next move. What was your plan?

“Am I wrong, sweetheart?”

You waited, trying to see how many steps ahead he was in front of you. If you said yes, if you said no; what decisions had already been made for you? Did he know what you were going to say before you did? And the real question: Why were you fighting so hard against something you wanted so badly?

You shook your head back and forth, just enough for him to see. HIs eyes lit up with hope and energy, a renewed flame.

“Then, come home with me. Quit bein’ so bloody hard on yourself. Let’s get you dry, love. C’mon.”

So, you obeyed.

Nothing was more humbling than climbing into a squat little sports car when you were drenched to the bone. You curled yourself right into his cage, feeling silly for ever wanting to escape from it. Why were you pulling so hard against such soft reins? Couldn’t you see that he wanted to take care of you? To remove all of your barriers, to clear your path? You would be more powerful under his wing, soaring far beyond what you were capable of on your own. Why deny yourself a bite of the apple? It was ripe, the snake had promised, and sweet.

He helped you up the stairs to your flat, walking you past his men as they gathered together in the kitchen, speechless, for once. None of them dared question their captain’s choices, and he had chosen you. More than that, it was clear that you had chosen him.

Once you were in his room, behind a locked door, he held up a hand and stopped you in the entryway, shivering and dripping by the door.

“Wait here.”

You waited.

You waited some more.

Just when you thought you would turn around and take yourself to bed, he returned dressed in a dry tee and a pair of running shorts. He carried two large, fluffy towels, and his face was set into a serious mask. All business.

“Take off your clothes.”

You hesitated, looking at him to make sure you heard him correctly.

He met your gaze, standing so close to you that you could feel his breath against your cheek. His chest was inches from your face, and you had to look up in order to meet his eyes.

“Take.”

He grabbed your phone out of your hand and dropped it on his entry table.

“Off.”

He rucked the jacket off of your back, peeling it down your arms and letting it fall to the ground with a wet slap.

“Your.”

His fingers pulled the tie out of your ruined braid, letting the elastic roll onto his wrist.

“Clothes.”

His hands went back to his side. It was up to you to do the rest. He wasn’t here to do everything for you. You were not his plaything. You had to choose to obey him. He wanted to watch you choose to follow his orders, not because you needed to, but because you wanted to.

Slowly, and a bit unsure, you began to shed your layers. You started with your shirt, almost knocking into him with your elbows since he was towering over you, standing in your space. Then, you writhed out of your jeans, peeling them off of your legs, kicking away your shoes in the process, stepping gingerly out of your socks, needing to hold onto his thick trunk for balance.

Now, in just your bra and panties, you waited, hoping he’d hand you a towel.

“What did I say?” He asked in a hushed tone, the timbre containing just enough warning to make your cheeks hot.

“No, John. The boys are here in the kitchen!” You protested, whispering in a low hiss.

This was beyond what you expected from him. You’d been keeping him at arm’s length, despite his constant pressure to be in your life. Sure, there had been moments of weakness. You’d shared a kiss, and you had let his hands wander when you watched a movie together on the sofa last weekend, but that was as far as things had gone. Stripping naked in the bright light of his apartment suite was something else entirely. Not to mention what sort of noises would seep out under his doorway if things got out of hand.

“Stop,” he grabbed you by your face with both hands, making you look at him, “Stop fighting me. I am in this. All the way. The only time I wanna hear you tell me no is when you really mean it. If you say stop, I will immediately stop. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded. He released you and put his hands on his hips, impatient.

So, you slid out of your bra, slowly letting the cups pull away from your breasts, the lace cold and damp on your skin as it joined your outfit on the floor. As you rolled your panties off of your hips, stepping out of them and shoving them under your jacket with your toe, you felt more than just naked. You felt vulnerable and a little scared.

What would he say? What did he plan to do? You realized, with a chilly shudder, that you didn’t even know his personal preferences. He’d never even given you a cursory glance into his mind, and reading his thoughts was impossible with that serious poker face. Most men wore their thoughts right across their eyes, or some (like Soap) even muttered them aloud, unconcerned about any judgment or scrutiny. If a man wanted you, you’d know. They were an open book.

But the captain was very hard to read.

Suddenly, as you stood back up, warring with your own mind, you were surrounded in fuzzy, comforting warmth. He was drying you off, wiping your arms and legs with reverent care, squeezing the rain out of your hair, using the corner of the cloth to wipe your face, holding you in his arms when you felt weak, off-balance, exhausted.

It seemed as if the more you relaxed into him, the more power you gave up, the more it began to stoke his fire. While you became soft and pliant, he shifted into a fierce protector, covering you with his hands, bracing you with his heavy bones.

Price wrapped your hair into a high bun with an unexpected level of skill, and he carefully stretched your hair tie around it. When he turned to face you, you caught him staring at your body, raking his eyes over your breasts and studying the curve of your mons. It was as if he was groping you with his eyes, and each swipe of his gaze felt like a lick from his warm tongue. It was enough of an invasion that you wanted to put your hands in front of yourself, to hide out of some sort of shame.

But when you made a move to cover yourself, the look in his eyes was enough to make you stand with your hands at your sides, allowing yourself to be on full display for him and that ravenous glare. He hadn’t even needed to chastise you. His mere desire was enough of a correction.

Then, almost like a reward, he wrapped the towel around you, letting you hold it tight to your chest.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on inside that pretty head,” he commanded you, his voice quiet but firm. It was just a simple question, but you knew it was loaded. So, you brushed him off, tossing out cheap bait, wrapping the towel a little tighter around yourself, hoping he’d drop it. You shrugged,

“Just cold.”

His jaw set with a click, and that soft purr became a warning growl,

“That’s one,” he held up his finger, “The next lie will cost you that towel, pretty girl.”

You stared at him blankly, trying to find a way through this labyrinth he had — apparently — custom built for you, sending you down twists and turns and dead ends as if he knew exactly how you’d try to steal back some control. But every way out seemed like a worse fate than simply allowing yourself to trust him. Nevertheless, you tried again.

“I am cold, and I’m tired. It’s been a long day, John,” you sighed, shifting towards him, trying your best to take back the lead to his strange dance, “C’mon, don’t you wanna take me to bed?”

You reached out a hand and snaked it under the hem of his shirt, exploring untouched skin, letting your nails scrape through a dark patch of thick hair, right above his waistband. Your fingers got as far as his navel before he snapped.

The cold absence of him ripping the towel away from you felt worse than you expected it to. In fact, you hadn’t actually taken him seriously. You protested, indignant,

“Hey! What —-“

“You think this is the same game you’ve always played,” he snarled, throwing the towel away and shoving you to your knees, his hold crushing and cruel on the nape of your neck, “You think, because those lads will eat any scraps you throw to them,” he nodded behind you, gesturing toward his men only a thin wall away, “That I’ll be satisfied with a taste, hm?”

His tone was mocking, and there was an undercurrent of darkness that lingered between each word like a warning, like the red of a poisonous berry that shouldn’t be picked and yet sagged ripe and ready on its stem.

“You always get your way with them, don’cha? You know that a bit of skin and a little attention will keep them on you for days. And they reward you for it. They text you at all hours of the fuckin’ night, beggin’ you for just one more look, one more bite,” his mouth was right next to your ear, bending over you, casting his shadows across your face, and all you could do was kneel there, fully under his control, unable to move against his immense strength, “But, that’s not what I want.”

Your eyes dared to slant over to the growing monster that pressed its warm body against his shorts, hanging heavy and stretching the fabric, and you dared to hiss at him, even in your compromised position, using his title like a knife, aiming to scrape him with it,

“Seems like you do, Captain.”

He smirked, you could feel his smile against the sensitive skin of your earlobe, and you could see his almost infernal expression out of the corner of your eye. Even though you were trying to get under his skin, it made you feel like you were playing right into his hand yet again, helpless to his will.

He stood up, never letting go of his grip on your neck, pinching the muscle like you were a caught rabbit, his writhing prey. Then, with a force that made your stomach drop, Price shoved your cheek into the crotch of his shorts, bringing you face to face with the outline his swelling shaft. Your nose was buried in the fabric, and you could smell the soap of his detergent as well as the musk of his sex that throbbed underneath.

Then, he rucked down his waistband to show himself to you, pressing his length along your cheek, the softness of his skin surprising you just as much as the size of his thick, hefty prick.

He held your neck in one hand and his cock in the other as he began to stroke himself up and down, letting your temple and cheekbone feel the slip of his velvet foreskin. You could hear soft, wet clicking sounds as he coated himself in his own fluid, using the clear, dripping pearls as lube.

You tried to move your jaw to taste him, eager to know if the heady, intoxicating smell of his skin matched his precome, hungry for his reaction to your mouth. But he stopped you, tightening his grip and scolding you like a naughty pet,

“My body wants your body, love. I’ll admit that,” he chuckled, not halting his lurid, jerking pulls, using your cheek for friction, “But I want more. I don’t want a taste. Or a bite. I won’t be satisfied.”

He frowned a bit, shrugging off his confession before he continued,

“I want you to trust me. Trust that I’ll be here for you, that I’ll always be here. So,” he tugged on your flesh, forcing you to meet his fiery gaze, “Tell me what you thought.”

What were you supposed to say? That you were insecure about your looks? That you weren’t sure if he’d approve? That you were either too much or not enough and you weren’t sure which?

You turned your mouth as much as you could, trying to at least lick along the warm underbelly of his rod, aching to taste him, but he jerked you back into place, laughing at the disappointment on your face,

“Lips to yourself, love. Only good girls get fed.”

You rolled your eyes up to him, and you knew you had to make a choice. He was joking, but it was a façade. He was using it like a shield, waiting to see if you would actually relinquish your control or if you’d cut and run like you did with everyone else.

So, you decided to trust him, giving him what he wanted, a full confessional on burning, bent knees, eyes cast up at your new master, praying for his communion, your tongue eager for his body and his blood and his love.

You made sure his eyes were locked on yours as you spoke softly, unflinching in your resolve,

“I was worried you wouldn’t like what you saw. I needed you to want me. I was afraid.”

The relief that washed over him was nearly palpable. His whole body responded to your admission, all of that tightly-wound uncertainty melting away in the heat of your submission to him.

“That’s it. Good,” his voice was heavy with his relief, and he almost seemed like he was slipping into a trance, rubbing himself in steady, long strokes, shuddering against your cheek, “And what now, hm? You want me to let you go? Let you free? Or are you gonna let me in?”

You didn’t break your eye contact with him, but you wavered, sure of your decision but overwhelmed when you had to say it out loud. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling the slick mess he was forging between them, trying to find some comfort. You took a breath and told him,

“I’ll let you in, John.”

His throat held back a long, low groan, the pleasure of your surrender or the pleasure of his hand forcing it from his chest. You weren’t sure which.

His grip loosened on your neck, but he didn’t let go. His voice was barely above a whisper as he told you his rules in hushed, broken phrases, holding himself back from the edge,

“You belong to me, now, sweetheart. You might be in charge at your bloody job, but everything else is mine. Do you hear me?”

You were going to answer him, you’d even planned to tack on a cheeky little yes, sir, just to show him you were playing along, but he had other plans. Always a step ahead. Before you could even breathe to speak, he pressed the tender head of his cock between your lips and deep into the warm hollow of your mouth, his wide form forcing your jaw to fall open to let him inside of you. It shocked you to be taken that way, not roughly but so certainly, with such surety, as if there was no other choice but for him to take you. You shifted, but with his knuckles tight against the base of your skull, you couldn’t retreat. Other than lolling your tongue along the body of his shaft, or swallowing against its drooling tip, you were powerless.

His face twisted into a hungry sort of smear full of teeth and lips, grimacing at the feeling of being surrounded by you. Every inch that he drove himself deeper, his breathing would halt until at last, as he buried himself into your clenching throat, his lungs had emptied, and he was sighing with a ragged, guttural cry.

“When you’re with me…” He continued his dark promises to you, the words choppy and broken, only threaded loosely together between panting gasps, “Even when I’m a fuckin’ world away, I promise that I will take care of you,” he pet your cheek with the softest affection, admiring you like a work of art, “All of you. You will sleep when I say. You will eat when I say. You will come when I say,” he smiled a little more cruelly at that, watching your eyes widen. And, as you began to wish for air, planting your palms against his firm, muscular thighs, ready to push away, he looked down at you with a lurid satisfaction, “You will breathe when I say.”

You were choking. You could hear yourself in the quiet of his room, your throat gurgling, full of your own viscous drool, escaping where it could along the stretched line of your mouth, running down your chin and neck. You felt the flare of panic rise up within you, and you tried to pull away in earnest, writhing against his grip, trying to escape from him and failing, turning your body in shameful futility.

Price bent his face toward you, folding himself to whisper his lustful words, making sure your eyes met his, pressing your nose into his soft pubic hair,

“You. Breathe. When. I. Say.”

He kept himself contorted like that, keeping his face low to watch your eyes, to witness your struggle, and you felt hot tears burn down your face, the effort overcoming you. But, you wanted to show him that you could obey. You wanted to trust him, to show him that you were willing to give him your freedom, knowing that only he was worthy of such a gift. So, you swallowed deeply, watching as it made his eyes flutter, and again, and again. Over and over, you closed your throat around his steel-hard length, choking when it became too much.

Still, he kept you there. As brave as you’d been with partners in the past, even those moments were fully eclipsed by this one. You had never even thought that you might be capable of holding your breath for so long.

You were sobbing wholeheartedly now, your eyes reflecting your desperation, tears pooling and spilling across your face. He was watching you cry, whispering breathless nothings, soft words of encouragement,

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You’re so fuckin’ good. My good girl.”

Just as purple and blue spots began to obscure your vision, he pulled himself out of you in a terrible, wet departure, leaving you clutching his hips, sobbing into his belly, watching his hard cock pounding, swaying at full height, swollen with blood and eager for its finish. You could feel those same soft, dark hairs matting down as your tears soaked into them. He ran his fingers through your hair, keeping the fallen strands out of your face, still holding you at your nape, but just to comfort you.

You imagined him letting go, and you felt… sad, somehow. He would have to release you at some point, but you were in such a submissive state, just the idea of him leaving you without his guiding hand was too much to bear.

Your cries turned to a twisted kind of grief, and when he heard your tone change, he dropped to the floor with you, holding you to his chest, rocking you back and forth, shushing you and talking to you in a hushed voice,

“Shh, baby. Tell me to stop. Tell me…”

You grasped at him wildly, uncontrolled, holding onto whatever part of him you could, shaking your head,

“No, no. Don’t — don’t let me go. Please, I can’t… I need… I need you to touch me.”

You planted one of your hands across his, covering the one that gripped your neck, pressing it like a plaster, like it was keeping a wound healed, like it was a dam in front of your frothing, vengeful river; it was a lifeline and you were adrift.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, “I’m not gonna let you go. I’m right here. Shh. Shh. It’s alright. I’m here. C’mon. Come with me.”

He lifted you, helping you walk on sore, shaking legs, your nerves sparking across your skin. Then, with his hand still firmly planted against your neck, he led you like a shepherd with his lamb, marching you to his bedroom. As you approached the bedframe, your thighs hit the mattress, and Price guided you forward until your body lay flat against it. The duvet was cool and smooth against your belly and breasts, and you tucked your arms into yourself, looking for warmth.

You felt John plant gentle kisses across your back, trailing them down your spine, and after the overstimulation you had just gone through, even his lightest touch was electric.

Your tears had stopped, but still you panted, sniffling, trembling from the shock of his careful kisses, waiting for whatever would come next.

You felt his hips press against your exposed ass cheeks, his shorts now missing, and all you could sense was his warm, furry skin. You sighed into it, happy for the connection.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded.

You complied immediately, all of your tortured resistance gone from you now, ready to trust him to take care of you.

The unknown was what made your belly swarm with butterflies, and as you waited for his next move, your mind raced with possibilities.

Would he be cruel? Would he punish you for your lying when he had first taken you in? His hand might strike your tender flesh, slapping your ass and leaving red, angry marks.

Would he be lustful? Your mind fed you imaginary moments where he would press his cock into your pussy, skipping any foreplay, simply using you like his warm, wet toy. You thought that he wanted more, something more intimate, but if not, you would let him. You were his to use. At this point, you were so pliant, so open to his will, he could use you over and over and you would take him. It was a dark confidence you had never known until now.

Perhaps he would simply stop. Maybe he perceived you as weak, as if you couldn’t take what he wanted to give you. He would simply comfort you, pitying you for your wrecked state. It was this thought that turned your stomach. Surely, he knew you better than that. John Price was not the pitying type.

As the base of his cock lay nestled in the cleft of your ass, still as hard as a stone, his long shaft was shoved up against his lower abdomen, pulsing with unslaked desire. Then, as he settled himself, pleased with your spread display, John began to slip the very tips of his fingers into your pussy. He was just feeling your softness, plucking at your petals, laying them open with his hand, using your own wetness to paint your lips and the tight muscle of your hole, preparing you for more.

His voice broke the trance that his touch had put you in,

“It kills me when I have watch you putting yourself through hell. You are so strong, but you deserve to have everything you want. Everything you need, I’ll make sure you have it. I promise.”

He was so sincere, and his voice sounded so sure. It was like he was sharing an old memory, something he knew by heart.

“John, please…” You whispered, feeling yourself slipping, slowly becoming untangled by his touch. You needed more, but you had no words. You could barely concentrate, and your mind was swimming in a liminal space, trapped in a loop of mounting bliss.

“What do you need, sweetheart? Tell me.”

“I don’t know,” you felt your tears return, and although you were desperate for something, you couldn’t find the answer.

“Shh, shh, shh. You’re alright,” John rubbed your back with his free hand, smoothing your skin with his warm touch, “Does my pretty girl need to come?”

You nodded, daring to glance over your shoulder at him as he worked on you, his finger now sinking deeper into you, gently prodding your walls in long, aching circles. His other fingers were cradling your folds, slipping between them with each undulating thrust, brushing beside the swelling body of your clit and making you throb with need.

He felt it, and you saw a warm smile spread across his face,

“I can feel you needin’ me. So wet for me. Fightin’ me so bloody hard. Thought I’d be wantin’ you forever. Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed of havin’ you under me like this? Fuck, I need you so badly, baby.”

You felt his grip tighten on your neck again as he pressed you deeper into the soft mattress, his prying hand picking up the pace. His thick finger finally slipped down to the knuckle of his fist. As he fucked you on his hand, you could hear your body’s slick as it softened for him, submitting to his power just as you had done, your body at peace with your mind.

He pressed a second finger beside his first, twisting them together, curling the tips to rub you from the inside, making you feel the deep ache of your orgasm building within your belly.

You tried to find more friction, rocking your hips against the bed, squeezing your legs together, needing more but completely helpless to his pace and pressure.

Price stopped, pushing his fingers right into the tender flesh of your neck as a warning,

“Open,” he shoved your foot away, spreading them for you, “You keep fighting and fighting… fine. I’ll give you something to fight for, hm?”

You tried to twist your knees together again, but his legs stood apart, holding you open. Then, you felt his threat. He put the head of his heavy prick against your greedy hole, dipping it into your wetness like a seal into warm, melting wax.

“C’mon,” he squeezed your nape hard, once, just enough to get your attention, “You wanna drive? Fuckin’ drive, love. You think you can fuck yourself better than I can fuck you? Prove it.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him, watching the muscles ripple and pop in his forearm that held you down, unwilling to give you full control, and yet allowing you to set the pace. You saw his other hand rub the curve of your hip, dropping lower to grope your ass, egging you on.

Unwilling to beg, you thrust yourself down onto his shaft, gasping from his girth, only managing to fit half of him inside of you, physically unable to go any deeper on your own. But, you tried again, lifting away, sinking back, repeating your movements and reaching between your legs to rub your clit as you fucked him.

But, it wasn’t enough. You felt so close to the edge, and yet you couldn’t tumble over it, losing your rhythm, chasing it down, too weak to reach the peak you knew was right within your grasp.

You grunted in frustration, and his cruel laugh made you turn back towards him again.

He shrugged,

“I thought you wanted to be in charge. Does it feel good, sweetheart?”

“Fuck!” You gasped, trying to catch your pleasure and feeling it slip from you yet again, humping your hips against the bed shameless and desperate.

“Tch,” Price gripped the inside of your ass cheek, shaking it and rolling your soft flesh in his hand, “Too bad, love. I wanted to give it to you. Shame, really.”

“John! Please,” you caved, sobbing out a short moan, begging him impatiently.

“Please, what?” His question came just as he decided to press himself deeper into your body than you had been able to go, sinking into you like a hand into a glove, a tight, all-encompassing fit.

You whined, rolling your fingers over your clit faster, feverish, ready for relief,

“Please make me come.”

“You will come…” He stretched you, giving you no warning, the sharp feeling of his invasion making you catch your breath, “When I bloody tell you to.”

Then, as if to prove it to you, he stuffed his length into your pussy, never pulling back very far, choosing instead to massage you with his cock, using his base to stretch you wide before rolling away. The sensation overwhelmed you, and his size made your mind go blank. Any words that formed in your mind turned to whining cries of pleasure on your tongue.

There were no sounds of lewd pounding of flesh on flesh. All of Price’s work was deep and wet, churning inside of you like a volcanic sea, hot and untamed. He, however, made plenty of noise, praising you in every way he knew how, speaking in half-clipped phrases, losing his sentence to a groan of relief as he fed himself to you, filling your pussy like a hungry mouth.

You felt yourself getting closer by the moment. Each grinding thrust was pushing you ever nearer to that gleaming, crackling fuse. He had lifted you, unintentionally, unable to understand the effect of his strength, and your toes could barely scrape the floor. You could feel your sacral core clenching around him like a delicate vice, grabbing for his cock, trying to hold him within your belly, some twisting grip of nature used to ensure that his creamy come ended up where it belonged, soaking into your womb.

Your clenching made him pause, which, in turn, caused you to cry out to him, wordlessly babbling, begging for him to return, to keep his pace.

“Don’t you dare, sweetheart. Don’t you dare come,” his voice was like rattling brimstone, smoky and burning within his throat.

“Please…” You whispered, unable to lift your raspy, keening voice.

With shallow, teasing thrusts, Price used his cockhead to softly pop in and out of your soaked hole, swollen from being well-fucked. Just hearing a vibrator would have sent you over the edge at that point, and you fought him, trying to get any sort of power at all, rolling your body like a caught snake.

“Stop,” he said curtly, “Stop fighting. Be still.”

You quieted yourself down, breathing heavy, sweating into his sheets, shivering like you had a fever, burning up from the inside out.

For the first time, you felt his hand leave your neck, and his fingers twisted themselves into your hair at the base of your skull. Slowly, carefully, he lifted you by your head, forcing your back into a vicious arch, letting your breasts hang freely, your arms trying to balance you, mostly worthless since Price had full control of your torso in this position.

His free hand slid around your front, groping you wildly, plucking your nipples and filling his palms with the meat of your breast. Then, he replaced your fingers with his own, pressing beside your sensitive clit, rolling it softly in long, firm strokes.

You heard yourself make a new sound, one you’d never made, an animal’s grunting, something reckless and feral.

Then, Price took up his stretching rhythm again, fully in charge of everything you were sensing. To you, he may as well have been in control of your mind. It was no use to you; you were at his mercy and it was everything you’d ever wanted.

“Do you trust me?”

Your thoughts swam, unable to even consider anything but the truth, and amongst all of your vocalized ecstasy, you managed to reply,

“Yes.”

“Don’t come. Keep it. Just like that.”

“J-John!”

“Wait, wait, wait… good girl. Good.”

“Ohhh, fuck…”

His next words seemed barely human, snarled at you through bared teeth,

“Now. Come for me. Come f— fuck! Holy fuck.”

When you felt him spill into you, you had almost no control left over your own orgasm. Your heart felt like it had leapt into your throat, and all you could experience was your shining, explosive finish. You heard no sound, and your eyes went white, rolling back into your head. You couldn’t breathe, or scream, and if it wasn’t for John’s immense body holding you tight, you would have crashed into his bed, all used up.

His orgasm was as long as yours was, and he finished in slow, fearsome thrusts, burying his head into you as deep as he could reach, smearing your lips with your mixed fluids, caring nothing for the mess.

“C’mere, love. Come to me,” Price held you to his chest, finally pulling himself from you, holding you as close as he could, laying beside you in a sweaty, spent tangle of arms and legs.

You lay your head on his chest, catching your breath, only to tumble into a dreamless sleep with him, your body exhausted from your effort.

When you woke up the next day, you could feel him all over you. He had left you alone in the bed, and yet your skin and bones kept his imprints. You could feel the ghost of his fingertips on your neck, and you were sore in places you weren’t sure how you could be. Everything was a wet mess, and just when you worried about how you’d cross the apartment without yesterday’s outfit, you saw that John had left you a note.

Training day on base. I'll be back tonight. Dinner on me. Wear this. xx

Under the note, Price had laid out his favorite dress of yours, a blue satin slip of a thing, and (with the tags still on) you found a matching lace set of bra and panties in the same pretty color, just your size. You couldn’t see the price, but when you searched for the brand online, you couldn’t help but blush. He'd spent more than just a pretty penny on this outfit. You couldn't help but notice that the delicate lace would show through the thin fabric of the dress, making little raised ridges where your nipples would be.

Whatever you’d just agreed to when you said you’d let John Price into your life was about to get very, very interesting.

AO3 Link

#call of duty fanfic #captain john price #john price #call of duty #captain price #captain price x you #john price smut #john price x female reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #john price x reader #captain johnathan price #and they were roommates au

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hellishjoel · 1 year ago

Text

cherry

7.6k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Joel invites you over for a movie night with your parents and Sarah out of town. How are you supposed to focus on the film with his hand on your thigh?

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20s while Joel is in his 40s), cursing, alcohol consumption, use of pet names, softdom! Joel AND dom!Joel (restraint by command), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, reader titty appreciation, super descript about Joel’s bulging biceps (we all know the picture that came out with him holding onto his luggage and I have not REST)

A/N: I wrote all of this today.. I don't know what's wrong with me. I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope these two are growing on ya'll as much as they're growing on me <33

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him. You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder. “You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

A few times throughout the summer, the lakehouse was yours and yours alone. While on vacation, your parents always make it a point to go out to dinner and drinks with their old friends that lived in a neighboring town, leaving you in blissful solitude.

You used to go with them when you were younger, too young to be left home alone. You’d hang out with their son, Nathan, on the tire swing or go swimming in their pool.

Once you and Nathan both turned thirteen, you found that Nathan was involved in a lot of sports leagues that summer, and therefore he wasn’t going to be around much. Your parents didn’t want to punish you and force you to hang out with four grown adults all day, so they let you stay behind at the lakehouse.

It was your first sense of freedom, taking care of yourself, having your own routine. You remember breaking into your piggy bank and riding your bike into town with Sarah that day to play at the arcade. You came back home with your lackluster arcade prizes and made mediocre hot dogs. It was a little lonely, the house often bustling with noise from your parents, but it was also serene to be alone.

Needless to say, you were at peace to wave your parents off this morning as they backed out of the driveway and left you and the lakehouse for the day.

Your eyes flitted over to the Miller’s. Both Joel’s pickup truck and Sarah’s used and abused 2000’s red Saturn were parked in the shade. Part of you couldn’t believe Sarah could even drive. That five-year-ish age difference felt even more profound as young adults.

You tried to find ways to busy yourself tonight until your date with Joel. Date? Not a date. Hang out. Movie night. Meet up. Rendezvous. Literally any other word besides date.

You needed to distract yourself because tonight was a ways away.

You busied yourself with cleaning your room and bathroom, followed by reading on the dock. When it got too warm, you took a refreshing dip in the lake, followed by some leisurely sunbathing. After a shower, you found solace in jotting down your thoughts in your journal, channeling any residual nerves about the upcoming night.

You found that documenting your summer experiences provided you with a sense of clarity. You aimed to revisit these entries later in life, reminiscing about the intensity of your emotions. These pages held memories of your first boyfriend, the elation of passing your driving test, the ache of lost friendships, and the journey to college.

After the bonfire, before you couldn’t even think about sleeping, you were ferociously writing in your journal. The way your heart raced, the way you were so proud of yourself for taking a leap of faith with Joel. Because it was so, so worth it.

In the decades to come, the memories you once experienced that felt so fresh would naturally fade. That’s the point of your journals, to document how deeply you felt about your life at the time. Pouring your emotions onto the page felt like tending to a wounded heart. In hindsight, those entries about sadness and turmoil elicited a little giggle. Your mom always told you that it was better to feel anything than not to feel at all.

You wondered how much Joel felt, like, really felt. On the surface, he was as cold and unmoveable as stone. What was he like with his passions and the people he cared about? You knew he loved Sarah to an unimaginable degree. He would do anything for her. But besides his own blood, what were the things he cared about?

After putting pen to paper, you shoved your journal under your pillow and started to get ready. You over-dicked-around, and now the clock was ticking.

You wanted to look somewhat nice. After your recent interactions with Joel, one where you quite literally looked like you just rolled out of bed, you were keen on looking at least somewhat presentable.

But it was a movie night, after all, and you wanted to be comfortable. You opted to wear something simple, not too date-ey, not too casual. But you did wear Joel’s hoodie. It wasn’t for any overt purpose but because Joel’s house consistently seemed to mimic an icebox. Joel struck you as someone who could thrive in Alaska, content in solitude amid the cold.

The hoodie still smelled like him, mixed with a little residual bonfire smoke, but his scent was still deeply lodged into the fabric. A navy hoodie with fraying material around the neckline and cuffs. Well-worn and well-loved. He must have loved it enough not to take it to work because it was free of any stains and rips from what you could tell.

You twirled your finger around the hoodie’s strings, looking yourself over slowly in the mirror. Your eagerness practically floated you over to Joel’s house, Sarah’s car now gone. She must have left for her camping trip.

After taking cautious steps up Joel’s rickety porch, you sent a rhythmic knock against the Miller’s front door. You heard a few heavy steps on the other side, hearing a lock flip before Joel appeared in front of you.

“It’s about time, I was starting to sweat.” You said as you pulled open the screen door that divided you two before walking past him, catching his subtle eye roll as you did so.

The house looked like the same as it did ten years ago. Lots of dark wood, a cozy living room with a fireplace, and a lamp in the corner by the window. Joel had the perfect view of the lake. You naturally gravitated further into the room to look at the water glisten as the last hits of sunshine glided over the horizon.

“You want somethin’ to drink?”

Your head snapped to Joel, your arms already crossed at the cooler temperature piercing through the material of your clothes.

“Yeah, what do you have?” Your small steps trekked into the kitchen, finally taking a full look at Joel. Your face faltered at the sight of him.

Joel had traded in his usual tattered green flannel for a nicer, cleaner denim button-up. He had on his staple worn-in jeans, and for whatever reason, he still had on his work boots. But his hair was sort of run-through, freshly showered and combed back. He looked handsome, clean, like he was trying.

You slyly smiled at him. He seemed to quickly catch your drift, already avoiding your eye contact with a huff. “I got... Whiskey,”

“Ew, no.”

“Root beer,”

“Nope.”

Joel let out an excruciatingly long sigh as he ducked his head further into the depths of his fridge, mumbling something about you being a piece of work.

“It’s water, or,” with a groan, he stood up from the fridge, “this bottle of wine. Probably old.”

Old? The bottle looked nothing but. No dust, fresh label, barely chilled. You didn’t want to call out the poor man for trying to make tonight classy, but you knew Joel had purchased this bottle of wine for tonight. For you.

If it were any other date or any other guy, you would have pushed his nose into it a bit. Teased them for caring and being so sweet. But this wasn’t any other guy, this was Joel. And if you ever tried to admit that you saw right through him, he would clam up for the rest of the evening out of his adorable bashfulness. So you let it be. For now.

“Wine’s good.” You say casually with a little nod, trying to relax your cocky smile. Even when he turned around to fetch some old wine glasses inside the very top of a kitchen cabinet, you could tell he was satisfied with himself. Hiding a smile with his back turned.

You pulled the bottle closer to read the label. You rolled it around in your hand, your thumb tracing the stamped lettering. Cherry wine.

“Haven’t had a chance to eat all day, got us some pizzas,” Joel said as his head nodded to the side, following the direction to two pizzas still warm and in their cardboard box homes on the counter.

“Can’t have a movie night without pizza.” Your voice cooed as you set down the wine to take a peak inside, seeing all of its cheesy glory.

Joel topped off a singular wine glass, your head twisting curiously at just the one. He clinked your glass with his beer bottle, and you rolled your eyes.

“Thanks.” You murmured, turning on your heel to grab your glass and one of the pizza boxes before walking it to his living room.

You sat right in the middle of the couch, not giving Joel any excuse to sit too far away.

“Scootch,” Joel said as he motioned with his beer bottle to make room on the couch. You made a little noise of disapproval toward him.

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head.

“What?”

Your sneaker tapped the heel of his boot.

“Take those off. You can’t relax during a movie still wearing work boots.”

He looked a little perplexed before looking down at his boots. Probably forgot they were even on. They were practically his spare feet at this point.

“Fine. You too.” He said as his steel toe gently nudged your sneakers in return. You softly nodded, both of you undoing your laces. Sitting on the couch arm, Joel worked to loosen one boot and then the other, hearing the methodical snap of the laces. You slip yours off with ease, picking them up by the upper heel collar and tossing them by the door. Joel just kicked his aside and sat down next to you with a thump into the cushion.

“We’re watching Pride & Prejudice.” You commandeered the remote out of his hand, his eyebrow cocking to you in disbelief.

“The hell is that?”

Disbelief tangled your facial expression. “You’ve never seen Pride & Prejudice?”

Joel’s cocked his head to the side, face sitting like stone. Really?

“Do I look like the type’a guy that watches Pride & Prejudices?”

You rolled your eyes and huffed.

“It’s based on the novel by Jane Austen. About... literally so much. The independence of women. Societal norms relating to gender and marriage. Any of this ring a bell?”

“I know Sarah likes it. That’s about it.” Your smile quips up as you click play. “Perfect.”

“Do we have to?” His annoyance held no restraint.

“This movie night is to get back into my good graces, is it not?” You asked as your body leaned away, getting a good look at him.

Through tight lips, he held back a smile before nodding a little and turning to the opening credits. “Yes, ma’am.”

It didn’t take long for Joel’s arm to settle around your shoulders, bringing your body into his side. His thumb was stroking the hoodie you wore, his hoodie.

In his close proximity once again, your senses pick up on his now all too familiar scent; Woody, minty, a little bit of citrus from his body wash. He smelled good, you wonder if he wore cologne tonight or if this was his natural musk. You wouldn’t put it past Joel to naturally smell this good. He was good at a lot of things without even trying.

A few slices of pizza and two glasses of wine later, you started to feel the weight of Joel’s unbearably heavy arm. You released yourself from him and opted to turn and rest your side against the back of the couch cushions, putting your legs in his lap.

You hadn’t been watching the movie for the last twenty minutes. Couldn’t stop trying to subtly look at how handsome Joel looked in the flicker of the television’s light from your peripheral. You couldn’t help it. He looked so big and hot, like a lumberjack, his stupid build alone making you fold.

You bite at the inside of your cheek as Joel’s large and warm palm gently make slow strokes up and down your calf. Your body was trying not to twitch. Your heart was thrumming in your throat. You glanced up at him again, his eyes lasered in on the television.

“Why’d he…” Joel’s voice trailed off, bringing your attention back to the screen.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your brain trying to get you out of Joel Fantasy World and back into the film. “Hm? What?”

“Why’d his hand cramp like that? Why’d they film that part?” Without intention, Joel’s curiosity was evident in his question. It immediately made you smile as you watched the television again, your body slumping into his side.

“It’s not a hand cramp, he’s flexing it. It’s the film’s interpretation of his like… emotional turmoil and struggle. His feelings are evolving for Elizabeth, though he’s trying to appear all aloof and distant towards her. But their physical connection, he can’t really hide it, y’know? He can’t hide how he feels. So he flexes his hand because he’s affected by her presence and her touch. He can’t help it.”

Joel’s hanging onto every word you say. You’re not so sure if he’s interested in the film as much as he is in hearing you talk about it. The hand that was messing around on your calf was now trailing higher up your thigh. And flexing the higher it climbed.

Your eyes looked from his amber ones to his lips, your heart racing faster in your chest. With one hand still clutching your wine glass, you managed to swing one leg over his lap to straddle him. You folded first. You couldn’t take Joel’s achingly slow touches.

His enjoyment was obvious in his movements, his calloused hands slowly pushing up your thighs until they landed on the security of your waist. He was gripping the hoodie in his fists, observing your silhouette.

“This mine, too.” It wasn’t a question, he was pointing it out to you. Joel giving you his own clothes to wear was by no mistake. It was a way of marking what was his, even if it was just in his mind.

“Mine now.” Your words were whispered, leaning down and kissing at the hook of his jawline.

“Like you in it. Wear it a hell’uva lot better than I do.” The shift in his voice was clear, huskier, and a little touch drunk. The film’s volume seemed softer now, playing as white noise and falling abandoned.

His words made your stomach flip, your teeth purposely grazing against his skin. The motion made his hands trail down lower to the globes of your ass, humbly squeezing the flesh with the spans of his palms. A weak moan left your lips against his ear as he planted kisses on the inner side of your neck and on your shoulder. He was so fuckin’ greedy for you.

“Joel,” you whispered between kisses along his jawline, lips coming up to his chin as one of your hands gently cupped the side of his neck while the other clutched your wine glass for dear life.

As soon as your lips came close to his, you faltered. And Joel could tell.

Suddenly both of your eyes were open, soft, and holding contact. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The only thing that actually came from you was a little sigh of disappointment, your eyes shyly flitting away.

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him.

You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder.

“You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

This was Joel’s second or so attempt to kiss you. The first time was on the tailgate of his truck, you didn’t even think about letting him kiss you in his woodshed.

You weren’t trying to remain mysterious or aloof, something he managed to do so naturally. You shifted in his lap uncomfortably, your eyes drifting to the window behind his head and watching the water shift in the black of night.

“It’s not that deep, Joel. Just don’t want anyone to get attached.” You shrug and shake your head. “I don’t know, who cares?”

“I care.” Even blasted on movie pizza and beers, he was as quick as a whip. His care wasn’t soft, it was strong. He cared like a fiercely loyal shield.

You exhaled a deep sigh, your chest reflecting your breath as he slowly brought you back to him.

“I’m scared that I’ll like it.” The movie’s distant volume was comforting white noise to your nerve-wracked conversation with Joel. This was perhaps the most you’ve talked with him in one sitting. And about something so deeply personal, too.

He took in what you said, slowly beginning to shake his head as his hand cupped more seriously against your jawline.

“”t’s just a kiss.” His tone was seductive, sincere. Whispering like no one else in the world could hear. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t feel pressured, Joel was looking at you like he genuinely cared about what you had to say. About the movie, about the kissing. He bought you wine, he got pizzas, and he’s suffering through a period drama to sit beside you on his couch. Damn you, Joel Miller.

You felt your body relax into his again, no longer cold and rigid. Your bodies meshed as you fell into the front of his chest, your hand on his neck moving up to cup his jaw. You tilted up his face and received no resistance. Just kiss him.

You met his lips, soft and sweet, delicate and gentle. Your hand slipped from his jaw and landed absentmindedly on his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat against your palm.

You didn’t pull away. It was impossible.

He tasted like mint and whiskey, with hints of residual smoke from a cigarette earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know he smoked unless you were tasting him like you were right now.

Joel was encouraging something out of you, deep and primal, as you let the kiss deepen. He took the lead with a heady mix of softness and urgency.

He set a scorching fire between your legs, purely drunk on his lips alone. It sent a shiver down your spine how intense this stone-like man could be. Your mouths moved with desire and rhythm, feeling an electric spark that sent your senses ablaze.

Goosebumps had sprinkled across the skin of your arms, your once soft hand on his jaw now clutching him there and tugging lightly at his curly tendrils. You weren’t letting him go.

Your sounds filled the room, hot and wet kisses punching the air from both of your lungs.

A breath was shared, your forehead on his as both of your chests rose and fell together.

His eyes caught yours. More?

You gently nod. Please.

He was back with you in a hot heat, both of you wanting, no, needing more of one another.

He balanced a tantalizing fusion of passion and longing, a magnetic pull that had you grinding your hips down into his lap.

The world around you faded into a blur as you felt his tongue glide across your lower lip, asking permission. Your lips easily parted, tongues dancing and melting, your hands shaking a bit in excitement.

Joel was consuming you. His tongue marking his territory as he explored your mouth before kissing you heatedly once more. You realized that the kiss wasn’t an exploration of feelings at all, Joel wanted to languish in your taste, stake out the claim of your mouth. Taste and territory.

A low grunt left the depths of his throat as your hips ground over him with desperation now. You could feel his dick swelling against your ass.

Your lips quirked up in a smirk against his, you liked that you could feel his facial expressions, and he, yours.

Without thinking, you went to cup his face in both hands, your wine glass dropping onto Joel’s chest, and what little wine you had left was splashing his denim button-up red. He didn’t even notice.

“Joel--, wait,” you were breathless as you pulled away, his lips moving to the open expanse of your neck instead, his arms tight around your lower back. He could care less about his shirt, or the wine, or the spare glass rolling around between your stomachs.

You laughed breathlessly, closing your eyes as you kept your chests apart, careful not to get wine on his favorite sweatshirt next. Your head fell back, your hair fanning out as you grinned at the ceiling.

“Joel, your shirt is stained.” You tried to point out, both of your hands clamped onto his shoulders weakly to keep him at a distance. But his lust-filled lips had a taste of you that he couldn’t replace. His teeth grazed the soft skin of your neck, wincing lightly as you let out a broken little whimper.

“Don’t care.”

Oh my god. Fuck. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, desperate for more, but you weren’t going to let him stain one of maybe three decent shirts he owned. And with wine, you had to be fast acting.

“Come on,” you said weakly, not even convinced yourself to break away. “Joel, your shirt-”

“Don’t. Care.” He growled through gritted teeth, eyes hungry as you felt him lick a hot, slow stripe up your neck to your jaw. Fuck, he felt so good.

Despite his clear lack of empathy for his shirt, you felt bad because it was your spill, your accident to try and make up to him.

You rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head. He didn’t stop until you planted both palms against his pecs and pushed him back with little force, watching as he fell into the cushions with a lazy smirk on his face as he looked over you. Joel was drunk off your kiss.

You found your footing on the hardwood floors, grabbing his hands and attempting to pull him up and off the couch. He playfully resisted, just kept sitting there as you weakly tried again.

“Stop bein’ such a dick.” You huffed. His laugh filled the room, nearly startling you. It was always quite the opportunity to hear him laugh so big like that.

“Couldn’t pull me up no matter how hard ya try.”

“Shut up. Stand up.” You ordered with little follow-through from Joel.

He yanked his hands from yours and planted his palms onto the tops of his thighs, pushing himself off the couch and following you aimlessly to his master bathroom.

“Do you have some hydrogen peroxide? Dishwasher detergent?”

He stayed silent but looked at you quizzically. You rolled your eyes and started looking through different cabinets.

“Baking soda?” Cocking your head to him, he nods and disappears before returning to you with the little orange Arm & Hammer cardboard box.

You cleared your throat and looked at him expectantly.

“Joel, I can’t clean the shirt with you wearing it. Take it off.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see his lips upturned in a cocky smirk. Sometimes you just wanted to smack it clean off his face.

Fine. With a sense of ferocity, you began to take him down button by button. He lets you. He even steps closer to your body, and you try not to get distracted by him.

“I don’t wanna be the one that messes up your nice shirts.” You murmur.

“t’s fine.” He cups your cheek again and tries to divert your attention once more. He’s not even actively trying to kiss you, he just wants to get a rise out of you now. You’re trying not to smile at him in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. Your elbow jabs into his bare abdomen after you’ve peeled the wet material from his torso.

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

Forcing yourself to turn away from him wasn’t enough. Now he’s behind you planting kisses down the side of your neck with his hands on your waist and toying with the hem of your sweatshirt.

You had to admit being on his lap like that got you hot and bothered to the tenth degree. Now you were nursing a stained shirt and the ache in your core.

“‘lright, fine.” Oh, thank god. You could breathe again. You were this close to caving, and caving to Joel was a losing game.

He found a towel and wiped at his chest and torso while you blotted away with a paper towel the excess wine in his shirt. After getting out what you could, you sprinkled the baking soda over the little splashes of red and added a few drops of water to make somewhat of a paste. Now you just had to wait for it to dry and toss it in the laundry.

You hoped you didn’t ruin the denim shirt, you quite liked how he looked in it. The blue denim complimented the soft silver in his curls, and the cuffs rolled up accentuated his biceps.

Speaking of biceps. Your eyes innocently watched him move around the bathroom shirtless. He was somewhat toned, a handsome mix of dad bod and muscle. Like a sexy lumberjack. He was big and broad, wide in the shoulders and smaller in the waist. With all the summer log chopping, his biceps were toned.

A shaky breath left your mouth, his eyes catching yours in the mirror before you quickly looked away, washing your hands of the baking soda paste you had made.

“It’s uh… It’s good now. Just let it dry and put it in the washer. Alone. Without anything else in there.” You quickly nodded, over-clarifying again. You braved looking at him again in the mirror. Mistake. A smug little smile that beat up your guts was laced on his lips.

Your hand was quick to reach for the door handle, but his hand was already on your other wrist and pulling you into his front.

“Get back here,” Your name drips off his lips, and it’s drenched in lust.

Fuck it.

Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck, feeling his raised trap muscles under your forearms as your lips reunite with Joel’s.

Getting that first kiss between you two out of the way was a blessing in disguise because now you knew him. You were acquainted with his lips. You liked his taste, you liked how soft he was, you liked the stubble of his beard, and you liked the way his warm palms were on you as soon as you entered his space. He embraced every inch of you, his kisses were feverish, and they left your mind in a tailspin. No one had ever kissed you like this before.

You ducked your head down before he could stop you, kissing over his wine-spoiled chest. You kissed lower and lower before licking a slow stripe up his sternum, tasting residual cherry and sweetness from the wine.

Your lips parted as you looked in the mirror, realizing now that he had pinned both your wrists behind your back and planted them at your tailbone.

Your doe eyes innocently looked up at him, his face masked in desire and an appetite for you.

“Get on your knees.”

A breath hitched in your throat, your eyes trying to focus as you looked over Joel’s face. Your eyes fluttered down to his biceps, strong and defined with veins lining like rivers coursing along the curves as they held your wrists back. You didn’t hesitate to drop down to your knees.

He had let go of your wrists, so you brought your hands up to undo the button of his jeans, but he tsk-ed you.

“But I-”

“But nothing. Put your hands behind your back again.” You pouted but obeyed. You wanted to touch him.

Your lips parted as you watched Joel pop open the button of his jeans, his thumbs lining the hem of his jeans and boxers at his hips before pushing them down to his thick thighs. His cock was already half-hard from when you were grinding on him back on the couch.

Your breaths grew heavier, you couldn’t manage to stay in his hoodie. You peeled the heavy navy sweatshirt off, leaving you in nothing underneath, which earned sweet praise from Joel as soon as you laced your hands once more behind your back.

“So fuckin’ pretty.. Look at you.” He lightly leaned over and cupped one of your tits, massaging it in the heart of his palm and rolling your taut nipple around with his thumb. A quiet whine was elicited from your throat, face crumbling as your hands fought hard not to release themselves behind your back.

You wanted to touch him, cup his face, hold his thighs, wrap your hand around his dick that was flush against his stomach.

A harsher tug to your nipple left you moaning, watching as he leaned down and let a long, long dribble of spit connect from his lips down onto your chest. Your head fell back at the cool sensation, feeling it aid the heat of your breasts.

He stood up tall again, broad and towering, as you glanced over to the mirror. The dynamic was almost charming. You on your knees for Joel, his blushing cock swelling against his happy trail. He was so handsome, so greedy.

Without thinking, you released your hands from around your back and moved to steady yourself on his thighs.

“Not gonna tell you again, pretty girl.” You paused and looked to Joel. “No usin’ your hands tonight. Just that dirty mouth a’yours.” His accent was drenched with lust, dripping like syrup.

You whined as you assumed your position with your hands away, not knowing what to expect if you tried to use them again.

You attempted to crawl closer to him, your knees practically between his slightly parted legs.

You kissed up his inner thigh, grinning lightly at the slight taste of his sweat. Your tongue kitten licked at his balls, hearing him seethe in a breath through gritted teeth. Sensitive, a little wrinkled, lightly groomed just for you. It made you smirk that he cared enough to trim.

You tested the waters, letting your warm mouth coat him in saliva, going from one ball to the other until they were both practically dripping. His cock was twitching for your attention, but Joel was above begging and groveling. For now.

With devilish eyes, you looked up to him as you suckled one of his balls. He didn’t stop you, just cursed a little under his breath as his chest moved faster. You picked up the suckling from him when he nursed your sensitive, throbbing clit between his teeth and tongue. Now, it was your turn to repay the favor.

Your lips released him with a pop, and you watched as Joel let out a breath he was holding in. His hand loosely fisted your hair in a loose ponytail atop your head, a little moan leaving your mouth as your scalp tingled with his tug.

Your eyes closed as you worked over the other ball, suckling and licking and doing it all just to watch his cock grow angrier and more jealous of the attention. Your own spit was falling down your lips and chin, coating your breasts in a glistening sheen.

Working without your hands, you used your core to balance yourself against Joel. Your knees dug uncomfortably into the floor. He liked watching you work to suck him off.

You had to look to Joel for assistance, his shaft so hardened now against his stomach that you couldn’t reach. You sat up as straight as you could, Joel smirking down at you and watching you struggle for a few brief moments. “Come ‘ere, pretty girl.” He used the free hand not tangled in your locks to guide his tip down to your open mouth, your lips wrapping loosely around the head.

You made the mistake of releasing him out of habit, whimpering as your knees scrambled on cold tile to get him back to the warmth of your mouth. He opted to help you again, guiding his tip onto your red, wine-stained tongue.

This time, you learned not to release him. Your tongue salivated his tip, swollen and sensitive. You could tell by how tight Joel clutched your hair and nearly pulled you off.

You smirked lazily around him as you took him deeper, your watery eyes on his as you interlocked your fingers by your tailbone.

You were slow at first, little nods back and forth, up and down his shaft. You blinked through any residual tears, slicking him up with your spit and proceeding farther down his shaft. You clenched your eyes closed and choked lightly as you took him to his base, a low groan of praise leaving Joel as his thumb stroked up your cheekbone.

“Fuck me, so fuckin’ good for me, darlin’.” His words were broken by his rasp, but the praise sent you into overdrive.

You bobbed your head at a good pace, Joel guiding you by your hair up and down his shaft, slicked by excess saliva that was dripping onto your tits and your stomach. You had to take a breath, but you learned from earlier. Your head came to rest against his thigh, head foggy as his tip sat plump against your cheek. You looked at the two of you in the mirror, and it was quite a sight.

Joel’s body was planted by his heels, his toned torso and biceps protruding with hints of sweat. You had black-smudged tears on your waterline, and your face was filled with warmth. Your hair was a mess, Joel gently stroking it back from your sweat-glistened forehead as you breathed through your nose. You liked watching you work in the mirror. Watching him get ruined in the mirror. Watching yourself get ruined in the mirror.

You started your rhythm again, this time your eyes locked loosely on the mirror in your peripheral. Joel’s cock made you choke each time you took him deep, but you didn’t let it stop you. He was so close, you had the heady taste of his precum on your tongue. He liked it messy.

“Fuck- can’t,” Joel let out a rugged moan, it felt like it vibrated the tiles under your aching knees. Your wrists were throbbing from keeping your arms back, hands clenched together tight as you followed his rules. “Can’t hold on when you take me so-- so goddamn good.”

You whimper-whined against his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you moved with intent up and down his shaft. You opted just to take what you easily could now, focused on keeping the pace and working towards his orgasm. You thought about Joel fucking your mouth, but he wanted you to feel some sense of control since you had your hands back. Maybe you wanted to lose all control. If it was Joel you were losing it with.

Joel was close, he couldn’t hold back how messy he had gotten. He had a steel-tight grip on your hair, and his breaths were laced with broken moans and grunts of your name. He kept wiping away any tears that slipped past your eyes and onto your cheeks, despite being devastatingly close to an orgasm you knew he was drunk on.

“Yeah, fuck me,” He murmured under his breath, his cock twitching deep in your throat now. “Take me so well... The fuckin’ best, babygirl.” The best.

You watched through blurry, head-dizzy vision as Joel’s ab muscles contorted. “Gonna cum, baby, stay with me.” He panted, eyes locking on yours as you nodded on his shaft and continued your sweet rhythm.

You whimpered as his tip pulsed against your tongue, going down on him as deep as you could and clenching your eyes closed, waiting for Joel’s impending climax. And he kept you there as he painted your throat white.

His cum came out in hot ropes, moaning lowly against his shaft as you focused on tasting him and breathing through your nose. He was salty, little beads landing in the back of your throat as you swallowed around him.

Joel’s moans were glorious, breathy, and aching to say your name. His eyes had fallen closed, his stance still tall and broad. You wanted to touch him, kiss him. You decided to lay your head against his thigh, still breathing around his dick as you watched yourself in satisfaction through his mirror.

“Fuck,” he murmured low, pulling you off of him with a pop. Your jaw lightly throbbed, but god, you felt like you were in the clouds.

“Hands?” Your raw voice whimpered. He gave a silent nod of approval, and with his permission, you released your interlocked hands and lightly toppled back on your ass, leaning against the door to his linen closet.

Joel observed you for a few moments, making sure you were okay before he grabbed a spare washcloth and ran some lukewarm water over it. Your eyes peeked open when you heard his zipper go up on his jeans, seeing he had straightened out his bottom half.

You tried to focus your vision, seeing him squat down beside you and lightly press the cold washcloth to your temple, cheeks, and up your neck. It helped, you were settled, safe, and with Joel.

“Holy fuck.” You finally said once you had come down from your high. Your eyes met Joel’s, seeing both of your mouths were quirked up in lopsided smiles.

“Too much?” He asked, the washcloth now delicately cleaning up the saliva on your breasts.

You slowly shook your head. No, never too much. Just new.

You looked around, feeling an ache in your knees and in your wrists. You rolled your wrists in circles to relieve some pressure on the joints before you pushed your palms up and down your kneecaps gently.

“Hey,” Joel’s words caught your attention, turning to him as he lightly cupped your cheek. “You were fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.” A weak mewl left you, a tired smile on your lips.

“You said the best.”

“Was perfect. Was the best. Did a perfect job.” His praise punched excitement through your veins, regaining your strength to stand back up with Joel’s honorable assistance. You murmur a thanks before you make a grab for Joel’s hoodie. As if he was going to steal it back from you.

Joel excused himself to go clean up the kitchen, leaving an attentive kiss on your cheek before he left you alone.

You took a few minutes to rinse some water around in your mouth and try to brush your fingers through your knotted, matted hair.

“Need to get yourself a brush, Mr. Miller.” You murmur as you pass him in the kitchen, seeing he pulled on a new t-shirt and that he had put some of the leftover pizza in spare Tupperware containers.

“Can’t eat it all by myself, and Sarah won’t be home for a few more days.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He could so totally finish that pizza if he wanted to. He could do it tonight as soon as you leave.

Reading your mind, he shoved the container into your hands. “Just-- fuckin’ take it, why you gotta make things so damn difficult.”

You smirked and patted the container softly. “My specialty. Irritating old grouchy men.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at you, picking up the wine bottle next and figuring out what to do with it. Your eyes softened, watching the gears turn in his head for how he was going to handle this situation.

“Do you care if I take the rest of it home, actually? I know it’s yours, and it’s been yours for a while, but it was really good.” Lame excuse. Joel leaned into it though, nonetheless. You were at Joel’s side now, looking to him with gentle eyes and a tender smile. He teetered on his feet for a moment before he nodded and handed it over.

“Yeah, you’re doin’ me a favor so it doesn’t just keep sittin’ in the fridge.”

You nodded softly and tried to jam the cork back in as well as you could, Joel swiftly taking the bottle from you and popping it back into its home with ease due to his sheer strength.

You turned to the television and huffed, seeing the credits of Pride & Prejudice roll. Dammit.

Joel joined you at your side, crossing his arms and giving the television a once over. “So did they, y’know, end up together?” There was Joel’s pure curiosity again. This time, he didn’t hide it so well.

“Guess you’ll have to watch to find out. Don’t forget to throw that shirt in the washer.” You said with a cocky grin, holding up the wine bottle and pizza leftovers in gratitude before walking to the door. Joel followed you out, and you looked at him curiously.

“Gotta make sure you get home safe.”

Your head rolled to the side, watching as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “What?”

“Joel, I’m staying right next door. You could see me go inside from your living room window.”

He just shook his head and looked beyond you to the water.

“t’s dark.”

Your chest fluttered with warmth, a smile on your lips growing past one you could deny. Let him have this one.

“Thanks, Joel. Thanks for the pizza and the wine and… stuff.” Now it was his turn to let you have this one. The stuff. The kiss. The multiple kisses. He didn’t make it a big deal, just rolled with the punches. You appreciated it.

You wanted to know what was next for the two of you. The feeling of your cores grazing one another set a fire in you that only Joel could put out.

You pondered whether or not to kiss him goodnight and find a lame excuse to try and thank him again for the wine bottle when you saw two pairs of headlights coming down the road.

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, looking to Joel with a pained expression. He looked disappointed.

You didn’t say goodnight, you didn’t kiss him before you left, you just… left. You moved down Joel’s rickety wooden porch steps with haste, sneaking into the lakehouse through the garage door as your heart thrummed at a face pace. You felt like a child getting caught by your parents.

You didn’t know what to do with Joel’s pizza container and the wine. You could figure out an excuse for the pizza later, so you shoved it into the fridge, but definitely not the half-drank bottle of red wine. You double-checked that the cork was in there tight, and of course it was because Joel pushed it back in, but you couldn’t help but check because it was going to be stowed under your bed for safekeeping.

You changed out of Joel’s hoodie and into an oversized band tee, walking out of your bedroom with a book when your parents returned through the door.

“Hey, kiddo. You’re still up? ‘t’s past eleven.”

You try not to roll your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip as you tightly nodded. “Yeah, I know. I stay up late a lot at school and stuff, working on papers or out with friends. Staying up past eleven isn’t that weird for me.”

You didn’t mean for there to be so much venom in your comment, but you weren’t a baby. Nearly every day at the lakehouse so far this summer has elicited a few don’t call me kid, I’m an adult, I make adult decisions, comments from you.

Your parents looked too tired to care, which somehow stung worse.

“Okay, sweetie, we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Your dad and I are headin’ to bed.”

Now you felt bad. You pursed your lips and nodded, putting your hands behind your back and resting them on your tailbone absentmindedly. This was the same pose Joel had you in tonight. You already wanted to go back there.

“Sorry, goodnight.” You whisper, seeing your dad give you a tired smile before patting your shoulder.

“Hey kiddo-” He paused at the nickname and took a breath. “Sorry.” You playfully smiled and shook your head. Go on.

“Do me a favor, grab the steaks out from the freezer and put them on a plate in the fridge. Wanna have Joel and Sarah over for dinner tomorrow night. Feel like I haven’t seen them all summer.”

Your face went ghastly blank, feeling yourself fall hollow like a collapsing building. If it weren’t for how tired your dad was, he would have seen right through you like a ghost. “You- Oh, you want to have them come by for dinner? I don’t think tomorrow’s gonna work. Sarah’s camping and-”

“Oh, well, Joel can still swing by for dinner. Need to eat up those steaks. Every time I open the freezer, they stare at me. They’re beggin’ me to eat them, it ain’t fair.”

You forced out a laugh, but of course, your father couldn’t tell. Just thought he made one hell of a zinger.

“So-So Joel over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, kiddo. And don’t forget to take out the steaks. Love you.” He turned the corner down the hall, and then he was gone.

You sighed and lightly chewed at the skin around your thumbnail. Great. One big happy family dinner. And Joel.

---

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(idk why so many of my tags aren't working. Might make a notifications blog instead where you'd follow it and turn the notifications on and I'll only reblog my work on that account. ugh a problem for another day, okay ily ttyl I'm gonna go watch twilight)

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supernovafics · 2 months ago

Text

series masterlist | last part — next part

pairing: modern!college!steve harrington x fem!reader, bestfriend!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 5.3k words

warnings: explicit language, a bunch of other good things that i don’t wanna say because i don’t want to completely spoil everything<333

summary: an unexpected conversation between you and steve leads to a long overdue realization

quick a/n: a bit nervous to post this one lol but i hope yall enjoy🫶🏾

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | ❝𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕❞

Summer 2017

“I’m a little upset that I didn’t get the grand hometown tour.”

“You mean the tour of the old library that I spent probably too much time at back in high school, and the park that I also really liked back in high school, but it’s currently under construction?”

Eddie gave you an amused smile. “Yes, exactly that.”

“Next time,” You told him, completely joking with your words, but you wouldn’t have been surprised if he actually held you to them the next time he was here. But, you honestly didn’t think that there’d be another moment when he was in your hometown; this moment in itself felt almost like a fluke.

After a five week long road trip with Eddie, you still weren’t ready to be home— you dreaded it, actually— but things had started getting too expensive and Eddie’s van was in dire need of a break.

You did most of the driving to your hometown because you knew that Eddie would have to do all of the driving alone back to his own home. And then he stayed with you for the night at your dad’s house. You didn’t even have to do any sort of introduction between the two because your dad was off on a vacation with his new girlfriend.

Now it was the morning and you two lingered by Eddie’s van, prolonging the conversation because the next time you’d see each other would be a little over four weeks— when you moved into your apartment with Robin, Vickie, and Talia, and he moved in with two people that he found at the last second; luckily, your respective buildings weren’t far from each other, so it wouldn’t feel impossible to see each other.

You pulled Eddie in for a hug, a long one that felt so equivalent to a goodbye and it actually managed to sadden you a bit because of how good the last five weeks had been and it sucked that it was all over now.

When you pulled back, you gave him a smile. “See you in four weeks, Edward.”

He laughed a little. “See ya.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Spring Semester 2018

Maybe things should’ve felt at least a little weird or awkward between you and Steve in this moment in the library— it had been a month since the last time you two talked— but it didn’t. At all.

It was all so surprisingly easy. The small talk wasn’t even unbearable; you liked hearing about the mundane things he’d been up to for the past month and you didn’t mind sharing your own stories about classes you’d come to hate and how you didn’t feel all too prepared for finals because you had more essays to do than actual tests. And then you two moved into random bits of nothing, asking the first thing you could think of or filling the silence with storytimes or quick anecdotes, and whispering the entire time so that you didn’t disturb everyone else in the library right then.

You two probably should’ve moved somewhere else, but it felt as if the entire moment would’ve been broken if you did so. Logical thinking would’ve sunk in on your side of things and you would’ve realized that all of this was a bad idea and you should’ve left, or perhaps never sat down across from him on this carpeted floor in the first place.

“Did you decide what you’re going to do with your summer of freedom?” You asked him instead of leaving or even thinking about doing so. You were mainly joking with your question and just trying to think of something to say, but still, you were a little curious.

“I think I’m gonna do the Europe thing. Go alone,” He told you. “It’s loosely planned right now, but I’ll fully figure it out after finals.”

“Ooh, that’s very Eat, Pray, Love of you,” You joked.

He laughed a bit. “Thanks, I think?”

“I’ve actually never seen that movie before, but from what I think I know of it, it felt fitting to mention it.”

“Do you know what you’re gonna do for the summer?”

“Nothing exciting, really,” You answered with a quick shrug. “I think I’m just gonna stay around here. Robin and Vickie are doing some summer classes, and even though I’m not taking any, staying in the apartment for the summer sounds much better than going home the entire time.”

Steve nodded. “With what you’ve said about your parents, that makes sense.”

“Exactly,” You nodded back. “So, if you get bored of Europe— which I highly doubt, but still— please feel free to come to any of our apartment movie nights and sleep on our couch at any point during the summer.”

You realized way too late what exactly your words implied— that you two were friends, that this moment in the library wasn’t and shouldn’t be a one-off thing. And your brain was quickly rushing you to fix what you said. “Or, I guess, that wouldn’t really make sense since we’re not friends or whatever…”

You could recognize that it was a pretty shitty attempt at backtracking, but all Steve needed to do was simply agree and everything would be fine; or, at least, what you’d convinced yourself was considered as “fine.”

“That ‘going our separate ways’ rule was so dumb,” Steve said instead of agreeing with your previous statement. “We should be friends.”

He was completely right, the rule was dumb. But still, even in this entirely comfortable moment, you knew that you couldn’t say what he wanted to hear.

“I’ve missed this,” He continued on before you could say anything in response. He lightly bumped his knee with yours. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” You blurted it out before you realized what you were even saying, and you didn’t know how true it was until those four simple words were out in the open and sitting in the quiet air between you and Steve.

They abruptly made you inwardly admit everything else that you’d been avoiding and refusing to accept— the almost too obvious reason why you couldn’t be friends with him and why you had refused to break the rule this entire past month.

You’d never be able to be just friends with him. You’d start feeling something more and head down an all too familiar path, another Eddie situation that you weren’t sure if you’d be able to take and not have it break you this time around. Falling for a friend who saw you as nothing more than solely as a friend already sucked once, and you couldn’t imagine letting history repeat itself.

That was why you couldn’t try to do it; you couldn’t try to be normal and keep things as they were between you and Steve. If you two hadn’t gone your “separate ways,” you were certain that you would’ve ended up liking him, inadvertently feeling more for him than what you wanted to.

However, you were realizing now that the joke was actually on you because it still happened anyway.

You liked him a lot. And maybe some part of you always did. But, you knew that you’d never be able to do anything about it.

You were right on one thing, though— this entire moment was a bad idea.

Before you could come up with some random excuse to leave, the sound of Steve’s phone vibrating next to him saved you instead. He grabbed it, looking down at whatever message he just got and then back at you.

“I gotta go. I’m late for this study group thing,” He said. “But, I'm not gonna be an idiot right now and once again say that we should go our separate ways. It’s set in stone now— we’re friends.”

“Okay,” You nodded, not meaning in the slightest.

“You should come over tomorrow. We can watch that one Lindsay Lohan movie that you like and I promise I won’t complain about it.”

“It’s called Freaky Friday. And yeah, okay, that sounds good.”

Right then it was easier to lie than to refuse his statement and make up a different lie about why you couldn’t hang out with him, why you couldn’t ever hang out with him.

Steve gave you one final smile before he stood up. You watched him head down the aisle and then turn the corner before you let yourself lean back against the bookshelf and shut your eyes with a sigh.

Now that you finally admitted to yourself how you felt for him, it was as if the dam broke and all you could think about was how real the entirety of the fake dating thing had been for you— during the power outage where you actually got to know him, during that night where you two spent Valentine’s together at that arcade and pizza place, during everything that happened in Mexico. It was suddenly so obvious, and you were also reminded of that moment during the delayed flight when the realization first hit you.

How different would things be if you had actually accepted it back then? You honestly couldn’t imagine.

Another long sigh fell from your lips as you pulled your legs out of the aisle and crossed them under you.

You really didn’t want to like Steve, and a part of you wanted to try and convince yourself that it wasn’t true; just like you’d done before. But, this time around was so much different. The feelings already felt so settled and certain; you couldn’t even push them away.

And that only made things feel worse because avoidance was your main coping mechanism. So if you couldn’t push away and forget your feelings for Steve, what the hell were you going to do instead?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

It was hours upon hours full of contradictory thoughts. One part of you was telling you to be honest and the other was saying the exact opposite, and at first, you had no idea which side to listen to. You wanted to take the easy way out, but there was something about that that didn't sit right with you. Still, though, you considered it.

More time slowly passed, your head in a constant push and pull, and then it was nearing midnight when you decided to call Steve. It was an impulsive decision that, once you were settled on it, surprisingly felt like the right one.

You sat up in your bed and grabbed your phone off of your nightstand. You could hear the faint sounds of Talia doing something in the kitchen through your shut door, but you knew that it wasn’t her that was keeping you awake since you got in bed twenty minutes ago. Instead, it was your scattered thoughts and confused mind, both of which somehow suddenly felt a thousand percent certain about one thing, which should’ve felt comforting but it actually felt like the opposite.

You pressed call on Steve’s contact name before you could talk yourself out of it.

“Hey,” His voice sounded sleepy when he answered after the third ring, which let you know that you’d woken him up. A part of you felt bad, and you wanted to hang up after saying the quickest “Sorry” to him, but then you remembered why you were calling.

“I can’t be friends with you,” You blurted it out, getting straight to the point because you couldn’t think of a different way to say it.

“Oh…” He sounded confused, and rightfully so, you could recognize that this was probably the weirdest wake-up call ever. “Oh, okay.”

You could’ve simply ended it there and let the phone call be done with, no further explanation or anything so that you could save yourself from potential embarrassment. However, the whole Eddie situation taught you to be honest about how you’re feeling, and in this moment you suddenly felt so settled on doing so.

“At least, I can't try to be your friend without telling you something first, I think,” You told him. “And I’m sorry, I know this probably sounds so random, but I can’t sleep because all I’ve been doing for the past few hours is thinking about this, so I think I just need to be honest right now.”

You paused for a second, taking the quickest breath before speaking. “When we started the fake dating thing, we were pretty much strangers, and as it continued I thought that what we ended up forming was solely just some sort of unexpected friendship. And then when we were ending things, I convinced myself that what we had was actually absolutely nothing and we were just two people helping each other out. But then today at the library I realized that it really wasn’t fake for me, and it wasn’t just a friendship either. It’s so much more than that for me. I like you, Steve.”

Out of everything you had just said, those last four words were definitely the hardest. It felt simultaneously good and bad. So honest that your initial instinct was telling you to take it back, but as the statement settled in the air, you felt entirely okay about it and it made it feel easier to continue talking.

“And I know that it's probably not the same for you because you don’t do relationships and that was the whole point of the fake dating thing for you. I know that. And that's why I refused to accept these feelings or even admit them to myself in the first place.” You let your head fall back against your pillow and you squeezed your eyes shut as you forced yourself to keep going. “So I know that you’re probably gonna say that you don’t feel the same way and that’s okay; or it’ll eventually be okay, I guess, because rejection does suck. But this whole Eddie thing made me realize that maybe I should just be honest about my feelings, so this is me doing that…” You trailed off and then softly said, “Okay, sorry, I’m done talking now.”

Steve was quiet for a bit— it was actually a lot more than just a bit. It was so long that it made you think that he hung up or the call somehow ended, but then he was saying something.

“You should come to Europe with me this summer.”

That was not at all the response you were expecting to hear at that moment, and you had no idea what that response meant. Was it just a nice way of rejecting you or did he maybe feel the same way?

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” He said and somehow you could almost hear him shaking his head at himself. “I’m not used to doing this anymore.”

There was something about the way he said his statement that made you think that he was rejecting you, or at least trying to. And because of that, you quickly tried to make everything fine and okay and normal. “It’s, um... It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. Things will be okay with us. We can still be, uh, friends or whatever.”

“No, no that’s not what I meant,” He told you, and you could feel your heart fill with something that resembled hope. “I do. I do feel the same way. None of it was fake for me either, and it didn’t take me that long after Mexico and the rest of spring break to finally realize that. The night we “broke up” was actually pretty hard, and it also felt kind of wrong, if that makes sense. I tried to forget about it, though, because of the Eddie part of all of this and what we both agreed on at the beginning of everything.”

“When I finally accepted it today, I tried to push it all away too,” You said. “It was really hard to do, though— literally impossible, actually. Hence why I woke you up and had to tell you all of this in the middle of the night.”

“I get it. I’m just way too likable.”

“Shut up,” You said, but you were smiling.

“It’s the same for you too, though. You’re also really likable. I like you a lot,” Steve told you, and his words sounded so certain and honest that it made your heart do a weird fluttery thing that also wiped your brain of the ability to form any sort of coherent sentence. He then let out the quickest breath of a laugh. “It feels so weird doing this over the phone.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you and your next words came out with no hesitation. “You should come over.”

He was quiet just for a second before he said, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You answered, voice just as soft and quiet as his.

“Okay,” He said, and you could practically hear him nodding.

“Okay, cool,” You responded, trying to be normal and chill about everything, even though your heart felt as if it was about to burst out of your chest in nervous but excited anticipation of seeing him again and talking about everything in person. “See you soon then.”

When the call ended, you simply didn’t do anything for a moment. The same happy smile was on your face and you couldn’t seem to wipe it away, and you honestly didn’t even want to.

And then you were abruptly thinking about what you were wearing and wondering if it was okay. But, was there even any point in changing out of your slightly wrinkled t-shirt and pajama shorts?

You weren’t entirely sure, but you still got up from your bed and turned on your light, and then headed toward your closet.

You were halfheartedly picking through your clothes and making mental comments about everything— a dress felt like overkill and putting on jeans would be too annoying— when something hit you on the head and made you yelp. You looked down and saw that it was Hartford; he had previously been sitting on the shelf above your clothes. You picked him up and placed him back on your desk— his rightful place, you decided.

You also decided that what you were wearing was fine. It obviously made sense for the middle of the night and you’d only feel severely underdressed if Steve showed up wearing a suit, which sounded completely ridiculous.

The abrupt sound of something crashing in the kitchen pulled you out of your head and you left your room to make sure Talia was fine. You didn’t immediately see her when you looked over at the kitchen, but when you said, “Everything okay?” her head popped up from behind the counter.

“Yeah, I’m good. Shit, sorry, did I wake you up?” She asked and then sighed. “The mixer was hidden behind a thousand other things, so when I pulled it out, some pans fell.”

You could hear her fixing the pans and then she stood up.

“No, I was already awake,” You answered as you walked toward her. It was way too hard to not let yourself smile as you said your next words. “Steve’s, um, Steve’s coming over.”

She stopped in the middle of looking for something in the fridge and instead turned to you, the happiest smile on her face. “Oh my god, finally! I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since you got back from that date with Adam. I could just tell there was something so different about you and Steve.”

You shook your head as you laughed a bit. “You couldn’t have known about how I felt about Steve then. I barely knew.”

“Of course, I knew. I’m a Psych major for a reason,” She told you, which only made you laugh again. “But, I obviously wasn’t gonna tell you. You had to get there on your own. I’m so glad it didn’t take months, though, and I actually get to see this happen before I graduate and leave.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at her and then shifted the subject. “What are you making?”

“I’m kinda still deciding. It’ll either be a two-layered cake, cupcakes, or this tart recipe that I just saw,” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to do anything to take my mind off this one final that I’ve been studying for all day.”

That made sense to you. Last semester during the week leading up to finals, she made a fresh batch of cookies every night.

“Maybe I’ll do a cake,” She said, a small teasing smile on her face. “A celebratory one for you and Steve. I’ll frost it white and write ‘Congrats, Lovebirds’ on it in red. Shit, I hope there’s still food coloring left.”

You immediately shook your head. “Please don’t do that. Before when things were fake, you guys couldn’t scare him off, now it definitely could happen.”

“Fine, I’ll just make a completely normal white cake that has absolutely nothing to do with you and Steve. But, deep down, both you and I know the truth.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Thank you.”

She finished grabbing the eggs from the fridge and you headed to the couch, knowing that she liked working alone in the kitchen. A part of you wanted to turn on the TV, but you weren’t in the mood to put on a movie or anything.

You heard Talia hum to herself as she started measuring flour and sugar and then cracking eggs.

It was calming to see her completely in her element with her thoughts focused solely on one thing. Your thoughts didn’t have something specific to focus on, so they instead focused on Steve. Him and you and you two together. Well, together, but not really because nothing was settled yet. So, right now, in this moment, you two were just friends. Or was that not even an accurate description either?

“Get out of your head.”

You looked over at Talia, wondering how long she’d been watching you and seeing you starting to inwardly spiral. “How could you tell?”

“Once again, Psych major for a reason,” She said, giving you a small smile. “Stop thinking so hard about everything right now. It’s all gonna be great when he gets here. Hey, just tell me a story. A random one. First thing that comes to you.”

You thought for a second and then went with the first thing that came to your mind just like Talia said; a quick story about a summer camp that you went to when you were ten. It was almost too easy to think of things to talk about involving the month-long sleep away camps or short stints at super niche-specific camps that your parents found for you.

The knock on the door came when you were in the middle of telling Talia about a different summer, a theater camp you were forced to go to for two weeks when you were twelve.

You quickly got to the end of the story as you walked over to the door. “Long story short, the whole show was canceled due to the pregnancy rumor.”

Talia shook her head in disbelief. “No way.”

“Yeah, it was insane. Spoiler alert, though, she wasn’t pregnant. Thank god. But, that was when I learned how ruthless theater kids are.”

You pulled the door open after letting out a soft laugh at Talia sighing and saying, “Children are evil.”

You wanted to be normal about seeing Steve standing in front of you right then— really, you did— but it was too hard to. He was sporting messy bedhead, sweatpants, and a t-shirt that matched yours with how wrinkled it was. It looked as if he had rushed to get here, which was actually true given the fact that he managed to turn a typical thirty-minute drive into twenty minutes.

“Hi,” You said, a fresh wave of giddiness hitting you immediately and it was hard to contain the smile tugging at your lips.

He didn’t hesitate to match it. “Hey.”

You both simply smiled at each other like idiots for a few moments. Talia was right.

The sound of the oven beeping followed by Talia saying, “How long it takes for the oven to preheat is the one thing that I’m really not gonna miss about this place,” seemed to pull you both out of your lovestruck trance.

“Hi, sorry, come in,” You said to Steve, pushing the door open further so that he could step inside and then you closed it behind him. “Talia’s baking a cake.”

“A completely normal cake,” She told him and you immediately gave her a look. “Anyway, nice to see you again, Steven.”

“You, too,” He said. “What makes it normal?”

“Nothing. Please ignore what she just said,” You told him, and then didn’t think too much as you grabbed his hand and led him toward your room. You didn’t realize what you’d done until your door was shut behind you both and your hand was still holding his— it didn’t feel entirely wrong, though.

You noticed him look at your desk. “You still have Hartford.”

You let go of his hand as you went over to grab the small bear. “Of course, I do. I hope you still have Bowie.”

“Of course,” He said, smiling and matching your certain tone.

“Thinking about it now, I feel like that whole Valentine’s night should’ve sealed the deal for me. It was literally a date,” You said, letting out a laugh as you placed Hartford back down on your desk.

Thinking back to Valentine’s Day also made you abruptly remember that that was also the night he told you about him not wanting anything serious and finally explaining the “why” behind it too. And it was then that you realized that just because he had feelings for you didn’t necessarily mean that his mindset on relationships had changed too.

You were rushing to continue and verbalize that before Steve could say anything. “And I completely get it if all of this doesn’t really change anything. Because none of this means that how you view love and relationships has changed. Not saying that you love me or anything but–”

He cut off your rambling with a head shake. “Hey, no, this is so different. I want everything with you.” It was hard not to become shy under his gaze, especially as he said those words, but you still refused to look away from him as he kept talking.

“You kind of changed it all for me. I was scared of it before, I think— of doing anything serious and letting anyone in because I just assumed that I’d end up getting heartbroken again. But, with you, it never really felt like that; scary or anything. I think that when we were stuck at my place during the power outage and just talking, deep down I knew that things with you were gonna be different or already were; it didn’t feel weird or scary getting deep with you or letting you in. Same thing with that night in Mexico when we were eating cereal and talking about all of that serious stuff. It took a while for me to actually admit what all of those things meant, though.”

Hearing him say that made you think about when he proposed the fake dating thing, when he said that guys are dumb and it takes them a while to realize things. Thinking about those words now made you smile.

“Guys are stupid,” You said. “You’re the one that told me that.”

Steve nodded, laughing a little. “We are. That’s still very true.”

“I was also stupid. I avoided everything for a long time too.”

“Glad to know we’re both idiots then,” He said, which made you smile wider.

For a second, nothing else was said; it honestly felt as if nothing else really needed to be said right then. You weren’t sure if it was you or him that closed most of the distance between you two— perhaps it was both of you. Either way, a silent agreement to push things further was made as your arms came up to loosely circle his neck and his hands found your waist.

It was you who didn’t waste a second to turn that final bit of space between you into nothing. You leaned in slowly, though, nose brushing against his before softly finding his lips.

It was simply just a peck at first, a chaste kiss just to test the waters and define this moment as different from the other few times that this had happened. You both knew that this was entirely different. It wasn’t good but confusing like during the blind date, and it wasn’t for show like the times in Mexico. This first kiss was right, and as simple and brief as it was, it felt damn near perfect.

When you pulled away after just a second, Steve didn’t hesitate to lean right back in, quickly letting his mouth find yours again. One of his hands left your waist and came up to cup your cheek instead. That soft touch grounded you, it kept you steady and it also did something to your heart; made it start thumping wildly in your chest.

There was no part of you that wanted this moment to end, you wanted to live in it for as long as you could and memorize every single part of it. The way your fingers so easily found home in the hair at the nape of his neck. His warm hand on your waist that you could practically feel through your t-shirt. How it was almost like a dance happening as Steve guided you back against your shut door, pressing you against it, and you used that as the opportunity to pull him impossibly closer to you.

It didn’t take long for you two to end up in your bed; you quickly became too tired of standing and the doorknob poking into your side became too uncomfortable.

Your legs were on either side of his lap and he was leaning back against the headboard, pulling you toward him. It felt like you were two teenagers who had just discovered what making out was. And it also felt as if you both were in agreement about feeling like you two had wasted so much time not kissing over the last month of not talking to each other and since you two met that you were trying to make up for all of that lost time.

When you pulled away to catch your breath, Steve’s lips found your neck, and your eyes immediately slipped shut.

“I meant what I said before,” He mumbled against your skin, but you heard him clearly.

Your eyes were still contentedly closed as you asked, “Meant what?”

“That you should come to Europe with me this summer.”

You let out a soft laugh that quickly turned into a sigh of contentment when his lips found a particularly sensitive part of your neck. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely serious,” Steve said in between kisses.

You pulled back then to look at him— it was hard to do, you really didn’t want to pull away, but reluctantly you did. You wanted to gauge how serious he was actually being right then, and you could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t joking.

His hands found yours and intertwined them. “Say yes.”

How happy he sounded rubbed off on you and you had to bite your lip to suppress your growing smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“That sounds like a yes to me,” He said, still smiling as he leaned in to kiss you.

You pulled away after the briefest second. “I’m serious.” You weren’t at all. “I gotta make a pro and con list to make sure this is the right decision.”

“Okay, I’m already thinking of a bunch of pros to add to the list,” Steve told you and then gave you a playful smile. “I can’t think of any cons, though, so...” He finished off with a shrug that made you laugh.

Weirdly enough, no cons were coming to your mind right then either.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

next part!

taglist (lmk if you want to be added or taken off<333); @eddiernunson , @loulouloueh , @the-aster , @blckburd , @totally-bogus-timelady , @yujyujj , @irhdifartzamfyaa , @mochminnie , @munsonssweets , @blckbrrybasket , @xprloki , @definitionwanderlust , @dwcode , @sun-fiower-seed , @keerysfolklore , @damon-loves-pie , @lodeddiperrodrick , @bisexual-and-intellectual , @munsonburn3r , @negomi123 , @khena , @facexthexsunshine , @seatbacksandtraytables , @suckerfordylansstuff , @lilacccs , @thehairington86 , @welcometohellsock

(if your user is crossed out it means i can’t tag you</3)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington series #stranger things fluff #stranger things imagine

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sanakimohara · 2 months ago

Note

Bangchan + Dollhouse by TheWeeknd and Lily-Rose Depp + Yandere 🤭🤭

Like imagine

You wake up in a random persons house, you've been stalked for months, that random person is your stalker. But you can't deny how hot he is. And for a while, he's gentle and makes you fall in love with him, until he introduces you to his friend, Changbin, who you can't deny is almost as hot as Chris, so you talk to him and basically ignore chris. Chris gets jealous and as soon as changbin leaves, he ‘punishes you’ with both rough sex and spanking (i have a spanking kink, spare me pls) and when he's done with everything and you're sleeping, he cries thinking he might of hurt you, you wake up a comfort him with another round. The relationship is messed up, but in front of everyone it's ‘Perfect’ and everyone calls you ‘Barbie and Ken’, but you're more ‘Jocelyn and Tedros’ (the idol ref). You sometimes feel trapped in a ‹Dollhouse› by how you have everything you want, but freedom and being able to talk to without chans supervision.

I know it's probably not your style of writing, but thought I'd request 🤭🤭

[ YOU ] PT.1 B. C.

parking: chan x fem! reader

summary: Stalker AU

playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5KyevYvSoqYDrdBqeAvTZO?si=ZgCCA54dQ7ChyVR2Eg381g

warnings: MDNI + NSFW + ANGST + KIDNAPPING + STALKING + STOCKHOLM SYNDROME + CNC + DESCRIPTIONS OF BODILY HARM + MENTIONS OF MURDER + TRAUMA + SMUT

type: full fic / angst / smut / horror…

a/n: not my style?!? Love, this is exactly the type of stuff I enjoy writing the most tbh. Also your request definitely reminded me of “The Idol” and ‘You” so…I made this fic as an overlap between both and I hope you enjoy it! 🖤

One…Two…Three….Four.

One…

Four walls. …

One door….

One. Two. Three. Four.

One….

Four walls and one door.

You’ve counted them over and over.

You sit in drowning silence, repeating the same numbers to resist the panic rising in your chest from their unfamiliarity.

You’ve never seen these four walls before.

You can’t even begin to remember walking through the door.

Let alone recall how you ended up tied to a bed’s iron-wrought headboard with tape plastered across your mouth to keep a wad of cloth shoved between your lips.

So, you resort to counting.

To repeat the pattern of numbers and halt the tears building in your eyes as the world seems smaller and smaller the longer you count them.

It’s strange.

These four walls and one door are your only comfort in the quiet of a dimly lit room.

It’s the only details you can make out through blurred vision, head fogging with illicit fear as you study them for any clue as to why you’ve been chosen to be within them.

It’s irrational.

Illogical.

But it’s the only thing you can think of to do being in a strange room, restrained and gagged without a clue as to who or why you’ve been put there.

You try to remember. Try to run through the possible events in the last twenty-four hours that’d put you in such an uncanny predicament, but nothing alarming crosses your mind.

There is nothing you can pinpoint as a warning sign you could’ve seen before ending up here.

You woke up, dressed, went to work at the record store until evening, closed the shop, grabbed a bite to eat at the cafe down the street, and then…

And then what?…

You couldn’t get past the point in your train of thought.

You remember the moment you stepped out of the cafe's side entry door and into the small alleyway leading straight to your apartment with a strawberry strudel and cold cream latte in one hand and your phone in the other.

You took one step, turning in the opposite direction of the cafe, finger hovering above the “answer’ button as an unknown caller ID flashed across your phone screen. You meant to answer it, wondering if it was the man who’d come into the record shop looking for a Nirvana vinyl and a pleasant conversation.

What was his name again?

Chan?…

Christopher…?

Wait, no…

Chris!

He’d been the kindest and most invested customer you’d ever met since working in the retrofitted store, insisting that you exchange numbers and plan a time to hang out, listen to records, and maybe discuss opinions on certain bands over a bite-to-eat later on.

You found no harm in taking him up on the innocent offer. Giving a good-looking, genuinely sweet, and apparent music lover your number didn’t seem like a bad idea.

You could barely hold the smile creeping onto your face at the thought of getting a call from him so soon, imagining the drawl of his Australian accent carrying through the phone like pure honey.

You hit ‘answer,’ phone raised to your ear as you began to walk down the brick alley, but the moment your lips parted to speak, a particular smell invaded your nose, and the world went black.

No warning.

No indication.

No recollection.

There was nothing you could grasp from the startling incident that gave a clue as to what happened and why.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, and your head began to hurt from the effort it took to sift through the distorted memory.

A solemn huff struggled to get past your lips, muffled by cloth and tape but audible enough to crack the silence in the room.

Your hands, wrists, and arms felt heavier. The rope twisted in and around the joints, pulled tight to wrap through the bed’s iron headboard, which swirled into a whimsical pattern. Your legs were left somewhat free, ankles bound by the same rope, but the knot around them was too tight for you to wriggle your feet free entirely.

Each time you tried to wrestle the restraints, they’d dig into your skin, scratching and pressing until lines of red were left.

You gave up squirming when the pain became too much, having let go of the hope that someone would hear your muted screams just before that.

Your heart rate failed to slow, stuck in a perpetual frantic pace as you resorted to counting and crying to yourself for comfort.

For a sense of security in a situation that couldn’t possibly remain secure.

A shroud of defeat hung above you, blanketing you in exhaustion as the numbers rang through your head again.

One. Two. Three. Four….One.

One. Two. Three. Four-

*snap*

*click*

Your counting abruptly ends when you hear the door lock come to life—a sharp sound that sends rivets of caution through your veins. You watch from the bed as the doorknob twists, turns, and clicks open.

*creak…*

The wood cries quietly as it’s pried open, inching with gentle force as a figure steps through it.

“You’re awake….I’m glad.”

Chris smiles, a warmth to his lowered voice that doesn’t entirely match the tension his presence has created in the stuffy room you’re tied up in.

You stare at him, watery eyes wide with confusion and pure fear.

His smile.

His voice.

Those brown eyes of his that you’d sworn looked so sweet, lighting up with recognition when you showed him the record store's Nirvana section. Now, they terrified you as they grazed along your vulnerable position.

A position he’d put you into.

A position you hadn’t expected him, a man so warm and so down to earth yet new to you, to put you in.

Chris saw the wheels turning in your head, reading the tidbits of betrayal bombarding you as the pieces of the puzzle you’d been trying to put together for hours finally came together.

He felt…guilty, of course.

He hadn’t meant to take you so quickly. Let alone without getting to know your mind a little better, but he needed a new source of purpose…

A new fix for the addiction many were unaware he had developed after years of denying it himself.

He needed a vice, a project, a doll to mold, a person who would depend on him and only him.

You checked all those boxes. He’d made sure of it. Trailing you for weeks after spotting you closing the record shop one evening on your way to the cafe he’d just left only a moment ago.

Getting rid of a body was never easy. It was a tedious task he rarely did without the help of caffeine in any form he could find, but one look at you had his mind wandering from the burden.

It was almost too perfect, in his opinion.

You were almost too perfect.

You remained on his mind for the next few days. You were the only thing he could ponder while tossing bags of muscle into the ocean in the dark hours of the morning. An itch he couldn’t quite scratch away.

So, against the resolve of his last failure to find someone to hold on to, Chris took an interest in you.

In your day-to-day life.

In the few friends and family you had and kept close.

In the days you went to work.

In the time you spent at the cafe after you’d leave the record shop.

In the specific orders you made.

A toasted strawberry strudel and cold cream latte on Mondays and Sundays.

Pumpkin vanilla cappuccino and lemon cake slice on Tuesday and Thursday.

Oh, but his favorite combination you ordered happened every Friday…

A slice of cake with strawberry filling and a cup of ice cream with extra whipped cream on top.

On those days, he’d watch from afar as your cheeks flushed from every bite of cake and cold cream you’d take. Bits of whipped cream swiped off your lips with a quick pass of your tongue. And that slight smile on your face as you enjoyed the treat always warmed his heart a little more each time he saw it.

You lived alone.

All alone.

A sweet girl like you shouldn’t have to but you do.

Chris couldn’t stand it.

Not the way you walked home all alone each night.

Not the way you stayed at the record store later on some nights to finish your manager’s closing tasks whenever he asked you to.

Which was far too many times for Chris’s liking.

Not the way you’d had to shop for yourself. You were buying smaller portions of groceries only to feed yourself.

Not how you helped anyone, even the rudest customers he’d ever seen when stopped by the record store in search of anything but vinyl records.

Not the way you’d crouch down in the alleyway after those interactions to cry into your hands and try to calm down before returning to work with a smile.

He couldn’t stand it.

Any of it.

Weeks of watching you suffer through a life he could make so much better for you made his headache and his mind numb.

Meeting you in the record store was only supposed to be a soft start to a usual routine he’d perfected over time. A quick interaction, something to ease his desire to have you all to himself. Nothing more. Nothing less.

But seeing your smile up close, hearing your soft voice carry under the sound of the 80s best hits as you led him to the section of records he’d asked to see, did something indescribable to him.

He could’ve waited. He could’ve gone on a few dates that he knew you’d gladly go on with him, but a rare impulse toppled over his logic.

You’d be so much happier if he had you.

He knew it.

He believed it.

And sooner or later, you’d believe it, too.

What’s the harm in making sure you’d believe it sooner?

Chris breathed, steadying himself despite the relief he felt seeing you wide awake and safe right where he had left you.

“Listen,…Y/n…” he stepped closer, eyes drifting around your figure when you began to toss and turn against the bed to scoot further away from him.

To keep him away at all costs.

Chris felt his heart drop, his smile gone, watching your teary eyes dart over him and through the room. Your body shook, your legs pulled close to your chest, and your head pressed back into the headboard.

You were terrified.

He terrified you.

That just wouldn’t do, and Chris stifled his inner doubts and regrets about causing you so much confusion and distress to remedy it in any way he could.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d listen to reason and hear him out.

You seemed like the understanding type.

A girl who could see another’s perspective without offering harsh judgment.

Chris was sure of it, though you looked utterly terrified of him now, if he was careful enough…

You’d have no choice but to understand.

“Listen,” he smiled at you, rounding the bed in three swift steps and kneeling at its left edge as you tried to curl closer to the right one.

He sighed, trying not to take your reluctance to be near him to heart, but the silent sobs that barely made it past your gag annoyed him to some degree.

Did you think he’d hurt you?

Him?

The one who’d made it his life’s new purpose to protect you at all costs would plan on hurting you when he’d only just gotten his hands on you?

Chris felt the frown on his lips, unable to retrain his disappointment in your behavior. Still, the disapproving expression he held lasted for less than seconds before he softened into a kinder one.

“Listen… I’m not going to hurt you. I know you must be so scared right now, sweetheart, and that’s fine.”

He straightened up, raising his arms to fold on the bedsheets. His shoulders tightened underneath the black shirt he wore, and he took a deep, elongated breath through his nose.

You watched him, struggling to see him as the same man you’d met in the record store. From the beginning, he’d been a stranger, a new face of kindness that mirrored your own, but now your mind couldn’t fathom what to think of him.

A dryness settled in the back of your throat, adding to your jaw ache and the soreness blooming through each of your tied limbs.

You were in pain.

He was putting you through so much pain, and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

And you still had a little faith in his promise, believing the sick irony of it for the sake of internal hope.

Chris raised his head, strands of blonde hair falling over those eyes you couldn’t help staring into. “You can be afraid of me, baby. I know you are, and that’s fine, but know I’m doing this for you…” He paused, letting a wry laughas his lips pulled into a smile you barely saw when he lowered his head again.

Your nerves vibrated with anxiety, his sudden silence setting you on edge and bringing tears right back to your tired eyes.

Chris looked up, hearing you crying again, brows furrowing with irritation and concern. “Don’t cry.” The command hangs in the air, crisp and direct. You flinch hearing it, put off by the gentle raise of his voice and his abrupt movement to stand up and lean over the bed’s edge.

You shift away from him, holding back the tears that beg to fall from your eyes, fearing that disobeying his demand won’t end well for you.

“Crying won’t change anything for you.” He inches closer, a knee dipping into the mattress as his left-hand reaches to cup your face. You jerk your head back at his touch, ignoring the slight pain hitting it against the headboard causes but failing to avoid his touch when he weaves his fingers through your hair and tugs to hold you in place.

It hurts.

The pressure he inflicts onto your scalp leaves you complacent and strained.

You go still, shivering underneath his looming body heat as he drapes his head over yours.

Blonde locks tickle the bridge of your nose and forehead, shifting as his brows raise and his thickly accented voice pierces the room's defeating silence.

“You’re a smart girl, yeah?..”

You nod in a daze, throat too dry to scream, head too sore to think, and heart racing too fast for you to decide if fear or attraction to him was taking over you.

You hoped it was the latter.

Otherwise, you’d already begun to lose your mind.

Chris smirked, studying the way your pupils dilated on him.

There it is.

The sign he’d been longing to see since he’d walked into the room and found you awake.

A small, familiar, and telling indication of submission.

“Yeah, you are…” he scoffs, eyes drifting to the tape plastered across your face, noting the subtle lines of drool beginning to slip from under it and down your chin.

Your chest heaved as you inhaled a sharp breath through your nose, choking on a sob that dwindled into a whimper for mercy.

For his mercy.

His pity.

Anyway you could get it, use it, and beg for it.

Your desperation.

You wanted him to see it written across your face and in every painful sound you made.

But Chris looked right past it, heard none, and continued leering you into his web of little white lies.

“Then you understand why I’m doing this to you? Why I have to keep you safe like this? Why you have to stay and do as I say?..”

You don’t move. You are not giving him a nod or a flutter of your lashes that’ll resonate in agreement.

Because you disagree.

You’re helpless, scared, and condemned.

But your pride and need for survival hang on by a thread, so you refuse to feed into him more than you have to.

You defy him.

Chris waits. He waits for a moment to see if you’ll give an inch to his established mile, and when you don’t show any sign of doing so, he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“So….that’s how you’re going to be…” he sighs, frowns present as he loosens the hand gripping your hair to trail it down to the nape of your neck. You jolt at the feeling of his large and rough hand meeting your bare skin, applying pressure right below the crown of your head as he holds you still.

“I bet this is hurting you, huh?” Chris hums, a genuine flicker of sympathy flashing across his face as he lifts his free hand to trace over the duct tape plastered across yours. “Why don’t I help you, hm? Get this off your pretty mouth and let you answer me…”

Your eyes widen, and your head tosses in his hold the second his pointer and thumb grasp a corner of the tape and pull it from your skin.

Chris rips the sticky plastic from your face as if it were a simple bandage over a healed wound, and you cringe hard at the ruthless action. A half-formed scream, tears from your still stuffed mouth turning into frantic cries as he forces you to stay still through the searing pain.

“Feels better, doesn’t it?” He comments passively, pulling the wad of cloth between your aching lips and tossing it onto the bed with the discarded tape.

You cough, your throat is burning, and your jaw is hurting as you try to grit your teeth and speak to him, but your voice is inaudible.

Stripped away from all the pointless screaming and crying you’d done for god knows how long.

He smiles at your attempt to curse and yell at him, his head shaking mockingly as he passes a thumb over your trembling lips. “Shh shhh shhh…just listen to me, sweetheart,” he coos, and you groan in defeat as he repeats his earlier question.

“You understand why I’m doing this to you, right? That it’s not safe for you out there. Not without me there to help you…say you understand, and I’ll take away the pain you’re feeling right now.”

You stare at him, failing to maintain a glare from the strain your mind and body is in.

It would help your sanity if you said no.

Shake your head and build up the courage and will to fight him with all you have, but numbness drags you into a state of complicit survival.

A need to appease him and hopefully garner some relief from your physical exhaustion.

Your lips part but then snap shut when a sharp ache flares in your jaw.

Chris’s face softens completely when he sees the minuscule instance of pain you’re in. “You don’t have to talk if it hurts. Nod for me instead….just like that,” he soothes you in a hushed tone, smiling as you obediently nod your head.

“Atta’ girl…” he praises, a smile slowly forming again as you whine quietly, shutting your eyes tight, letting the few tears you have left pour down your reddened cheeks.

You can’t speak, and you have no freedom to move or motivation to call for help.

And part of you doesn't want to anymore.

Part of you sees no point in doing so.

What’s the point in fighting him when you can barely speak or move a muscle without strain.

Without feeding into his demented perception of your need for him.

It’s odd—feeling defeated but strangely aware of the caring nature of a man who's forced you into such a miserable state.

Chris breathes a sigh of relief, nose nudging against yours as he hums lowly while breathing you in.

Breathing in your desperation.

Your dependence.

Your fear.

Your innocence.

He takes everything you have to offer him, his mind racing with ways to use it against you…

To help you, his newly shattered doll, piece yourself together again.

The correct way.

His way.

a/n: This’ll be a 4 pt series and my prime event for the spooky season. Btw…fiction is fiction and this fic has pretty extensive and extreme themes in it so please don’t continue to read it if any of the plot/context makes you uncomfortable. I don’t tend to hold back on darker themed fics and this one won’t be any different so please keep that in mind.

other links: n/a (might go up on AO3 later)

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