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joelsrose · 21 days ago

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warninnggssss omg stepdad!joel smut - this is not everyones cup of tea so pls pls be warned also as always 18+ for smut, otherwise to the of age freaks pls enjoyy hehhehe

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You sat at the end of the table, hands resting quietly in your lap as the hum of conversation floated between the clatter of cutlery and the occasional laugh from your two college friends, visiting for the week under the impression that this was just a harmless little getaway—some sun, some sleep, a few homemade meals in the country.

The kitchen smelled like rosemary and roasted meat, the air thick with steam and late evening light spilling in golden across the counter tiles. Your mother sat beside you, bright-eyed and flushed from wine, humming softly to herself as she passed the gravy boat across the table, her hand brushing against Joel’s wrist like it was second nature.

Joel.

Your stepfather.

Your very recent stepfather.

The same man who first walked into your life with a busted toolbelt, a sharp drawl, and a set of rough, dust-smeared hands that knew how to fix things. Walls. Leaks. Cabinets. Hearts, maybe. He was supposed to just reconstruct the kitchen—then, somehow, the bathroom, the laundry pipes, the broken fence in the backyard. And then, before you even realized it was happening, he was reconstructing his whole damn life around your mother.

Married four months ago. Living in your house. Sitting now at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to the elbow, carving meat with quiet precision, those thick, veiny hands guiding the knife like it was sacred ritual.

He didn’t speak much during dinner. He never did—just nodded now and then, a low rumble in his throat when someone addressed him directly.

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He had that heavy, slow way about him—shoulders broad, voice gravelly, expression unreadable unless he was looking at you. Then it shifted. Just a little. Just enough. Like his eyes softened, or his mouth twitched into something barely shy of a smile. But only for a second. Only for you.

He wasn’t your father. As many times as your mother tried to make it so—“Can you ask your daddy what time he’ll be home?” or “Your daddy said he’d pick up more of that good brisket from town”—you never said the word. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Not when your thoughts about him weren’t the kind daughters were supposed to have.

Not when you couldn’t stop noticing the way his shirt clung to his back when he mowed the lawn. Or how his voice sounded first thing in the morning, gravel and heat, rasping low as he stood in the doorway with a steaming mug of coffee and tired eyes.

Not when you still dreamed about the way his hand lingered on your lower back a little too long the night of the wedding, guiding you through the crowd with a touch that didn’t feel familial.

Not when the man who’d been in your life less than a year looked at you sometimes like he’d undo every rule in the world just to have one moment of honesty with you.

And now here he was, sitting across the table, carving roast beef with those strong, calloused hands, the flicker of candlelight catching in his beard and glinting off the silver band on his ring finger that your mother slipped on with shaky hands one courthouse morning.

You swallowed hard, tearing your eyes away, trying to focus on your friends, on the mashed potatoes, on anything but the way Joel kept looking at you when your mother wasn’t watching.

Anything but the fact that he knew you weren’t calling him daddy for a reason.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The living room was dimly lit, the last sliver of pink sunset bleeding through the windows, casting golden streaks across the hardwood floor and the frayed edges of the old throw rug your mother refused to replace. You sat curled up in the corner of the couch, remote in hand, aimlessly scrolling through Netflix with half-lidded eyes, the sound of your friends' soft laughter filling the space around you like warm static.

Your mom had disappeared upstairs just after dessert, fingers laced in Joel’s, her voice pitched high and giddy as she declared, “We’ll leave you girls to your wine and gossip—don’t wait up!” And just like that, they were gone, the creak of the stairs and the hush of a door closing upstairs the only trace of them.

You tried not to think about it. About him. About the way Joel had glanced at you as he stood, one hand braced on the back of her chair, the other resting at his side like he didn’t know what to do with it, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment too long.

“God, what even is there to watch anymore,” you muttered absently, scrolling past title after title, your voice heavy with the kind of lazy boredom that comes after a full meal and a long day. Beside you, Ava stretched out with a little groan, her feet nudging under the blanket as she reached for her glass of wine, while Camila leaned in closer, eyes dancing with a mischievous glint that made your stomach twist even before she opened her mouth.

And then, softly—too softly—like a secret whispered between childhood friends and forbidden crushes, Camila nudged your arm and murmured, “Okay, seriously though… your stepdad is hot.”

The words hit you like a slap. Immediate. Merciless. Your whole body tensed, your spine straightening as if on instinct, fingers clenching tighter around the remote as you turned toward her, eyes wide, heartbeat stuttering.

“What the hell?” you snapped, louder than you meant to, the heat rising to your cheeks so fast it felt like fire, like shame, like panic. “Camila—what the actual—”

But she was already laughing, head thrown back, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her glass as she looked at Ava, who only grinned and shrugged, clearly amused by your reaction. “Relax,” Camila said through her giggles, waving a hand like she could brush it all away. “I’m just saying. The flannel? The beard? He’s got that, like, hot handyman-slash-mountain-man energy. You know I have a type.”

You blinked at her, words stuck in your throat, your brain short-circuiting beneath the weight of something you didn’t want to name—something clawing up your ribs like guilt. You wanted to tell her she was out of line. That it was gross. That Joel was married to your mother, for God’s sake. But instead, all you could manage was a choked-out, “He’s—he’s not—he’s—just—stop.”

And it was Ava’s turn to raise a brow, her smile a little too knowing. “You’re blushing,” she teased, her voice sing-song and cruel in the way only best friends could be. “Oh my God, she’s totally blushing.”

“I am not,” you snapped again, but your voice was unsteady, your face burning, your entire body suddenly too hot for the blanket draped over your lap. You shoved it off, stood up too fast, nearly tripping over the coffee table as you made your way toward the kitchen, trying to pretend like you weren’t unravelling, like your skin wasn’t tingling in places it shouldn’t be.

Because they didn’t know.

They didn’t know the way Joel looked at you sometimes when your mother wasn’t watching. They didn’t know how his voice dropped when he said your name. They didn’t know how his hand had brushed your waist this morning when he reached past you for the sugar and you felt it for hours.

They didn’t know. And you were terrified they might find out.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Camila and Ava had long since fallen asleep in the downstairs guest room, their quiet breaths threading through the stillness of the house, the kind of deep, wine-soft sleep that only came with familiarity and full stomachs and the comfort of being a guest rather than the daughter. Upstairs, you lay in your childhood bedroom, the sheets cool against your skin, your fingers twisting absently in the hem of your tank top as you stared at the ceiling—unmoving, unblinking, like maybe if you kept your gaze steady enough, long enough, it might finally offer you answers to questions you didn’t know how to ask out loud.

It wasn’t that late yet—just brushing past midnight, the witching hour when everything felt thinner, when walls couldn’t hold in secrets and silence started to echo. You wondered if your mother and Joel were asleep already, or if they were still awake in the room down the hall, the one that used to be hers alone before he arrived with his heavy boots and toolbox and made himself at home. A small, traitorous part of you imagined them lying in bed together, her curled against his chest, his arm draped protectively around her waist as he whispered something low and fond into her hair.

You cringed at the image. Not because it was gross. Not because you didn’t want your mother to be happy. But because the weight that coiled inside your stomach at the thought of her in his arms wasn’t disgust—it was jealousy. Quiet, bitter, shame-soaked jealousy that tasted like guilt and felt like sin.

You turned onto your side, fingers pressing into the mattress like you could ground yourself with touch, like maybe if you pressed hard enough you’d stop the thoughts from blooming. But they kept coming, gentle and relentless, winding themselves around you like ivy. You wondered if either of them had noticed the way you always looked away when they kissed in front of you, or the way you flinched ever so slightly when their hands found each other in passing, fingers laced like it meant nothing, like it was normal.

Maybe they thought you were still adjusting. Maybe your mother thought it was some kind of unresolved grief for your father, that you couldn’t accept the idea of her moving on so quickly, tying herself to someone new. Maybe Joel thought it was awkwardness, or disapproval, or some adolescent refusal to see him as a part of the family.

But the truth was far more dangerous. Far more complicated.

Because you weren’t mourning the past. You weren’t angry about her happiness. You were mourning something else entirely—something unspoken and selfish and terrifying.

You were mourning every moment he touched her and not you. Every laugh he gave her and not you. Every soft glance, every private kiss, every piece of him that she got to keep while you sat in the corner pretending you didn’t notice, pretending you didn’t care.

Your thoughts—feverish and tangled and too loud in your head—were suddenly interrupted by a soft knock against the wooden door, three gentle taps that pulled you back to earth so abruptly you nearly sat upright. You thought, for a second, maybe one of the girls had left something behind—toothpaste on the bathroom counter or a charger cord tucked beneath the sheets—so you called out without thinking, your voice barely carrying across the room.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open with a slow, careful push, and instead of Camila or Ava’s familiar silhouette, it was him—Joel. His broad frame filled the doorway, shadowed in the dim hallway light, shoulders hunched ever so slightly like he hadn’t meant to startle you, one hand braced against the doorframe like he was still deciding whether to step fully inside.

You reached instinctively for your side lamp, fingers fumbling with the switch until warm yellow light bathed the room, casting everything in a soft, golden hush. You blinked up at him, eyes adjusting, breath catching at the sight of him standing there like some kind of fever dream.

“Joel?” you asked, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, breathless not from surprise but from the sheer weight of his presence, the way he looked in that moment—undone, unguarded, real in a way that made your skin prickle.

“Hey, darlin’,” he said, that low, southern drawl curling around the words like smoke, as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him with a gentle click that sounded far too loud in the silence of the house.

He looked—God, he looked like trouble.

Hair mussed from sleep, silver at the temples and curling slightly where it met the nape of his neck, beard soft and full, still flecked with that salt-and-pepper scruff that made him look older than he was but somehow stronger for it. He wore a plain, threadbare t-shirt, stretched across his chest in a way that made your stomach tighten, sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins in his forearms, the kind that only ever came from years of labor, of building things with his hands. His grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, worn soft with age, and barefoot—he looked every bit the rugged, rough-edged man who fixed your mom’s house and accidentally broke something inside of you.

It wasn’t technically unusual for Joel to be in your room—sometimes he’d swing by to drop off something you left in the kitchen, or fix the ceiling fan that rattled in summer, or bring you tea when you were sick and shivering in bed, too weak to do anything but mumble thanks. He’d stand by the door usually, or maybe lean against the wall, say something gruff but kind before disappearing again.

But not like this.

Not late at night. Not when the rest of the house was asleep. Not when you were lying in bed in nothing but a thin camisole and panties, heart stuttering like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

You shifted again, this time a little more nervously, the sheet clutched tighter around your lap even though it did nothing to hide the way your body responded to his presence—your skin flushed and warm, your breath shallow, nipples still visibly peaked beneath the whisper-thin fabric of your top. You saw it then, the way Joel’s gaze flickered, just for a second, dragging across your chest before meeting your eyes again, and something about the way he didn’t look away fast enough made your stomach twist into knots. He wasn’t trying to pretend. He wasn’t playing dumb.

He came to sit on the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, the motion tilting you slightly toward him. He braced one hand beside him, the other resting loosely on his knee. “Were you asleep?” he asked, voice low, his drawl even rougher at this hour, as if it had crawled up from his chest and hadn’t quite settled in his throat yet.

You shook your head slowly, trying not to look too guilty, too obvious. “No,” you said quietly. “I… couldn’t sleep.”

Joel nodded, like he already knew, like maybe that’s why he was really here, not because he happened to be passing by. “Your friends were nice,” he said after a pause, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that could’ve been amusement—or warning. “That Camila though… she’s trouble.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, the sound a little shaky as you tried to exhale the nerves tightening inside your chest. “Yeah,” you said, nodding. “She is.”

Joel looked at you for a long moment, the silence stretching thin, and then asked, voice low and even, “You have fun?”

You answered too quickly. “Yeah.”

He didn’t miss it. His brow furrowed, not deeply, just enough to signal that he’d caught something he didn’t like, that he could hear the wrongness in your tone the way he could spot a crooked nail from across a room. “What’s wrong?” he asked, that same hand still braced on the bed beside you, his fingers so close to your thigh you could feel the heat of him even through the sheet.

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head, eyes darting away before you could stop them. “It’s nothing, Joel.”

He tilted his head, slow, deliberate, voice soft but firm like he was coaxing the truth out of you the same way he might coax a wild animal from the woods. “C’mon, sweetheart. You know you’re not a great liar.”

Your throat went tight. You pressed your lips together, tried to hold it in, tried to act normal, tried to act like your skin wasn’t tingling in every place he was near.

“It’s stupid,” you murmured. “Just… one of them said something. Kinda weird.”

Joel straightened a little, his eyes narrowing with something darker, a flicker of protectiveness tightening his jaw. “Weird?” he repeated, his voice sharper now. “They say somethin’ mean to you?”

“No—no, nothin’ like that,” you rushed to say, shaking your head, heart beating hard enough that you were sure he could hear it in the quiet room. “It wasn’t mean. Just…”

He waited. He didn’t speak right away, just tilted his head slightly, the soft creak of the mattress the only sound between you as he waited for you to gather the courage to speak.

“They said something,” you murmured finally, voice barely above a whisper, your eyes trained on your fingers where they twisted nervously in your lap, knuckles white from the tension you refused to let rise to the surface. “About you.”

Joel was quiet for a beat, then let out a low, careful hum. “Oh,” he said, not shocked, not offended, just… waiting. Another pause. “Okay.”

You looked up at him then, meeting his gaze for the first time since the words had started tumbling from your mouth, and it felt like standing too close to the sun—too warm, too intense, too dangerous. His eyes were calm, steady, and yet you felt like they were peeling layers off you without even trying.

“You can tell me,” he coaxed, his voice the softest kind of gruff, the kind that scratched gently at your throat and made you ache in places you didn’t have names for. “Ain’t gonna get upset, sweetheart. Promise.”

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding louder now, the heat creeping up your throat in a slow, mortifying wave as you looked down again. “They just…” you huffed, frustrated with your own inability to say something so simple, so ridiculous, even though it had been clawing at your thoughts all night.

“They said you were…” you trailed off, then forced yourself to look up, cheeks burning as you finally let the words escape. “They said you were ‘hot,’” you mumbled, using your fingers to make sarcastic little quotation marks in the air, the motion clumsy and half-hearted, your voice wrapped in embarrassment and something else—something you couldn’t disguise.

Joel blinked slowly, like he was processing it carefully.

He just sat there, eyes fixed on you, expression unreadable but far from indifferent, and in the quiet that followed, something in the air shifted. It was subtle—barely a breath—but it was there. Heavy. Humming. Like the moment before a summer storm breaks.

And then, finally, in that low, quiet drawl that had already undone you more times than you cared to admit, Joel tilted his head and said, “That right?”

You gave the smallest nod, unable to find your voice, your cheeks hot under the weight of his gaze.

He chuckled, and it was somehow worse than silence—warm and familiar and achingly beautiful, the kind of laugh that wrapped around you like smoke, like comfort, like danger disguised as something gentle. “That’s what’s got you all twisted up, honey?” he asked, his voice teasing now, smooth as whiskey and just as sharp. “That why you’re up past midnight, lookin’ like you got somethin’ sittin’ heavy on your chest?”

“I’m not upset,” you said quickly, the words spilling out too fast, too defensive. “It’s just—” you shrugged, eyes falling to your lap again, “weird.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, the mattress shifting slightly beneath his weight as he leaned in just enough to make you feel it—his presence, his size, the scent of him that smelled like cedar and something warmer, deeper, something male. “Ain’t that weird,” he said, like it was fact. Like you were the one being unreasonable.

You blinked at him, heart stumbling over itself. “What?”

He shrugged, one corner of his mouth tugging into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What—you think I’m hideous or somethin’, darlin’?” he asked, voice laced with mock offense, but there was something beneath it, something hot and coiled and barely leashed.

“No,” you said quickly, instinctively, your body tensing. “No, but—”

Joel cut you off with a slow, quiet laugh, the kind that sent goosebumps across your arms. “D’you agree with your friend?” he asked, his voice quieter now, lower, thicker, like molasses sliding slow over bare skin. “Simple question, angel.”

You swallowed hard, every part of your body suddenly too aware of itself—your hands, your legs beneath the sheet, the way your breath caught in your throat. “I—” you stammered. “You’re my—my stepdad. It’s weird.”

Joel’s expression didn’t shift. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t flinch. He just watched you, calm and steady, as if your panic was a ripple in a pond he’d already seen coming.

“Ain’t weird,” he said again, this time definitively, like he was putting the matter to rest, the final nail in a coffin you didn’t even realize you’d built together. “You’re my stepdaughter, sure,” he said, voice slow, smooth, dragging each word like he wanted you to feel them deep in your chest, “but that don’t change the fact that you’re a goddamn stunnin’ girl.”

Your breath hitched.

His eyes flicked down for a heartbeat—your lips, your collarbone, the outline of your thighs beneath the sheet—before meeting yours again. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with seein’ beauty, even if it’s standin’ right in front of me in my own house. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with noticin’.”

His hand flexed again against the mattress beside you, the muscles in his forearm shifting subtly, a quiet tension that mirrored the storm building between your ribs.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’, either,” he said again, and this time it wasn’t casual or dismissive—it was low, like a confession, like he meant every word, like he wasn’t just talking about himself.

Your breath hitched, your chest rising too fast, falling too slow, and before you could control it, your thighs—hot and aching beneath the thin layer of sheets—pressed tighter together in a desperate attempt to calm the pulsing ache that had bloomed low in your stomach. But it was no use. Your body betrayed you before your mouth could even try to lie.

And Joel saw it.

Of course he saw it. He always did.

He let his gaze drop, just for a moment—just long enough to trace the path of your clenched jaw, your flushed chest, the twitch of the blanket where your legs shifted beneath it—before dragging his eyes back up to yours with a slowness that made your skin feel like it might catch fire under the weight of it.

“It’s wrong,” you said, barely more than a breath, and even you could hear how unconvincing it sounded. Your voice faltered halfway through the sentence, like your mouth was trying to say something your heart didn’t believe.

Joel’s lips parted in a soft, nearly pitying sound, almost like a laugh—but gentler, rougher, like he was mourning the guilt you were dragging behind you like a chain. “That why you’re squirming, sweetheart?” he asked, voice like gravel and honey, rich and wrecked and too kind for the words it carried. “Sittin’ there all flustered, lookin’ at me like I done somethin’ to you?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The air felt thick enough to drown in.

Joel leaned in just a little, his voice dipping lower, like the walls had ears and he didn’t want anyone else to hear what he was about to say.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me takin’ care of you,” he murmured, slow and steady like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Makin’ you feel good. Keepin’ you safe. It's my job, ain’t it?”

You swallowed hard, and he saw that too.

He kept going, not touching you, not even leaning closer—just letting his voice wrap around you like his hands would, if you asked.

“These boys your age… they don’t know how to treat you,” he said, his mouth curving into something soft, something almost sad. “Don’t know how to be patient. Don’t know how to listen.”

His hand shifted slightly on the mattress, just enough to make the sheets pull tight where his thigh pressed close to yours.

“They’ll rush you,” he said, voice barely a whisper now. “Use you up. Leave you empty.”

He let the words hang, heavy and devastating.

“I’d never do that to you, baby.”

You let out a soft sound—breathless, choked, almost involuntary—the kind of desperate little noise you might’ve tried to bury into a pillow if you were alone, but now it just slipped out, raw and real and open, hanging there in the charged air between you.

Joel’s eyes darkened instantly, and his voice followed like a velvet trap. “Aw, angel,” he cooed, low and dripping with something syrup-thick and sinful, “you’re aching, ain’t ya?”

You nodded, barely, shame crawling up your spine, your thighs clenching again under the sheets like you could hide the truth from a man who already saw it, already knew. And yet… you nodded. You nodded because it was true. Because every cell in your body felt hot and heavy and needy in a way you couldn’t soothe on your own anymore.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be embarrassed about, sweetpea,” he murmured, shaking his head slow like you’d just said something silly, something naive. “It’s normal,” he added gently, like this was a lesson. Like he was here to teach. “You’re a girl with needs, and I’m a man who understands ‘em. Ain’t nothin’ dirty about that.”

His hand came up, calloused fingers brushing your cheek with a kind of reverence that made you dizzy, his thumb stroking softly under your eye like he could smooth the guilt out of you if he just touched you gently enough. “Sweet girl,” he whispered, so low it made your chest ache, “always so good for me.”

You felt warm all over, like something inside you had melted and was slowly seeping into every inch of your body, like honey left in the sun.

Joel leaned back just slightly, humming low in his throat, eyes never leaving yours, like he was thinking—weighing something. And then, in a tone so casual, so infuriatingly calm it made your stomach twist, he said, “How ‘bout I help you out, huh?”

You blinked, confused, dazed, the words hitting you like warm water to the face. “Help me?” you asked, voice small and hesitant, caught between fear and want, your hands twisting in the sheets like they might anchor you to the moment.

He nodded slowly, his hand sliding from your cheek to rest on your knee—over the sheet, but the heat of it still bled through like a brand. “I want you to show me, baby,” he said, his voice still soft, still that same gentle, soothing register, like he wasn’t asking you to cross a line you could never come back from. “Show me how you do it when you’re all alone.”

Your breath caught. Your face burned. The blush that bloomed across your cheeks felt like it went all the way down to your chest, to your core, to every private place you’d ever touched in the dark.

“I—Joel,” you stammered, but your voice crumbled before it could form a protest.

He tilted his head, squeezing your knee through the sheet, patient and unbothered. “Ain’t nothin’ to be shy about, angel,” he said, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “You think I don’t know you been lyin’ here at night touchin’ that sweet little pussy all quiet-like, tryin’ not to make a sound?” He let out a low chuckle, but there was no cruelty in it—just warmth, affection, like you’d done something precious.

“Bet you rub that clit nice and slow, tryin’ to make it last, huh?” he murmured, eyes locked on your face, watching every tiny reaction like he was reading scripture. “Bet you squeeze your thighs together after, all messy ‘n wet, pretendin’ you’re not thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

You buried your face in your hands, humiliated and flushed, but Joel’s voice pulled you right back out, soft but firm. “C’mon now. Be a good girl and show me.”

You hid your face in your hands, hot with shame, your entire body throbbing with heat, soaked in places you didn’t dare acknowledge, and still trembling with that same awful, beautiful ache—the one that told you this was wrong, and yet made it impossible to pull away.

You were mortified, confused, soaked to your thighs and full of a desperate longing that made your skin feel too tight, your thoughts tangled and wet and unbearable.

Joel chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, curling in your stomach like smoke. “You trust me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, gentle and coaxing and so sure of the answer he didn’t need to hear it.

But you nodded anyway, fingers twitching as you lowered your hands just enough to meet his gaze, tears brimming in your eyes though you didn’t even know what you were crying for.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and that phrase—good girl—broke something loose inside of you, made your breath catch and your throat tighten like it meant something more than just praise. Like it meant ownership. Like it meant love.

Then, in a voice that was suddenly lower, rougher, more dangerous and yet still laced with the same softness that made your stomach flip, he said, “Now go on, baby. Show your daddy how you take care of that pretty little pussy when you’re all alone, thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

You whimpered, the sound barely making it past your lips, and shook your head a little, helpless. “I—I don’t know what to do,” you whispered, your voice cracking like it was made of glass.

Joel gave a quiet, affectionate sigh, like you’d just said the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. “That’s alright, sugar,” he said, sliding a heavy hand beneath the sheet and letting it rest there for just a moment before slowly, deliberately, peeling it back.

You froze as the cool air met your bare skin, the way his eyes didn’t look away, didn’t hesitate, just drank you in like this was the most natural thing in the world, like he wasn’t your stepfather and this wasn’t your childhood bed, like this was inevitable.

“Let’s take this off then,” he said, more to himself than to you, as he folded the sheet down past your hips, your thighs, your trembling legs, until you lay there exposed, vulnerable, soaked through your panties with shame and arousal.

Joel’s eyes swept over your bare thighs, lingering on the soaked fabric clinging to the soft curve of your cunt, the way it shimmered faintly in the low lamp light like it was glowing—wet, messy, desperate. You hadn’t even touched yourself yet, hadn’t done more than breathe, and still, your body had betrayed you, eager and hungry and utterly undone just from the sound of his voice, the scrape of his knuckles, the weight of his gaze.

And Joel saw it.

Of course he did.

He let out a soft, almost pitying coo as he shook his head, tongue pressing briefly to the inside of his cheek like he was trying to hold back a sigh. “Honey,” he murmured, slow and low, that molasses drawl laced with disappointment more than anything else. “You’re drippin’, baby.”

The words weren’t cruel, but they still cut through you like a knife, made your skin prickle and your breath catch, not because he was mocking you—but because it was the truth. Because it was said like a reproach, like he was gently scolding you for keeping this from him. Like he was hurt.

“Jesus,” he whispered, shaking his head again, the softest furrow in his brow. “You waitin’ this long to ask for help, baby? Layin’ up here, soaked and achin’, all by yourself?” His voice dropped even lower, eyes still fixed on the wet patch that was growing darker by the second. “That ain’t good for you, sweetpea. All that tension. Sittin’ in your belly like poison. You know better than that.”

You whimpered, small and mortified, your eyes stinging with some ugly cocktail of shame and want and that unbearable tenderness only Joel could wring out of you.

“You shoulda come to me,” he said, as soft as a prayer, his hand drifting up to rest against your thigh, close but not touching—not yet. “Coulda knocked on my door, baby. Just a tap. I’d’ve taken care of you real easy. Real sweet.” He let out a quiet sigh, like this hurt him more than it hurt you. “But instead you’re up here, rubbin’ those pretty little thighs together like that’s gonna do the job.”

You whimpered again—quiet and pathetic, a sound barely born before it trembled out of your lips—and Joel made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a sigh, his whole body shifting like it hurt him to hear you like that, like your suffering was something sacred. “My sweet girl,” he rasped, rough with reverence, and as if the words alone weren’t enough to mark you, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple, slow and tender and terrifying in its intimacy.

You froze.

It was almost absurd—after everything, after the confessions, after the filthy words spoken in soft murmurs, after sitting in your soaked underwear before him like an offering—but that kiss, that small, chaste brush of lips to skin, shattered you in a different way. You and Joel had never shared physical affection beyond fleeting, innocent moments—a hand to your back when you were sick, a brush of shoulders in the kitchen, the occasional hand-off of a cup of tea or a charger cord. But this? This was different. This was personal. This was loving.

More intimate than anything else he could have done.

And then, his voice dropped again, low and drawling, thick with heat and authority. “Alright,” he said, his tone like velvet soaked in whiskey. “Take those panties off real slow for me, sugar. I wanna see that sweet pussy beg.”

Your breath caught hard in your throat, your fingers twitching against the sheets, and for a second you didn’t move—couldn’t move—because the words had landed so heavy, like a weight dropped into your chest. But then, with trembling hands and a heart that felt too big for your ribs, you obeyed.

You reached down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, soaked through and clinging to your skin, and began to ease them down, slow and hesitant, your eyes flickering up to meet his just once, just long enough to see the way his gaze had darkened—hungry, wild, but still soft. Still Joel.

The damp fabric peeled away from you, shame dripping off you in waves as you slid the panties down your thighs, over your knees, until they slipped past your ankles and landed in a silent heap on the floor beside the bed.

You were breathless now—your chest rising and falling in shallow little gasps, your skin flushed from head to toe, your legs trembling beneath you—and you didn’t even know if it was from fear or want or that horrible, beautiful mixture of both.

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just looked.

Eyes fixed between your legs, steady and unhurried, drinking in the sight of you like it was something holy, something he didn’t quite deserve to see but was going to relish anyway. His gaze was slow, heavy, and unbearably calm—as if he hadn’t just coaxed you into peeling off your soaked panties and baring yourself in the soft hush of your childhood bedroom with the door shut and your mother asleep down the hall.

And then, in that voice—low, rough, coated in syrup and sin—he spoke.

“Spread them legs for me, baby,” he murmured, each word drawn out like he wanted them to linger in the air with you. “Let daddy see all that slick.”

Your cheeks flushed so hot it made your head spin, and for a second, your instinct was to turn away, to close your legs, to hide. But instead—God help you—you smiled, small and shy and aching with embarrassment and need, your body humming with the unbearable thrill of being seen.

Joel smiled too—lazy, pleased, touched with something warmer than it had any right to be. “That’s my good girl,” he said, the praise so soft and familiar it made your chest ache. “Gettin’ comfortable for your daddy, ain’t ya?”

You nodded, almost bashful, your thighs parting just a little wider beneath his gaze, the air cool against your soaked skin as the wet heat between your legs pulsed steady and demanding.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, his voice sinking even lower, that dangerous softness thickening into something you could feel in your bones. “Go ahead. Show me how you rub that sweet clit.”

You hesitated only for a moment, heart pounding so loud it was all you could hear, and then—because you couldn’t not obey him, because the way he was looking at you made you feel small and precious and filthy all at once—you did as he said.

Your fingers slid between your thighs, tentative and trembling, and when they brushed over your swollen folds, a broken little gasp left your mouth—because you were soaked, slick, messy in a way that made your face burn with shame, and Joel saw all of it. Your fingertips found your clit, swollen and begging, and you gave it the lightest, slowest circle, your legs twitching as your breath stuttered.

Joel let out a low groan, like the sight pained him, like he was holding himself back from something feral. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, his eyes fixed to your fingers like he was hypnotized. “Touch her real gentle. Let her know daddy’s watchin’.”

“That feel good?” he asked, voice low and slow, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear it—wanted it offered up like a gift on your trembling tongue.

You nodded, breath shaky, fingers still working soft circles against your clit the way he told you to, hips twitching just a little with every pass. “Y-Yeah,” you whispered, too dazed to even pretend you had shame left in you.

Joel tilted his head slightly, that familiar crease forming between his brows, not angry—just expectant, like a teacher waiting for the right answer from a student who already knew better. “Yeah what, baby?”

You swallowed, chest fluttering with nerves and something hotter, deeper, heavier. Your voice was barely a whisper when it left you, breath catching halfway through.

“Yes, Daddy.”

The sound he made in response was filthy—a low, deep groan rumbling straight from his chest, so raw it made your thighs twitch and your core clench. You could see it in his face, the way his jaw went tight, how his hand flexed again where it lay on the bed, like he was holding himself back from something that required restraint.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and those two words—so soft, so reverent—landed heavier than anything else, sinking into your skin like praise and ownership all at once. And then, with a tenderness so at odds with the filth between you, he placed one big, warm hand on your thigh—his thumb brushing soothing little arcs into your skin—and leaned in to press a quick, burning kiss to your shoulder, beard scraping against your skin, his breath hot and damp where his lips had just been.

“You’re doin’ so good for me, baby,” he whispered, barely pulling back. “Such a sweet girl—touchin’ herself just like Daddy asked.”

You whimpered, spine curving as your fingers moved faster now, helpless under the weight of his words, his touch, his eyes. You did as he said—not because you had to, not because he forced you, but because the sound of his voice, the heat in his gaze, the approval dripping from every word made you want to be good. Made you want to be his.

“Keep goin’, sugar,” Joel said, his hand tightening just slightly on your thigh. “Let Daddy see you fall apart. Let me see what that sweet little pussy looks like when she comes.”

Your fingers moved faster now, slick and shaky, the soft pressure turning greedy, desperate, your hips rising off the bed in tiny, involuntary pulses as the heat in your belly began to coil tighter, higher. The room was filled with the wet sound of your arousal—loud, obscene, almost embarrassing in how eager you were—and still Joel said nothing for a moment, just watched, eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t name, something between awe and hunger and ownership.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, like he was trying to commit the sound, the scent, the sight of you to memory, and his voice dropped an octave, ragged around the edges.

“Look so fuckin’ sweet spread out like this for me, baby,” he said, almost like it hurt to say, like the words tasted too good in his mouth to come out clean. “My precious girl… puttin’ on the prettiest damn show a man could ask for.”

Your breath hitched at his praise, your thighs twitching, fingers circling your clit faster now, harder, your other hand clutching the sheets like you’d fall through the bed without it.

“You gettin’ close, sweetheart?” Joel asked then, and his voice—low, rough, tender—wrapped around your body like a second skin, like heat itself. “That little pussy about to come just from your fingers, huh? Just from daddy watchin’ real nice?”

You nodded, too frantic to form words, mouth falling open in a soft gasp as your body trembled beneath his gaze, every nerve ending alive and raw.

He leaned in just a little, resting his forearm on his knee like this was casual, like this was just a late-night conversation and not your stepfather watching you masturbate in your childhood bed.

“That’s it,” Joel murmured, voice thick with hunger but still achingly gentle, like he was speaking to something sacred, something tender and breakable. “Good girl—look at that messy lil’ cunt cryin’ for me, fuckin’ weepin’ like she’s been starved her whole goddamn life.”

And that was it.

The coil snapped.

You came undone with a shattered, strangled whimper, hips jerking beneath your own hand as the orgasm ripped through you like heat lightning—fast and sharp and blinding. Your whole body shook, your thighs clenching tight around your wrist as slick spilled out of you in wet pulses, and the only thing tethering you to earth was the sound of Joel groaning, low and ruined, like the sight of you breaking for him had knocked the breath clean out of his lungs.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby…” he rasped, watching your body twitch and flutter through the aftershocks. “That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Before you could even come down from the high—before you could catch your breath or close your legs—Joel shifted forward, leaned in, and pressed the softest kiss to your still-pulsing, overstimulated clit.

You shuddered, your legs trembling violently, your whole body jerking like you’d been shocked, because it was too much—too much—and still, he kissed you there, soft and wet, like it was a mouth made to be worshiped, and he had every right to worship it.

“Can't wait to eat this sweet pussy all fuckin’ day,” he muttered against your folds, so filthy it made your toes curl. “Could live off what she gives me.”

You let out a noise—half a sob, half a gasp—your legs twitching in overstimulation, your chest heaving, eyes wide and glassy with something too big to name.

Then Joel was moving—pulling back, licking his lips like he’d just tasted something divine, and reaching for your face with hands that were still so gentle it made you ache. He cradled your cheek like you were porcelain, and leaned in close, eyes locked to yours.

And then, for the first time, he kissed you.

It was dizzying—soft and sensual, lips slow and reverent, his breath fanning across your cheek as his mouth moved over yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime to do it right. No filth. No commands. Just Joel. Just him.

When he pulled back, his forehead just barely grazing yours, he looked at you like you were the only thing in the whole damn world worth saving—like he’d burn the house down if it meant you’d never feel lonely again. His thumb brushed tenderly across your lower lip, tracing the shape of your mouth like it belonged to him, and his voice dropped into a soft, hushed whisper.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” he murmured, reverent, wrecked, like you’d just done something brave instead of obscene.

“You… are?” you asked, barely able to get the words out around the haze still curling in your chest, that dazed warmth thick and dizzying in your veins.

“‘Course I am,” he said instantly, the words falling out with such quiet certainty it made your chest tighten, his voice steady and heartbreakingly sincere, like there wasn’t even the possibility of doubt in his mind. His thumb brushed your cheek again, slow and warm, and he looked at you with something so proud and tender it nearly broke you. “You were real brave for me, sugar. So sweet. So good.”

His voice dipped lower, softer now, almost like he was sharing a secret meant for your skin alone.

“Touched yourself like an angel, baby. Like you were made to be watched.” He let out a shaky breath, still a little wrecked himself, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “The way you spread those thighs, all flushed and achin’... shit, sweet girl, you made yourself come so pretty for me. Like you’d been waitin’ your whole life to let someone see.”

And God help you, but you smiled at that, soft and small and shy, your heart thudding unevenly in your chest as you leaned back up to kiss him again—slow, sweet, a little unsure but filled with something quiet and blooming.

He moaned against your lips, low and approving, one hand cradling your jaw as he deepened the kiss for just a moment, like he couldn’t help himself, like the taste of your mouth was something he’d never stop craving.

“Gonna keep makin’ you feel good like you deserve, sweetpea,” he whispered when he finally pulled back, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. “Just gotta get you ready for me first, yeah? Can’t rush somethin’ this special.”

“Okay,” you breathed, and the sound of your own voice surprised you—how soft it was, how trusting.

Joel smiled like he already had forever planned out.

“Good girl,” he said, and your heart stuttered. Then, with a gentleness that made your throat ache, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing back your hair like you were something cherished.

“Now get some sleep,” he whispered. “Daddy’s right here.”

And he stayed—just like that—sitting on the edge of your bed, hand still resting lightly on your thigh, as your eyes fluttered closed, your body sore and soaked and safe in the dark.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #joel miller one shot #ellie tlou #pedro pascal one shot #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #tlou joel #tlou hbo #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro x reader

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urcoolgf · 30 days ago

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can you do rafe still wants you but you’re barry’s gf

this is so good yesssss

OFF LIMITS?

pairing. boyfriend’s bsf¡rafe && reader

content. 18+. smut. cheating (not on reader). unprotected sex. breeding kink(ig?). language. mention of drugs.

he couldn’t believe you were with barry.

you were everything he wasn’t; kind, smart, well-mannered, innocent.

God, you were so fucking innocent—not in the ‘never been kissed way’ just the way you looked at him, eyes wide like you’d let him do anything to you. it drove him crazy. rafe couldn’t help but think about ruining you. you were so delicate, so breakable. and rafe—he wanted to break you in. it was all he thought about; at night with his dick in his hand, at dinner when he was supposed to be partaking in family conversation, when he woke up in the morning, every. single. shower. you were every thought—even his dreams had you in them.

and you were with barry? what did he do to deserve you?

he was a drug dealer—a bad guy. he was an asshole with no morals, a guy who’d do anything for a stack of cash, or a bag of coke. rafe liked to tell himself that you were only doing it to prove a point, maybe fuck with your parents or friends, freak them out by dating ‘the drug dealer’. that was the only thing that kept him sane—not that he was. he was far from it when it came to you.

so, it was inconvenient that every time he needed his next fix, he had to see you.

—

rafe’s fist banged against the metal door of barry’s trailer. he didn’t bother to wait for him to open it—his pounding was a warning rather than a request.

he walked into the trailer only to find barry sitting on the couch… with you in his lap. barry played with the hem of your shorts with one hand, the other occupied with a beer bottle. your tiny tank top left little to the imagination, and your shorts had the same effect. the ‘B’ necklace hanging from your neck made rafe’s skin crawl. he hated it, hated you for wearing it, hated barry the most. your dark hair fell perfectly against your flawless skin, and your perfect legs were on full display across the couch.

this sight should be considered a form of torture.

“ayo country club! what’s goin’ on my man,” barry greeted rafe with a faux level of enthusiasm… and you just sat there, all pretty and perfect and fuckable and rafe was losing his damn mind. your big doe eyes looking up at rafe when he entered had blood rushing to his crotch. it was pathetic, and he hated it (he loved it).

you climbed off barry’s lap so he could retrieve rafe’s coke. you knew how this worked—not only with barry, but with rafe. he was a loyal customer. you sat yourself back down on the lumpy couch, the tv playing something on a low volume. you pretended to watch, but all you could focus on was rafe’s gaze burning into you. you shifted uncomfortably—mainly because the couch was uncomfortable, but rafe’s eyes didn’t help either.

barry came back with a bag of cocaine, exchanging it with rafe for some cash the blonde pulled out of his pocket. a sudden ring was heard through the trailer, barry reaching into his pocket to pull out a phone.

“yeah? … shit! a’ight, a’ight. … CALM DOWN. fuck ‘m on my way,” he hung up without another word.

“yo rafe, imma need ya to stay here with y/n. i gotta go handle somethin’,” he said frantically, grabbing the keys to his bike and something else before heading toward the door.

“wait! barry where–?!,” you started, you weren’t necessarily worried about him leaving—more worried about him leaving rafe alone with you.

“i’ll be back, princess. just gotta handle business. y’know how it is. stay here a’ight?,” and he was out the door without another protest from you or rafe—not that rafe had any protest.

“okay, bye…,” you muttered to yourself as you heard the bike starting, and sputtering off. rafe couldn’t help the smirk spreading across his face as he plopped down on the couch next to you.

“looks like it’s just me and you ‘princess’,” he mocked barry’s nickname for you (even though rafe would love to call you it at any given chance).

“looks like it,” you responded, bringing your knees to your chest. you didn’t mind rafe, but he had a tendency to ‘flip switches’, and you would be lying if you said that didn’t scare you… just a bit.

“c’mon doll… ‘m not gonna bite,” he taunted quietly. he scooched just a little closer to you. he leaned over so his mouth was right next to your ear, “unless you want me to,” he whispered. you would be lying if you said that didn’t send chills down your spine.

the next thing you felt were his fingers pushing strands of your hair out of your face. he peered down at that awful necklace, reaching out to toy with it. you couldn’t move—you should have, should have gotten up and walked to the other side of the trailer—but you were stuck. not physically—mentally. you didn’t know why, but your brain didn’t even want you to move. told you to ‘stay put. let him do it’.

he released the necklace, letting the metal fall back against your chest. his fingers trailed around your collarbone, featherlight like you would crack if he was too rough. your breathing was uneven and shallow, and rafe was thriving off it.

“haven’t pushed me away, sweetheart,” his low tone aggravated you. not because he was annoying, just because he was so smug. he knew what he was doing to you right now, and he was enjoying it.

“y’know you’re too good f’r him, baby,” he was whispering as if he had to keep it a secret, as if barry was on the other side of the wall. you were frustrated with your speechless-ness, frustrated with the way your thighs clenched together at his words, at his touch. your knees were starting to hurt from being pressed together so hard.

you finally looked toward him, met his lust-filled eyes. his pupils were so blown that his eyes barely looked blue anymore. your breath hitched, plump, glossed lips parting ever so slightly. rafe could feel your warm, unsteady breaths against his face, and his mind went foggy.

he closed the space between you like if he didn’t kiss you now barry might come back before he could—like he had to seize the moment.

you wished you had pulled away, slapped him right across his face, told him how wrong it was—how messed up he was, and kicked him out… but, you didn’t. you couldn’t.

—

“shit, doll… so fuckin’ tight f’r me. barry not big enough f’r ya?,” he said breathlessly as he pumped in and out of you. your naked body was caged against the couch, rafe’s equally naked body moving above you. all you could do was whimper in response. you didn’t know how long barry had been gone at this point, and shamefully… you didn’t care. if he walked in right now while rafe’s dick was making imprints on you, you don’t think you’d even want him to stop. you felt shitty, but rafe quickly distracted you.

"answer me,” he demanded, moving his hand to grasp your throat just enough to grab your attention, and knock the wind out of you.

“fuck! no– no rafe,” you responded. you couldn’t even think—the way his dick was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed was making your head spin.

“say it,” he spat at you—not in a mean way, he was being cocky. he wanted you to say he was better, say barry couldn’t compare… unfortunately, you were too cock drunk to protest.

“barry’s– not… he’s not big– enough. shit!,” your words were broken by moans and sobs—and the pressure rafe had on your throat right now. your back arched off the couch after a particularly deep thrust, sending your eyes to the back of your head.

“yeah… ‘nd fuckin’ remember it, too,” he was putting his all into fucking you. he would make sure he got this opportunity again, but he didn’t know when. he was going to make the absolute best of this. make the best of his best friend’s girlfriend opened on his dick, mascara running down your face, hair messy, totally gone.

his hand left your neck, moving both hands to squeeze your tits—stabilizing him in a way—as he continued moving in and out of you. he looked back at the ‘B’ resting on your chest. you noticed a smirk spread across his face, but you were too blissed out to say anything.

he wrapped his hand around the metal, ripping it from your neck forcefully. you shrieked from the sudden movement, the back of your neck stinging from the action.

“open up, baby,” he cooed. your lips parted instantly, he smiled at your obedience, placing the ‘B’ between your lips, instructing you to bite down on it.

“let barry hear your moans, princess. let him hear how good i make you feel,” the smug look on his face drove you insane—not in the way it did not even 30 minutes ago—in a way that had you clenching around him.

“fuck– jus’ like that… holy shit, pussy’s fuckin’ perfect,” his jaw tensed at the sensation. your arms were hooked around his neck, but when you felt your orgasm approaching, your manicured hands mindlessly raked down his back. a hiss could be heard from the man above you.

"there ya go… cum on this dick, sweetheart. make a mess f’r me,” his hand moved down to rub circles into your clit, and that was all you needed. you were convulsing around him, shaking beneath him, and coming undone with a loud moan that was barely muted by the metal in your mouth.

“want me to cum in ya? get ya all fat with my babies? let barry see you carryin’ my kid? fuck you’d look so hot all plump f’r me,” his words came out in breaths. you could tell he was close.

“mhm! fuck– please ray,” you looked up at him, innocent, big, doe eyes staring right at him, and he was done for. he came in you with a shattered moan, painting your walls white. he pulled out slowly, watching his release drip out of you, and onto barry’s couch. he groaned at the sight, quickly pulling out his phone, taking a picture of your current state—he got all of you, from your messy hair, fucked out expression and glossy eyes, to the mess between your thighs. the ‘B’ still sticking out of your mouth in a sinful way.

you didn’t care. you never let barry take pictures of you—said it was ‘creepy’ and ‘borderline sadistic’, but for some reason when rafe did it… it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

"hope you can keep a secret, doll… because this cannot be the last time i fuck you.”

an: i’m working my way thru some more reqs, so if you sent something i promise it’s in my drafts.ᐟ this was a super fun one to write tho, so thank you to whoever sent this :)

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beloveds-embrace · 5 months ago

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Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

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xxsabitoxx · 1 year ago

Text

Fushiguro Megumi never wanted to have children.

Yet, here he was at the ripe age of 26 waking up in the early hours of the morning to his daughter’s quiet whimpering. His eyes immediately want to close, but his body is pushing him up from the plush of your warm bed.

There, in the bassinet beside him, was your three month old little girl. Her eyes weren’t even open yet, but her tiny lips were wobbling. Small chubby face contorted as she dreamt about something she clearly didn’t enjoy.

It made Megumi’s heart ache, carefully pushing down the side of the bassinet so he could scoop her up.

“Now what’s with this fussing, hmm?” Megumi’s voice came out gravelly, thick with sleep, and yet your daughter visibly calmed at that familiarity of it.

“It’s too early and you’re too little to be having bad dreams.” He cooed softly, cradling her so her head was right above his heart. The two of you had learned over the last 3 months that your heartbeats calmed her.

“Are you hungry?” Megumi murmured softly, sleepy eyes landing on the alarm clock on his nightstand. “You probably are… if you woke up like you usually do for mama to feed you.” Which would be around 3am.

Given that it was nearly seven in the morning, your little baby was likely ready to eat again.

“Alright, baby. Let’s go get you something to eat.” Megumi hummed softy, pleased with himself as he managed to get out of bed with baby girl in his arms and not disturb anyone in the process.

He had gotten increasingly confident with his baby handling skills over the last three months.

He certainly still had a bit of worry to him when it came to walking with her, but he could move around and function with one arm easily.

“How about we make mama breakfast after you eat?” He asked her softly, placing one of the frozen bags of milk into the water he heated. It would be a lot faster to just wake you up and have her feed then and there, but Megumi prioritized your sleep.

… and baby girl was content right now so he knew she’d survive the ten minutes it took to prep the bottle.

Megumi actually cherished those ten minutes, each morning when the Sun had just peaked over the horizon. When he could lean against the counter and hold her in his arms, memorizing every inch of her perfect little face.

Making the choice to move out to the country side shortly after finding out you were pregnant a year ago has been the best choice.

Every morning was tranquil, no sound of traffic or construction or even crowds of people for that matter.

Just nature, children laughing as they walked to school, normal people getting ready for their normal lives… everything he had wished for as a child.

She began to fuss again, stopping the moment Megumi brought her face up to his and kissed her cheeks softly. “Good morning, sweet girl.” Her eyes opened slowly, large and sleepy and the same color as yours.

“Let daddy put it in the bottle and then you can eat.” She seemed to understand him, cooing softly as he kissed her little forehead before settling her in one arm again.

Megumi had become a pro at making bottles, now he barely had to think when doing so.

Before he used to be meticulous, hands shaking as he measured everything out. Now, it came naturally, turning out perfect each time. “Here we go, sweet girl.”

He sunk into the sofa, a bib around her neck to prevent spit ups and a burp cloth over his shoulder. She took the bottle happily, little hand coming up to rest on top of Megumi’s while the other played with her bib.

“Is it good?” He murmured, smiling widely as her eyes focused on him and him alone.

As if he were her entire world.

Megumi also learned to cherish these little moments, because he knew the second you were present, there was nothing on this planet that would tear her eyes away from you. Three months old and it was already clear she was going to be a mama’s girl.

“What are we going to make mama for breakfast, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be starving when she wakes up.” She only blinked at him, suckling on the bottle contently as she listened to his voice. “How about her favorite?”

Megumi tapped her backside softly, body subconsciously rocking a bit to comfort her further as she ate.

“We have everything we need to make mama’s favorite breakfast. The trick is going to be making it without her waking up to the smell of it. She has a good nose.”

She let go of the bottle, letting Megumi take it away so he could place her on his shoulder and burp her.

He had to admit, the things he thought would be so tedious were easily his favorite. Bonding with his baby had been as easy as falling in love with you.

It felt natural, as if it was what he was meant to do.

“Good mornin~” you yawned, startling Megumi slightly as he looked over at you. “What are you doing up?” He scolded softly, it was far too early for you to be awake.

“Hungry, missed the two of you.” You shuffled over to the couch, sitting down carefully as to not disturb your little girl. “I didn’t want to interrupt daddy-daughter time but I woke up missing you both terribly.”

Your cheek was pressing to Megumi’s shoulder, hand coming down to rest on top of your baby and Megumi’s hand. It was no surprise that her eyes seemed to become more alert at the sound of your voice.

“Good morning my precious girl.”

You cooed softly, leaning a little further into Megumi so you could see her face around the bottle.

“We were going to surprise you with breakfast.” Megumi pouted, head turning to kiss the crown of your head as you sighed. “We can make it together, instead.”

“No, you can relax while I make it.” Megumi corrected, making you chuckle at his need to keep you on bed rest.

“Megumi, I want to help you make it. It’s more rewarding for me to help you.” You hum, lifting your head to kiss his shoulder before moving your head back. “And since I’m up early, it means we can take a family nap later.”

That seemed to stop Megumi from retaliating, giving in easily at that point simply because of the promise of cuddles. “Alright, fine. You can help with breakfast.”

You were content with that, in the same way Megumi was content with his finally normal life.

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dvrk-moon · 3 months ago

Text

LOVE ME NOT - YANG JUNGWON

— synopsis: fake dating your enemy, yang jungwon, for the sake of getting your mutual friends to stop playing matchmaker is the worst idea you’ve ever heard in your life. however, it’s a bit more enticing when $100 is thrown in the mix.

— word count: 21k

— warnings: cursing, suggestive jokes, stupid teenager activities, classism

— featuring: ive wonyoung, bnd taesan, zb1 gyuvin, nwjns minji, + more 04 liner idols

— genre: enemies-to-lovers, fake dating, SLOW burn, jungwon x fem!reader, private high school au

— playlist: kiss with a fist - florence + the machine, r u mine - arctic monkeys, the way i loved you - taylor swift, you get me so high - arctic monkeys, norman fucking rockwell - lana del rey, make up your mind - florence + the machine (feat. fire burning - sean kingston, come on eileen - dexy’s midnight runners for part 17)

— a/n: lowkey so relieved this is over and finally written after FOREVER. in the same breath i am so sad because this fic has been in the works for years (at least 3) and to see it finally written is so bittersweet :( thank you to everyone who supported me while writing this !!! i love you all so much !!!

— taglist: @jwonistic @ilovejungwonandhaechan @wensurr @yyawnjun @slvtella @dimplewonie @ch4c0nnenh4

i. GOD-DAMN, MAN CHILD

The wind always blows when you don’t want it to.

At least, that’s what it feels like.

You were sat on a bench outside of the country club owned by your friend’s family. They were crazily wealthy, owning not only a country club but also many vacation homes and businesses. That was pretty much a given though, especially since you had met your friend at a private and prestigious academy. Everyone that attended the school was extremely well off in a sense. Most of the students had parents who were business owners, political figures, or even celebrities. To say that you were an outlier would be an understatement.

You didn’t come from wealth. In fact, you were one of the only students at your school to not come from wealth. You were offered a scholarship for your academics; last year, you had an opportunity from your old school to take a test that offered a scholarship to your current academy if you scored well. Only the top five scorers would be granted admission. You and four other students were awarded with the scholarship.

Unfortunately, that meant that you had left a completely different life behind. Your two best friends from childhood, Minji and Gyuvin, were both in support of your academic opportunity, but neither of them had passed the test, so you were left alone. A new, clean slate at a school where you knew next to no one.

Your new classmates made no effort to help you fit in. In fact, most of them ridiculed you for coming from a lower class. It was expected when mingling with snotty prep school kids, but it still hurt. The only person that hadn’t singled you out was Wonyoung.

She was easily the most popular girl there, but she still brought you under her wing. This caused the others to be slightly kinder to you, but only in her presence.

So here you were, sat on a bench, outside of her family’s country club, swinging your legs and glancing at the tennis court in front of you. It was late March, and though the weather reports had said that it would be nice enough outside to wear a skirt, your legs were cursing you because of the wind.

Wonyoung had gone inside temporarily to go fetch the two boys that you were going to play tennis with. She’d left about two minutes ago, telling you that she just had to run down to the entrance gate and she’d be back as soon as possible.

You fidgeted with the hem of the skirt you were wearing. It wasn’t even yours; it was Wonyoung’s, and she had let you borrow it for today. You laughed at yourself, because here you were, at a country club, yet the clothes you were wearing weren’t even yours. From an outsiders perspective, you seemed rich. Everyone else could tell the truth, though.

Another breeze passed by and you stood up, walking towards the door. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d have to wait, so you figured that you may as well wait inside.

As if on cue, Wonyoung exited the door with the two boys. You knew both of them from school. Honestly, you liked Wonyoung’s boyfriend. His name was Taesan. He was always nice to you, and never made you feel bad for being of a lower class.

The other boy, however, seemed to have a personal vendetta against you, and you had no idea why. He didn’t seem to like you from the first day you met, even though you’d been nice to him from the get-go. If you had to guess why he didn’t like you, it was probably for the same reason that none of your other peers seemed to like you: your wealth status.

Jungwon was his name, and aside from being a major jerk to you, he was extremely intelligent. Ever since you arrived at the school, you’d been one of the top ranked students. It made sense, too, as you were permitted into the school based on your academics. Jungwon was ranked second to you in most classes. You figured that could be another reason.

As soon as you met eyes with Jungwon, he rolled his own and shook his head. He was donned in the most prestigious tennis outfit you’d ever seen, which was saying a lot, given as this country club was flooded with rich and pretentious tennis players.

“Okay,” Wonyoung started, walking over to you, “now that we are all here, do you guys want to warm up?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon said, looking away from you, “let’s warm up.”

You didn’t miss how Jungwon slightly shoulder-checked you as he walked towards the tennis courts.

You entered the fenced-in courts, and another breeze blew in your direction. As a reaction, you shivered, making Wonyoung giggle as she made her way towards you.

“Sorry about the hold up,” she started, bouncing a tennis ball on the court, practicing her serving. She looked over at the other side of the court, where Jungwon and Taesan were situated. She laughed, “but those two were taking forever. They’re weird.” She offered you an apologetic smile.

“It’s fine,” you said, “I was just afraid you wouldn’t come back. I stick out like a sore thumb here.”

Wonyoung frowned, “No you don’t, Y/N. I don’t think a single person here batted an eye while I was gone.”

“You were gone,” you teased, “how would you know?”

“I know lots of things,” she commented, “I know lots and lots of things.”

You bounced the tennis ball on the court as you laughed at her words, “Whatever you say.”

After about five minutes of warming up and a dirty look exchanged with Jungwon later, Wonyoung announced, “Okay, let’s get to playing! Do we wanna do singles or doubles?”

“Let’s do doubles,” Taesan said, walking towards the net. He patted Jungwon on the back, “and Jungwon, you can be partners with Y/N. Is that okay with you guys?”

Wonyoung turned to you, “It’s fine with me as long as you’re okay with it.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Taesan started walking over to Wonyoung, so you took that as your cue to go ahead and walk to the side Jungwon was on. Even though you knew Jungwon wasn’t your biggest fan, you still attempted formalities with him.

“Good luck,” you commented, looking at him. You sent him a little smile, “I’ll play to the best of my ability, but I don’t play often. So, sorry in advance.”

“I’m not surprised.” Jungwon replied under his breath, thinking that you wouldn’t hear. You decided to just ignore him and play to the best of your ability, like you said you would.

The first game started with Wonyoung serving and you receiving, but the first game was cut relatively short with an easy 40-15 that ended in your team’s loss.

The rest of the games of the first set ended very similarly, to no surprise. Wonyoung’s family owned the country club. Of course she would be good at the game.

So far, you and Jungwon had only won two sets out of the seven played. Wonyoung and Taesan only needed to win one more set to win the match.

Jungwon, quite obviously, was extremely frustrated at this loss. Very early on, you’d learned that he was a sore loser, and that you being bad at tennis definitely wasn’t helping soothe his anger.

After the final set that ended up in, surprise, a win for Wonyoung and Taesan, the two winners went to take a quick victory break while they left you and Jungwon to “discuss game strategies” as they phrased it.

In the three minutes that they’d been gone, no words were exchanged between you and Jungwon. He was just repeatedly slamming the tennis ball into the court and catching it when it bounced back. The air was tense, but you still tried to make conversation.

“Sorry about that.”

“Your horrible playing?” Jungwon snidely remarked, “Yeah. Thanks for the apology, but that doesn’t change that you’re making us lose.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, “You’re acting like this is life or death. It’s just tennis.”

“Yeah, it may be just tennis to you. But some people, of… higher class… take it more seriously than people like you would. So I don’t expect you to understand.”

“People like me?!” You laughed incredulously, surprised at his audacity. You tried your best to keep your voice down to not draw any attention towards you two, but with his attitude, it was difficult.

“Yeah, people like you. Did I stutter?” He asked snarky.

Your words got caught in your mouth- most of the time when people were mean to you, you’d just either ask them what they said (even when you’d heard it) or you’d repeat what they said to you, and that usually made them back off. Clearly this wasn’t the case for Jungwon, though, as he was completely okay with repeating himself and not even thinking twice about what he said to you. You groaned, turning away from him, “You’re not nice.”

“And you’re bad at tennis.”

“At least I’m good at math…” you trailed off, semi-hoping that he wouldn’t hear. You were better than Jungwon when it came to math, and that was a sensitive topic for him. But, if he wanted to ridicule your tennis-playing skills, then you would ridicule his mathematical abilities.

The tennis ball that was being aggressively bounced into the court stopped. You didn’t need to look at Jungwon to know his eyes were boring holes into the back of your head.

“What did you say?” Jungwon seethed out, taking a step closer to you.

“Nothing…” you trailed off, facing him, “it’s just that… I don’t need to be good at tennis. I’m smart.”

“Psh.” Jungwon rolled his eyes at you, “At least my parents can pay for good schooling. Sucks that yours have to mooch off of a scholarship.”

You rolled your eyes back, very slightly raising your voice at him, “Yeah. Imagine your parents having to pay for the same schooling that I get. And I get it for free.”

Before any more words could be exchanged, Wonyoung and Taesan returned with canned drinks, one in each hand for the both of them and for you and Jungwon. Wonyoung smiled, “We brought you guys back something to drink!”

You felt most of your anger dissipate at Wonyoung’s return, smiling at her. She and Taesan entered the courts once again and you met her in the middle, “Thank you.”

“Of course. Taesan also brought something for Jungwon.”

You nodded as she handed you the beverage, cracking it open and taking a drink. The cold liquid felt like a good refresher to the heated argument that was just beginning to unfold minutes ago.

“I’m glad that you and Jungwon seem to be getting along.” Wonyoung commented, nearly making you choke on the drink. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ears, “You guys wouldn’t make a bad couple.”

ii. SO SIT BACK AND WATCH THE BED BURN

You rolled yourself across your twin-sized mattress as you turned to face your two best friends, Minji and Gyuvin. You’d called them over to your family’s apartment to catch up, which was a much needed occasion, as you three hadn’t had much time to talk recently.

Minji and Gyuvin had just entered your bedroom door and stepped into your room, which was littered in posters, pictures, and art. Your room had always been cluttered (or “used to its maximum capacity” as your mother liked to phrase it) like this so your best friends weren’t surprised at anything when they walked in.

“Thanks for knocking.” You sarcastically remarked, pushing yourself onto your forearms to look at them. You watched as your two friends made their ways to the area in front of the foot of your bed, and saw as Minji took a seat on the rug on your floor. Gyuvin opted to take your desk chair and roll it to sit next to Minji, yet be eye-level with you.

“You look stressed,” Gyuvin commented, teasing you, “but what else is new.”

You flopped your face into your bed and let out a muffled and sarcastic, “Ha, ha.”

You heard a smacking sound and then an “Ow!” from Gyuvin. Minji stood up and made you scoot over so she could lay next to you in your bed, “Ignore him. His panties are in a twist right now for some reason.”

You turned your head to the left to look at her for a moment before dramatically flopping back into the mattress.

Minji patted your head, “What’s wrong, Y/N? You’re not usually this dramatic when we come over.”

Gyuvin stifled a laugh before quieting as soon as Minji sent him a pointed look.

You dramatically rolled over to face the ceiling of your room, “Why are boys so horrible?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you have a crush,” Minji groaned, “I’m no good with those.”

“No, no!” You rushed to correct her, not missing how Gyuvin was taunting in the mean time. He sung, “Ooh~ Y/N has a crush!”

“He is not a crush! He’s the worst person I’ve ever met!”

“Come on, Y/N,” Minji poked you, “he can’t be the worst person you’ve ever met. Think about Gyuvin!”

You rolled your eyes at Gyuvin, who was still taunting you with his song, “Gyuvin, shut the hell up!”

You watched as Minji lifted a hand that threatened to fall onto Gyuvin’s exposed thigh, and to which Gyuvin immediately shut up.

“What guy are you talking about?” Minji asked, looking back down at you.

“He’s this guy from the new school. He’s such an asshole to me for no reason. I mean, there might be a reason, but I can’t think of a valid one.”

“What does he do?” Gyuvin pitched in, finally getting his attention piqued from the conversation at hand.

“Like, everything?” You let out, “I’m not even sure where to start.”

“Saying ‘everything’ gives us no idea what this guy does, Y/N.”

You groaned dramatically before filling your friends in on the entire situation with Jungwon:

“I haven’t really told you guys about this guy before,” you started, using your hands to explain your story. Minji nodded as you told your story, while Gyuvin was spinning in his chair endlessly. You continued, “but there’s a guy at the new school, his name is Jungwon. Yang Jungwon.”

“Yang Y/N~” Gyuvin teased. Minji reached over to harshly smack his leg.

You rolled your eyes, “Anyways, he’s basically the worst person I’ve ever met. His dad runs a corporation of local gas stations, so he’s basically filthy rich. I say this because not only is he like every other private school kid that makes fun of my wealth status, but he’s also threatened to sue my parents multiple times. Most of the time he has no reason.

“The reason I’m so particularly upset about him is because I went to my school friends’ country club. You guys remember Wonyoung?” They both nodded, because as Wonyoung was your closest private school friend, of course your actual closest friends knew about her existence.

“Okay,” you said, “so we were at her country club, but her boyfriend and his friend are also there, and you’ll never guess who the friend is! Jungwon!

“He’s an ass to me basically the whole time while I’ve been trying to be nice to him,” you sighed, “I don’t know what his problem is. I didn’t even do anything to him. Anyways, we were partnered up because we were playing doubles tennis at the country club, because Wonyoung wanted to be on the same team as her boyfriend. That’s understandable, and I haven’t held it against her or anything. But he is not only a sore loser, but just a jerk to me.”

Minji nodded in sympathy at you while Gyuvin made his presence known, “Kill him. Easy as that.”

“You’re sick in the head, you know that?” MInji questioned him.

“He’s a private school kid, Y/N.” Gyuvin said, standing up from the chair to stand over you. “I really don’t know what you’re expecting from someone like him. He’s probably never been told ‘No’ in his life.”

“I’m also a private school kid…” you murmured.

“Yeah, but you weren’t brought up that way. He undoubtedly was.” Gyuvin said.

You nodded, “You’re right.”

“Always am.”

“The problem is that it’s my senior year,” you lamented, “and I don’t want it to be bad just because some pest can’t leave me alone. I just don’t know how to get rid of him.”

“You could always drop out.” Gyuvin offered, going to sit back down in the chair.

“That’s a horrible idea,” Minji said, “don’t listen to him. I’m sure that as long as you don’t pay much mind to this Jungwon guy then you’ll be fine. Plus, you have Wonyoung. They’re basically the same height, and she could probably beat him in a fight.”

You laughed, “I don’t know, I like Wonyoung a lot, but she’s basically Ivy Hills royalty. She has a reputation to manage. I’m sure fighting with Jungwon wouldn’t do her much good.”

“I would pay money to see that fight.” Gyuvin announced.

“You’re weird.”

“My mind is an enigma. I wouldn’t expect commonfolk like you to understand.”

iii. JUST SO FRUSTRATING

The halls of Ivy Hills Private Academy never failed to make your head hurt.

The utter abundance of students flooding the halls and blocking every locker at 7:30am was absolutely astounding to you. Not one person there paid any mind to you, and if by chance they did, it was a slight shove or a snarky comment. The bright, fluorescent lights surely didn’t help. You tried your hardest to blend into the background, but even though you were donned in the same uniform as all your peers, somehow you still stuck out like a sore thumb to them. It was almost like they could feel your class difference radiating off of you.

Wonyoung was one of the only people who made you feel normal. The only way that others would treat you kindly was if she was also present, since she was basically the school’s princess. You had just received a text from her that read:

good morning !! do you wanna get some food this weekend? it’s on me :)

You had no idea what your plans were for the weekend; it was only Tuesday after all. But you were sure that as long as you weren’t scheduled to work, you’d be doing nothing else. Besides, Wonyoung was always great to be around. You had yet to respond to her text, needing to not only check your schedule but also run the plans by your parents before you acted on anything. They really liked Wonyoung, so you doubted there would be a problem, but it was always best to check.

You sighed, tucking your phone into your bag while walking to your locker. You were mandated to keep your phone stowed away somewhere, and as a student at the school with a scholarship, you wanted to abide by any rules. You couldn’t risk the possibility of getting the scholarship pulled from you; you didn’t have the privilege to keep the school quiet with monetary bribes like others did. You snapped out of your train of thought and started to unlock your locker to put the majority of your textbooks away. The first class on your schedule was AP Calculus BC, one of the tougher classes at Ivy Hills, but you found it relatively easy.

Of course, it was one of the classes you shared with Jungwon.

It would be okay. You’d just do your best to not get into any quarrels with him.

You left your locker and walked quickly to your Calculus class, wasting no time to converse with others or engage in any sort of interaction with them. The Calculus class was only a hallway down from your locker, but it would still be difficult to get in there quickly with the amount of students crowding the halls. You cradled your school bag in your arms and tried your best to not run into anyone.

The AP Calculus BC teacher was possibly the stingiest educator you’d ever witnessed. She refused to let people turn anything in late, she refused to give extensions, and she refused to accept wrong answers. You’d learned this very early on in her class; one of your female peers forgot to turn her homework packet until the end of the bell, and your teacher almost didn’t even let her turn it in. You were sure she only let the girl turn it in due to the amount of points the packet was worth, and a lack of turning it in would surely result in a failing grade in the class.

You quickly found your assigned seat near the window on the far wall. The sun was still rising above the horizon, and your window seat gave a beautiful view of the sight. The sunlight spilled into the room like a calm water fountain, leaving you smiling without realizing.

Sitting down at your desk, you placed your bag to the right of your seat and opened it to pull out your binder, textbook, calculator, and a pencil. You usually opted to use mechanical pencils, but they’d all somehow gone missing, so you were forced to use a wooden one. You grabbed your pencil sharpener from your bag just to be safe.

As you lifted your head back up, you saw a face that nearly made you jump. It was Yang Jungwon, who happened to have an assigned seat right next to you in this class. Just your luck. It made sense, having the two smartest people in the class next to each other. Your teacher didn’t have to worry about any cheating on tests, at the very least.

Jungwon had one strap of his backpack looped around his right shoulder and the left side was just hanging. He was talking with some friends. You didn’t know their names, yet you were positive that they’d at least called you ‘poor’ once before. Not surprising coming from friends of Jungwon.

You started pulling out a work packet from your binder and flipped to the page in the textbook that the teacher had written on the board: 295. Sure, class hadn’t started yet, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t get ready for it to start. You were eager to finish this last unit; the last month or so of class would be spent reviewing for the AP test. You were nearly positive you’d receive a score of five.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Jungwon make his way to his desk, the one to your right. He sneered at your presence, “Already got your stuff out, huh? God, what a nerd.”

Rolling your eyes, you responded, “Thanks. We’re in the same class so that also makes you a nerd.”

“There’s still time until class starts,” he said, “no need to get your stuff out ten minutes early.”

“No need to be a prick ten minutes early. Come bother me during school hours, Jungwon. Give me my ten minutes of peace while I still have them.”

Surprisingly to you, he turned away and stopped himself from snapping back.

Your ten minutes of peace quickly felt like thirty seconds when Jungwon returned to his seat at the beginning of class.

Your teacher had immediately tasked you and your classmates with pairing up with the four people closest to you; your group was you, Jungwon, a girl named Sull Yoona, and another boy named Leehan. The aforementioned two weren’t the kindest to you, but when compared with how Jungwon treated you, you were a dutchess. The groups were assigned to work on the work packet and solve fifteen problems by the end of the class period, which was roughly an hour away. You dreaded what was to come, but sucked it up. Yoona and Leehan were smart enough. Plus, conversations would be minimal anyways.

The answers you all shared majorly coincided with one another, yet there was one — problem 13 — where Jungwon and Leehan got a different answer, and refused to change their answers to fit yours. You didn’t care too much, you were sure that your and Yoona’s answer was the correct one.

“Jungwon,” you tried to reason, “the question isn’t asking for the distance traveled. It’s asking for the displacement.”

“I’m not listening to you, Y/N.” He huffed, “You tried to tell us that the last question’s answer was that the limit does not exist.”

“Okay,” you admitted, “I made a calculation error. But I’m sure that I’m right about this one.”

“I don’t care. We’ll see who’s right at the end of class.”

Another fifteen minutes passed and there was ten minutes left of class, and as most of your classmates had finished, your teacher called on a different group for each problem to answer and explain how they got what they did.

When the teacher got to question 13, it was your group’s turn to answer. Jungwon immediately stepped up to the question. His answer, which he announced confidently, was “8 meters”.

Your teacher frowned at Jungwon, “That is not the correct answer. Can someone else from the group answer differently? And maybe correctly this time? How about Y/N?”

You smiled at your teacher, “I got -5 1/3 meters.”

“That is correct. Thank you, Y/N.”

You didn’t miss how Jungwon gave you a nasty side eye when you answered correctly. The teacher quickly moved onto the next group with question 14.

Wanting to push his buttons slightly more, you leaned to your right and whispered, “I hope you realize I got into this school for a reason.”

iv. YOU CALL THE SHOTS

It was now Saturday: the day that Wonyoung had asked you to get food with her. Over the week you’d agreed to go get lunch with her on Saturday, and decided on a locally owned Italian restaurant to eat at.

It was a complete shock to you to find out that Taesan and Jungwon were also going to be at this lunch.

Wonyoung didn’t tell you, and you were sure there was no malicious intent, but the irony of this happening to you twice was slowly chipping away at your sanity.

When you arrived at the restaurant to find Jungwon and Taesan already waiting for you two, you fought every urge in your body to roll your eyes at Jungwon’s presence.

“You’re here!” Taesan called once he laid his eyes on Wonyoung. He embraced her quickly before turning to you, “Hello, Y/N. Great seeing you too.” There were no hints of sarcasm in his words, but you weren’t sure how great you felt seeing him. Not like you hated Taesan, but the growth that followed him around (Jungwon) definitely didn’t make you happy.

As if on cue, the host came back with menus and led the four of you to your table. When Wonyoung had mentioned food, you made the wrong assumption of going somewhere casual; the fact that Wonyoung was filthy rich somehow slipped your mind. There was no way you could afford most of the items they sold here, but since Wonyoung was paying, you let yourself relax a bit.

Wonyoung and Taesan were the two that are following closest behind the host, leaving you and Jungwon to be the last two in the group. You tried your best to slightly trail behind him, not wanting any altercations (especially in front of Wonyoung), but to your dismay, Jungwon had other plans in mind.

He slowed his pace just slightly to make a little snarky remark, “I hope you know that if Wonyoung wasn’t your wallet, you’d never step foot in any place like this.”

His words hurt, but it wasn’t anything that you weren’t already used to. You ignored him and picked up your pace slightly.

When you reached the table, Wonyoung and Taesan (unsurprisingly) chose to sit next to each other, leaving you and Jungwon to occupy the remaining seats. You braced yourself for what you thought would be a peaceful lunch turning into a living Hell.

Lunch, shockingly, went a lot smoother than you had anticipated it would be. Jungwon mostly kept his comments under wraps, and nothing he said was hurtful enough to actually provoke you into retorting with something potentially worse.

Near the end of the meal, Wonyoung excused herself to go to the bathroom. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to finally be able to talk to her without the boys around, you leapt up and joined her.

Once in the bathroom, Wonyoung immediately went into a stall while you stood in front of the luxurious sink. You adjusted your clothes and some of your makeup while she occupied herself.

Once the toilet flushed and you were sure there wasn’t anyone else in the bathroom, you spoke up and finally popped a question to Wonyoung:

“Can I ask you something?”

Wonyoung emerged from the stall and walked to the sink next to the one you occupied. She turned on the water, “Sure, what’s up?”

“How come you haven’t been telling me when Jungwon and Taesan will be joining us at stuff? I don’t mind it all too much, but I feel like I’m being led into it blindfolded instead.”

“Oh, I-” she stopped herself, an indecipherable look on her face. She finished washing her hands and turned to you, “I’m sorry about not telling you, first of all. I’ll make sure to be more transparent about it in the future.”

“Thank you,” you said, “but my question is why are they there all the time? I understand Taesan; that’s your boyfriend. But Jungwon and I have no relation outside of being the assumed valedictorian and salutatorian of our graduating class.”

“Well,” Wonyoung smiled, “Taesan and I just think you guys are so cute together. Like, not only are you both geniuses, but you’re also both Taesan’s and my respective closest friends!”

You tilted your head, wanting her to continue.

“Listen, Y/N.” She grabbed your hand, her cold and dainty hands wrapping themselves around your right one. She smiled genuinely, “You’ve just been able to help me so much, so I want to return the favor! You deserve someone like Jungwon. He’s smart, he’s a gentleman, his dad has a lot of power, he’s athletic.”

You pursed your lips at her.

“Plus,” she continued, “with you two being the most intelligent students in the school, can you imagine the cute study dates? I’m just getting giddy thinking about it!!”

“Wonyoung…” you started carefully, “I think I’m okay. I should probably worry more about school than any potential relationship right now anyways.”

“If you say so,” Wonyoung removed her hands from yours, “but I’m still rooting for this. The second you tell me to back off, I will, but for now, Taesan and I are going to try to help you two from the sidelines.”

v. HOPE YOU DON’T REGRET IT

The following day, you, Minji, and Gyuvin were all situated at Minji’s house, in her living room. Minji was sitting in an armchair, Gyuvin was on the sofa, and you were sprawled out on the floor, in yet another dramatic mood.

You recapped your two best friends on the incidental Saturday lunch, not missing any details. Starting from the presence of Jungwon, and especially up to the comment Wonyoung made about you two getting together. The whole entire story was crazy to you and reliving it through your storytelling made you almost shiver in fear.

“And she went, ‘we will help you from the sidelines’,” you lamented, “like who says that?! I get that she has no idea about the rivalry, but he and I aren’t even cute together. He’s short.”

Gyuvin let out a hearty laugh at your comment, “Y/N, if he’s short, then you are also short.”

“Besides the point!”

“Your life does not even sound real,” Minji said, “and it’s so hard to not laugh, I’m sorry.”

You groaned from your spot on the floor, sending Minji a side eye, “Is my life some joke to you two?!”

“A little bit.” Gyuvin laughed out.

You rolled your eyes and flipped over onto your stomach, “This is so not funny.”

“Have you thought about just telling Wonyoung to back off?” Minji asked.

“Yeah, I have, thanks.” You replied to her sarcastically. You craned your neck to look at your best friend, “I haven’t done it because I know for a fact she would ask why. And I don’t wanna get into all of that, especially because her boyfriend is best friends with the devil in question.”

Minji snorted, “You two should just fake date. That’d get Wonyoung to back off.”

You immediately sat up, “Are you crazy?! Absolutely not!”

Gyuvin agreed from his spot, “Minji has a point. Maybe you two could even become friends along the way.”

Shaking your head profusely, you shot a look at Gyuvin, then at Minji, “You guys are crazy.”

“What if,” Minji proposed, “you did it for money? You just told us about how your workplace is shutting down. Plus, you need the money. You’re broke as fuck.”

“Ouch.”

“She’s right, I hate to admit it.” Gyuvin said, shrugging.

“Oh, absolutely not. I may be broke but not broke enough to date Yang Jungwon, even if it’s fake.”

“How about this?” Gyuvin challenged, “If you can successfully fake date this guy until your pretentious-ass Ivy Hills Ball dance in a couple weeks, I’ll give you $50. But only if you also go to the dance with him.”

“It’s like you want me to kill myself.”

“I’ll also give you $50.” Minji said, raising her eyebrows.

The Ivy Hills Ball dance was essentially a more talked-up prom, but from what you’d heard, it was held in an old music hall and the funding was insane. To have that experience be ruined by having Jungwon as a date did not sound enticing in the slightest, but $100 dollars did.

Plus, Gyuvin was right. It would only be a couple weeks.

“You guys drive a hard fucking bargain, I hate you two.”

“Damn,” Gyuvin laughed, “your ass really is broke. $100 to date your alleged enemy, and you’re sold.”

“I haven’t agreed!” You reasoned, trying to defend yourself.

“We both know you will, Y/N.” Minji cocked an eyebrow.

“I really, really hate you two.”

vi. YOU GAVE A KICK, I GAVE A SLAP

Any consideration you had towards fake dating Jungwon was almost thrown out the window on the next Wednesday.

It was your AP Physics bell, which, surprise, was shared with Jungwon.

After almost trying to embarrass you in front of the class (yet luckily failing), you had to fight every urge inside to not curse him out right in that moment.

You breathed heavily out at him, “Jungwon, if you keep bothering Hanni and I, we’ll never finish this lab. And neither will you.”

“You say that like you’re smart enough to finish this lab even if I wasn’t bothering you.”

You didn’t miss how Hanni immediately widened her eyes and focused her attention back onto her lab notebook. Other classmates’ attention was caught from Jungwon’s loud comment, making your face flush a bright red.

Breathing out heavily, you sent Jungwon the most nasty look you could muster. Blinking once at him, “Shut up, Yang. Shut up for once in your goddamn life.”

Jungwon cocked an eyebrow at you, slightly smirking. He placed down his pencil, “Why don’t you make me?”

You started at him, not breaking eye contact. Of course you couldn’t ‘make him’ shut up, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying to kill him with your gaze.

“That’s what I thought,” he remarked, “all bark but no bite. Typical Y/N.”

“You’re the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

vii. AND I CAN’T LOOK YOU IN THE EYES

The following weekend, you found yourself at Wonyoung’s mansion with Taesan and Jungwon. This time, Wonyoung had warned you that Jungwon and Taesan would be present, yet you still decided to go. Because who was Yang Jungwon to dictate when you could and couldn’t hang out with Wonyoung?

Wonyoung had recently opened her pool back up and invited the three of you over to be the first to swim in it. You happily accepted, having no other plans for the day and promising yourself that you wouldn’t let Jungwon’s presence bother you.

While in the pool, you kept letting your mind drift to the bet that Minji and Gyuvin had proposed to you earlier that week. The $100 sounded really appealing, and potentially getting Wonyoung off your back about getting you and Jungwon together would also be nice.

Noticing your distancing, Wonyoung swam up to you, “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at her, “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine, just thinking.”

She nodded at you while you pondered whether taking a break inside would be good to clear your mind for the time being. You decided that at the moment, that seemed best. You spoke again, “Actually, I think I’m gonna go inside to get a drink. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “of course. Make sure to dry off well before you go in though.”

You nodded at her, watching her swim away back to Taesan while you swam to the pool steps and got out. You quickly found your towel and sandals, then went to the door that led back into the house.

You wrapped the towel around your shoulders and dried your feet on the bath mat that the Jangs had outside their home. Opening the door, you took one last look at the three in the pool, accidentally locking eyes with Jungwon. You furrowed your eyebrows and entered the house.

You entered the house of your friend and approached the kitchen where there was lemon water waiting in a pitcher. Of course, the rich family drank lemon water. You put ice into your newly found cup and sighed. While pouring yourself a glass, you heard the back door open and close again, signifying someone was also coming inside the house. You hoped it was Wonyoung, or even Taesan, but you were disappointed when you saw Jungwon’s figure walk towards the kitchen.

At his presence, your mind came back to the bet. You really needed the money right now, and getting Wonyoung off your back about him would also be a major plus.

Jungwon strode his way into the kitchen, passing you to grab a can of what appeared to be some seltzer water. His hair was still wet and his body was damp, him having done an obviously half-assed job at drying himself off. His towel was wrapped around his waist, but what drew you in was his body. Had he always had this attractive of a figure?

“I think you have a staring problem.” He said, smirking at you and making you snap out of your daze. You cleared your throat and felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“I don’t,” you clarified, “I was just… spacing out.”

“Sure.”

A layer of silence fell over the two of you, you avoiding looking at Jungwon in order to not inflate his ego any further. Your mind went back to the bet. Would this be an appropriate time?

You quickly decided, fuck it, and cleared your throat once more to get his attention, “Jungwon.”

He rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath through his nose, but answered, “What?”

“I, um,” you tried to find the words, “I have a really.. interesting.. hypothetical for you. Could be good, could be bad, just- a hypothetical.”

He raised an eyebrow at you questioningly, “Go on…”

“So,” you got a hold of yourself finally. This was just Jungwon you were talking to; if he declined your suggestion to the bet, you’d live. You looked at him, “I can’t be the only one that’s being bothered by Wonyoung and Taesan about the two of us getting together, right?”

Jungwon paused but then answered, “You aren’t.”

“Okay,” you continued, “so I recently saw some of my closest friends and they know about the whole thing. They came up with the proposal for you and I to fake date. Before you say anything, I’m not exactly thrilled either, but I think it would work. I’m sure you’re not too happy to be forced to be around me all the time either.”

“I feel like there’s an ulterior motive here,” Jungwon replied, “so tell me what it is you’re gaining out of this.”

“Getting Wonyoung off my back, of course. I also may be getting paid $100 by my friends to fake date you.”

“Why would you be getting paid?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“They know we don’t like each other, so they think it’s funny. They said if we successfully date until the dance, I’ll get the money.”

“This sounds really stupid.” Jungwon said, disgusted.

“I’ll give you half the money,” you offered, “I promise.”

Jungwon scoffed, “You think I need the money? Funny joke.”

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, rich boy,” you started walking back towards the door that went to the pool, “whatever. As long as you’re fine with Wonyoung and Taesan never leaving us alone, then suit yourself.”

You stopped in your tracks, turning over your shoulder to finish your ment:

“I didn’t expect you of all people to say yes, anyway.”

You watched as Jungwon cocked an eyebrow, his tongue prodding his cheek. He swallowed, taking quick steps toward you before you could open the door.

“Y/N,” he said, suddenly sounding challenged, “wait. Let’s discuss this.”

viii. IT’S JUST WHAT YOU DO

The following Monday, you were sat next to Jungwon in your Calculus class, supposedly listening to a lecture. Having not discussed the concrete rules with Jungwon yet, you decided that passing him a note to ask about if talking them through after class would be alright with him.

You ripped a corner off of your notebook paper and quickly scribbled down:

Hey. Do u wanna discuss the rules after class?

As discreetly as possible, you tapped Jungwon on the sleeve of his uniform and when he turned his head, you handed him the note. He gave you a wide-eyed look but grabbed the paper anyway.

You turned your head back to your teacher, but moments later your attention was taken by Jungwon, who had tapped on your arm instead this time. You read his handwriting:

What rules

Was he dumb? How he could be so good at math but so socially unaware was astonishing to you.

You flipped the small piece of paper once and wrote your response:

For fake dating? We need to establish rules. Unless you’ve already chickened out …

You passed the slip back to Jungwon.

Within seconds, he handed the paper back to you. His response read:

I didn’t chicken out. We don’t have much time between classes but as long as you’re fine walking the same way as me we can do it then. Make it quick though. I don’t want to be seen with you if I don’t have to be.

You stifled a laugh, and quickly wrote back:

You agreed to this, man. You’re gonna have to get used to being seen with me anyways

Jungwon read your written message and rolled his eyes. He crumpled the paper up and shoved it somewhere in his bag, never to be seen again.

Minutes later, the bell rang. You packed up your items and waited for Jungwon to finish packing his up so you could leave the class. Once finished, he started, “So?”

“Let’s walk and talk,” you said, leading the way. Jungwon was quickly on your heels. You shrugged, “the hallways will be too loud for people to overhear anyway.”

Jungwon nodded and speedily made his way next to your side in the hallway. You were right, not only was it loud, but no one would be paying any mind to you two anyway. At least hopefully.

“First off, if anyone asks, from this moment on, you and I are dating, okay?”

Jungwon breathed out a little sigh and pursed his lips, “Yep. Let’s get onto the rules now. We’ve only got so much time.”

“Okay,” you started, “first rule: this only goes until the dance. We’ll go to the dance as each other’s dates, and after that, we can ‘break up’.”

For once in his life, Jungwon agreed with you, “Sounds fine to me.”

“Great. Have any ideas for rule two?”

“Uh…” he paused, trailing off in thought. “Hm. Who is allowed to know that we’re fake dating?”

“I mean, ideally no one. But because my two other friends know, I feel like as long as it’s someone you trust that’s not close with Wonyoung or Taesan then it should be fine for you to tell them. I can’t control what you do, though, so do whatever you want, I guess.”

“Okay,” he said, “so rule two: keep it on the down-low.”

You nodded your head at him, “I have a suggestion for rule three.”

“Go ahead.”

“We can do some PDA, but kissing is unnecessary.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay,” you continued, “rule four: if we need to ‘break up’ for any serious reason before the dance, that’s okay. We just need to let the other person know before we stage a break up.”

Jungwon nodded again, then turned his head to the left, “My class is over this way. We can message later about this.”

“Okay, see you.”

Jungwon walked into the classroom on the left and within moments, Wonyoung made her way to your side.

“Where did you come from?” You asked, surprised at her presence.

“I was walking behind you this whole time. Since when did you start going this way?”

You shrugged, “Since now.”

She painted a cheeky smile on her face, “And?”

“And what?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see you walking with Jungwon, Y/N! What was that about?!”

You feigned innocence, “Oh, nothing. Y’know.”

“I don’t,” she said, smiling widely, “I really don’t. Spill.”

“Well,” you replied, “I dunno, what do you think?”

“I think you two should date.”

You offered no response and just let your face form into a smile. Wonyoung’s eyes widened at you, “Y/N L/N. Don’t tell me.”

“Tell you what?” You responded with a smirk.

“There’s no way!” She freaked out, “You guys are dating?!”

“Possibly.”

“Y/N! I’m so happy!” Wonyoung smiled at you and grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. This was the most excited you’d ever seen her.

“I am too.” You said, “Could you maybe keep it on the down-low for now though? It’s really new.”

“Yeah, of course! Can I tell Taesan?”

“Go ahead, yeah,” you smiled at her, “I think he’d be pretty stoked too.”

Wonyoung pulled out her phone to text her boyfriend and a small silence settled between you two. Wonyoung was the first to break the silence once she sent the message:

“So, I was right about you two being cute together.”

You laughed, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Wonyoung.”

ix. MAKE UP YOUR MIND

It was already a week and a half into the fake relationship and you felt like your sanity was slowly slipping away from you.

Jungwon played soccer all year long, you’d learned, and you’d started going to his games and practices. Aside from the practices as a whole being excruciatingly boring, the games weren’t bad at all. You had to admit, Jungwon was good at what he did. He had four practices during the week and two on the weekend. In the time since you’d started going to see Jungwon outside of school hours, you’d learned that he could be tolerable sometimes. Emphasis on ‘sometimes’.

You’d also learned that he was a very good actor. His teammates immediately accepted you as Jungwon’s girlfriend, and as a result, you’d earned an honorific position on the team.

It definitely helped that you could make small talk and pre-event plans when Jungwon drove you places in his expensive car. His car was probably more expensive than your family’s whole apartment.

But here you were, sitting on the bleachers at around 7pm on Tuesday night, watching Jungwon and his teammates practice. There were only about fifteen minutes left of practice, and then you were free to go home and potentially regret every decision you’d ever made.

The bright lights of the field were giving you a headache and you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to handle this. You took a look at where Jungwon was located on the field, taking note of his focused face as he listened to his coach. Jungwon was one of the better players on the team, and it was evident to you because of the way he talked so passionately about the game. You hated to admit, but it was nice to see him talk so fondly about something for once rather than make unprovoked mean comments towards you.

Around five minutes later, Jungwon and the team suddenly dispersed from their coach and walked towards their bags. You rested your chin on your hand and watched his figure start making its way towards you. He slung his bag over his shoulder and jogged slowly to your spot on the bleachers.

Once he reached the barrier between you and the field, he sighed, “Hey.”

“Hi,” you said, “how was practice?”

Ever since you’d started ‘dating’ Jungwon, you’d made a point to try (at the very least) to be kind to him, even if it wasn’t in front of other people. You hoped that maybe through being kind to him, it might make him be kind back. Hopefully that would make the whole fake dating process a whole lot easier.

“It was fine,” he was short with his answer, yet not necessarily cold for once, “I’m tired.”

“You look like it.” You stood up from your spot on the bleachers and walked towards the barrier to meet Jungwon in the middle.

He checked his watch, “It’s good that we got out early. I have a shit ton of Calc work to do.”

Walking out from behind the barrier, you met Jungwon. He started walking to his car and you quickly followed.

“The packet?” You questioned, picking up the pace to match with his.

You and all your classmates had your work packet that was due the following day, which was Friday. You had already finished the packet a couple days ago and had turned it into your teacher, wanting to get it off of your mind if it was out of your sight.

“Yeah,” he said, “do you have the answers?”

“I don’t have them, no,” you admitted, “I already turned my packet.”

“Shit,” he quietly exclaimed, “I don’t know how to do most of them.”

“Oh,” you replied, “I do. I’m sorry that I don’t have answers.”

“It’s fine,” he rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, it looked like Jungwon got an idea.

He turned to you, “Wait. Are you doing anything after this?”

You racked your brain to think of anything, but nothing came to mind. You turned to look at him, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Do you wanna come over and help me?”

“To your house?” You questioned.

“Yeah,” he said, confused, “where else?”

“Oh,” you said, surprised, “are you sure you’d want me there?”

“It’s fine,” he replied, “it’s just this once.”

“I mean I guess so…” you pondered, “I don’t know. It’s a school night.”

Jungwon checked his watch again, “It’s only 7:09, I don’t think it should be too bad. Unless you have a curfew?”

“I don’t…” you admitted, “I guess I could help you. But I don’t want to make you drive me there and then have to drive me all the way back home. You already picked me up, plus it’s out of the way for you.”

“Consider me driving you as a payment for you helping me… I really need the help, and would appreciate it. You’re smart.”

For the first time ever, Jungwon complimented you. It left you in a state of shock, to put it simply; you had never expected to hear Jungwon compliment you, even while fake dating.

“Thanks,” you said, “I’ll help you.”

He said nothing more as the two of you finally reached his car. He loaded his soccer bag into the back of the car and opened the drivers side door, beckoning for you to do the same.

“I don��t live far from here,” he started the car, “so it’ll be a quick drive.”

You nodded in your spot while Jungwon reversed out of his parking spot. He shifted the car into drive and quickly pulled out of the school parking lot.

Like Jungwon said, the drive was extremely quick. It was only around three minutes, so Jungwon didn’t even bother putting on the radio. He opted instead to roll down the window and not speak.

You really shouldn’t have been surprised by Jungwon’s family estate. Given just by how much money his car seemed to cost, the grandeur of his home should not have come as a shock to you. But it still did.

The gate at the beginning of the driveway seemed inviting; it looked purposefully worn down. The somewhat dingy look of something that was probably not even a year old welcomed you in, in a sense.

The driveway looked freshly paved, the black color not ever changing from erosion. There wasn’t a single crack in the pavement, and it was lined with white pillars that had lamp light illuminating from the top.

Further up the driveway, you could see four other cars. Thinking about the total cost of all the vehicles combined sent a shiver down your spine.

The house itself, which was to the left, could barely even get by being called a “house”. It was easily more than ten times the size of your family’s apartment, and if not for the trees that surrounded it, you’d assume it was a lot taller than it actually was.

The brick was white and the front of the house had pillars driving up and down to support a black roof. The lights in the house were off, giving a stark contrast to the otherwise homely feel of the entrance.

Jungwon pulled the car into the parking spot closest to the house. Once parked, he loaded himself out and went to the back seat to grab his soccer gear.

“No one’s home but us,” he said, “but my parents have cameras everywhere, so we’ll go through the garage. Leave your shoes on the doormat.”

Jungwon led you through the garage, then into the large kitchen, followed by a large living space. He then flipped on a light switch and walked you to the foyer, which was a high-ceilinged room with white walls and stairs that cascaded towards the second floor. The balcony of the second floor overlooked the foyer, and there was a large chandelier hung at the top of the ceiling.

Jungwon beckoned you towards the hardwood steps, “My room’s upstairs.”

Your attention was brought away from the chandelier and you followed as Jungwon ascended the steps towards his room. At the top of the steps, there was a hallway that extended both left and right, and there was also the other side of the balcony.

This side of the balcony overlooked a different living space, but you didn’t get a good look at it before Jungwon tried to disappear out of your sight towards the right hand side of the hallway.

He passed by a few rooms with closed doors before opening the door to the final one on the right. Jungwon walked in first and left the door open for you to enter.

His room was just as large as you anticipated it to be, with large windows on two sides of the room and a king-sized mattress in the corner of the space. You bit back any comments about the size of his bed; he was a short man, why did he need that much space?

Jungwon turned on the lamp next to his bed and dropped his soccer bags at the foot of the bedframe. His backpack was lying right in front of the bedside table, already opened. You could assume that he’d already tried to start the Calculus work yet failed. Hence why you’d needed to come over to help.

Jungwon sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his backpack onto it. You stood very awkwardly in front of him, not sure what to do; you were almost waiting for instruction from him.

Jungwon scooted back on the bed with his backpack to make room for you. He beckoned towards the now empty seat for you to sit on. You carefully sat on the edge of the bed, not even turning your knees to face his body.

“You look really weird right now.” Here came back the Jungwon you were used to, the one who threw out any sort of comment he could at you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, turning back to him, “I’m trying to be cautious. I’m afraid you might insult me if I so much as lay a finger on your comforter.”

Jungwon, without you noticing, rolled his eyes. He sighed, “You can sit further back on my bed. I don’t bite.”

“I just don’t believe you, to be honest.” You remarked back at him.

Sighing again, albeit more frustratedly this time, Jungwon caught you by surprise by grabbing your wrist closest to him and slightly tugging you further back on his bed.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” he said, “I need your help. I won’t bite so long as you’re helping me.”

You finally turned to face him, taking note of how much closer you two were sat now that he had pulled your wrist. You looked down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist. He quickly removed his hand.

Adjusting yourself, you turned to face Jungwon on his bed, watching him pull out a binder, a pencil, and a calculator. He opened the binder, searching for a familiar white packet: the same one that’d you’d turned in earlier that week.

You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and leaned over slightly to look at the problem that he was caught on. Jungwon noticed how you were sat across from him, and thereby couldn’t properly read the problem. He scooted his body more to the left of you and moved his binder so you could read.

The problem that Jungwon had attempted last had lots and lots of erased pencil marks all over it; he had clearly been struggling with it. You remembered also struggling with the same problem, but not nearly as much as he did.

“So this is one of the ones you’re struggling with?” You questioned, looking at him.

“Yeah,” he rolled his eyes, “I feel like she made this a lot harder than it should’ve been.”

“I had a hard time with this one, too, if it makes you feel any better.” You reassured him. Motioning to his calculator, you continued, “Why don’t you walk me through the steps of what you’re doing? Then I can show you what I did.”

Roughly fifteen minutes later and there were still eraser marks decorating the paper, yet not nearly as much as there were before. Jungwon was still confused, but had successfully worked through half of the problem he was caught on.

Jungwon groaned for what seemed like the hundredth time when you caught another mistake of his, “This is so stupid.”

“Hey,” you laughed, “I’m just trying to help you.”

“You know I didn’t mean you.”

There it was again, another positive comment from Jungwon, and this one sent a special beat through your heart. You chalked it up to just being not used to this side of Jungwon, not anything more.

“It’s okay,” you reassured, “I told you that I also struggled with this one. It’s not you, it’s the problem.”

You weren’t sure what came over you, but with the sudden kindness from Jungwon, you felt the need to return the gesture.

“I know,” he groaned, “I know. I just want to finish this problem. I have like four more to do that are the exact same thing.”

Jungwon flopped back on his bed, covering his face with his hands. You slightly laughed at the boy; all that big, tough act just for him to crumble at a math problem.

“Why are you laughing?” Jungwon whined, not amused. He removed his hands from his face to look at you.

“I’m not,” you tried concealing your laughter, “I’m not. I swear.”

“You’re laughing at me,” he said, “I’m about to drop out of school and you’re laughing at me.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you replied, “it’s just one math problem. Wanna take a break with me?”

“…Maybe.”

You got off of Jungwon’s bed and started, “Come on, get up.”

“Actually, changed my mind, I’d rather die here than take a break with you.”

Though his words seemed harsh, you could tell there were hints of joking in his tone. You smiled naturally at him, “Fine, be like that. I’ll just leave.”

“You don’t have a ride home, need I remind you.”

“But I have a phone,” you teased, pulling your phone out of your pocket, “and I have people I can call. Like Gyuvin or Minji.”

Jungwon sat up finally, tilting his head at you, “Who are they?”

You didn’t even realize that you’d mentioned your childhood friends with Jungwon; you had been so oddly comfortable in the moment that you’d just let their names leave your mouth.

“Oh, uh-” you started, looking down, “just, uh, friends from my old school.”

You braced yourself for him to make fun of your ‘poor’ friends as usual, but nothing came from his direction of the room. You looked back up at him to find him with the same expression he’d had while asking you about them.

“What did you want to take a break for?” He inquired.

“Oh, I didn’t need it,” you said, “I thought you might’ve needed it.”

“Oh.”

A blanket of silence temporarily fell over the room until Jungwon broke the quiet atmosphere, “Didn’t know you had it in you to be so caring.”

“Maybe you’d know if you didn’t try to get under my skin all the time,” you remarked, with hints of teasing, “I’m actually quite the caring person, you’d be surprised.”

“I’m not.”

You had no time to process what he’d said before he spoke again:

“Let’s get back to work. I need to focus so you don’t stay here any longer than you have to.”

And just like that, Jungwon was back to his normal self.

x. I ALMOST SAID “I LOVE YOU”

The next following weeks that were leading up to the dance passed quicker in a blur than you’d like to admit they had; it seemed like just yesterday you had started fake-dating Jungwon, but in actuality it was coming up on around a month and a half.

In the time that you two had been “dating”, you’d become familiar with the soccer team, had gone to his house on multiple occasions, and even met his mother once.

Another uncertain familiarity had also made itself known: you were beginning to get used to being with Jungwon.

There had been many different occasions in which you’d felt yourself especially having let your walls down to the boy, and as more weeks passed of being “together”, the moments became much more frequent.

In particular, the last week had been particularly eventful for you.

The first strange event had occurred on Tuesday evening, when Jungwon, Wonyoung, Taesan, and you had all gone to the mall after school. Wonyoung was in need of some sort of new fur jacket for a family company event, or so she said. You had tagged along to help her find something suitable to wear, and she had told you that it was of the utmost importance that you were with her.

Taesan had joined because he wanted to pay for Wonyoung’s coat, being the caring boyfriend that he was. Taesan had also extended to invite to Jungwon to create the illusion of a double date.

While Wonyoung was in the fitting room of an expensive French store with a name you couldn’t even try to pronounce, Taesan had told you that he would hold onto the current items you had in hand and told you to try find some more different ones on the other side of the store. You happily obliged, loving the feeling of window shopping in a place you could never afford.

To your surprise, Jungwon had joined you without you asking or Taesan offering the idea to him.

The two of you quickly found yourselves in the coat designated area of the store, and you told Jungwon that you two should divide and conquer.

He listened to you, and set off in the opposite direction of where you were.

The first coat that caught your eye was cream colored, with what felt like a velvet inside and a chiffon outside. The sleeves and collar were decorated with what you could only guess was arctic fox fur. You loved Wonyoung, but you had a hard time getting behind her family’s necessity of wearing animal fur. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Looking at the price tag, it read $1,205. Your jaw slightly dropped, forgetting how truly expensive it was in there. You grabbed the jacket nonetheless, and started to make your way to try and find Jungwon.

Out of the corner of your eye, a glint of diamond found you.

You knew that you should have been getting back to Wonyoung.

But one look wouldn’t hurt, right?

You stalked your way up to the glass display slowly and spotted the most gorgeous pairs of earrings you’d ever seen in your entire lifetime. Next to the diamond pair that’d initially caught your eye, there was a beautiful silver chained necklace with what appeared to be a green gemstone encased in the center. It had to be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

The employee noticed your wonder and walked over to speak to you.

“Hello,” the middle aged woman started, “see anything that you like, sweetheart?”

“Oh, uh-” you were startled, “Sorry. I was just looking.”

“I understand. We have a wonderful selection of jewelry. Are you looking at anything in particular?”

You shook your head, “No, um, I can’t. I’m here with a friend. This is way out of my price range.”

“I see, dear,” she said, pulling her glasses down from her head and placing them on her nose, “but that’s not what I was asking. Which one caught your eye?”

“Oh,” you laughed awkwardly, “I liked the diamond earrings a lot. The necklace with the small green gemstone is what kept me staring, though.”

“That’s a very popular one, the green gemstone. It’s a Colombian emerald.”

“It’s absolutely beautiful. If I had a job like this, I’d just spend all day looking at all the jewelry.”

The lady nodded, “As do I now.”

Suddenly, Jungwon appeared behind you, slightly startling you. You whipped around to see what seemed to be a concerned look.

“Hi,” you said, “I found something for Wonyoung.”

“I can see that,” he responded, looking down at the coat, then back at you, “but I was hoping more for you to find me. Taesan messaged me, asking where we were, because Wonyoung is still ‘hopeless’.”

“Oh,” you stuttered, “I got distracted. Thank you,” you turned to the woman as you started walking away, “and sorry about that,” you looked at Jungwon, “I got really distracted.”

“Yeah,” he slightly laughed, “I could have told you that. You should’ve answered your phone, I was worried.”

He was worried?

“You texted me?” You asked him.

Jungwon was worried?

“And called.”

Jungwon said he was worried.. about you. Weird.

You tried to ignore the slight skip in your heartbeat as you walked with him back to the fitting rooms.

xi. TO SIP IT SLOWLY

The next strange occurrence was the following Thursday night.

As a celebratory event, Jungwon’s soccer team decided to have a party in honor of their hard work (and just to party).

It was no surprise that a group of boys like Jungwon’s soccer team would host an obnoxious party. It reminded you of the ones that came out of movies; there was plenty of underaged drinking, it was too loud, and shitty music was blasting from a speaker that was a room over.

The party was in full swing by the time that you had arrived, which was about an hour after it was said to have started. The reason for your tardiness could have been chalked up to one person only: Gyuvin. As an apology for him causing you to be late, he offered to drive you to the location where the party was being held.

You had tried texting Jungwon multiple times on your way to the party, but, to no avail, he didn’t answer. This alone nearly caused you to forget about even showing up.

You sent him one last text — “just arrived. Wya?” — before leaving Gyuvin’s car and walking up the lawn of the house. While you went to the door (alone), you repeatedly checked your phone to see if Jungwon had messaged you back:

No.

The front door was unlocked when you reached it, and the foyer was empty. From a couple rooms away, you could hear music being blasted from a speaker. Hoping for the best, you decided to follow your gut and head that way.

The music was coming from the basement, which was down a hall then through a door that led to a flight of stairs. As you approached closer and closer to the basement door, you braced yourself for the potential of going deaf.

With still no text back from Jungwon, you opened the door and began walking down the stairs towards the main event of the party.

The first girl to acknowledge your presence was a girl named Noh Yunah, who was best friends with the girl who hosted the party: Park Minju. Minju was in a long term relationship with Anton Lee, the head captain of the team.

“Hey,” Yunah started, “you’re Y/N, right?”

“Yeah,” you made your way to stand next to her. Yelling over the music, you continued, “I am. You’re Noh Yunah?”

“I am!” Yunah smiled at you. “Where’s Jungwon?”

You slightly flushed at the sound of his name. You forgot that everyone here was in relation to the soccer team somehow, so of course they’d only know you as Jungwon’s girlfriend.

“Beats me,” you laughed, “I texted him earlier but he didn’t respond.”

“Weird,” Yunah responded, “I’m pretty sure that he was talking about you earlier. I just assumed that you two would have shown up together.”

“Yeah,” you said. Looking past Yunah, you couldn’t see anyone that resembled Jungwon. Sighing, you continued, “I had plans beforehand though. They unfortunately made me late.”

“Girl, I understand,” she laughed, “I hate these stupid parties most of the time. If I had other plans, I’d rather be there. Unfortunately, everyone that I’m friends with is here. I’m just glad there’s another girl.”

Suddenly, Park Minju made herself known from beside Yunah. She smiled, “I’m so relieved that you came, Y/N. Jungwon never stops talking about you at lunch. I needed to meet you finally so he would shut up.”

You laughed awkwardly, not sure if she was being nice or if it was a backhanded compliment. Either way, both girls were right; it was a complete relief to have other girls there.

But their behavior kind of puzzled you, too. Had the three of you been in a school setting, they probably wouldn’t have looked twice at you. If they did, it probably would’ve been to make a snarky comment.

Okay, maybe you were being too harsh on these girls. You’d never met them before.

But, in the same breath, you could never truly be too sure about Ivy Hills students.

Minju looked at your awkward stance, then laughed, “Do you want a drink?”

“Oh,” you started, “no. I don’t drink. Thank you though.”

“Suit yourself.” Minju raised a teasing eyebrow and smiled, then walking away to the big circle of people in the middle of the room — that same Jungwon-less circle you’d seen earlier.

Yunah looked at you, “Are you okay?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just, um… wondering where Jungwon is.”

“Hey,” she grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you closer so you could hear her better, “Sorry about Minju. I swear she likes you. She just doesn’t do well with new people.”

You nodded and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in, “That’s good to know. I think I might actually take her up on her drinking offer, though. Is there anything non-alcoholic?”

Yunah bit her lip, “I’m not sure. Everything’s in the kitchen. Want me to come check with you?”

“No,” you reassured, “I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.”

You left Yunah and ventured back up the stairs towards where the kitchen was, which was off the hall. There were a few people in there already, looking into coolers and what you could assume was Minju’s parents’ liquor cabinet.

You crouched by a cooler with no one nearby and fished through it, looking for something tame, like a soda. Your best bet was either a safe ginger ale or something new: a Jack Daniels wine cooler.

You didn’t know anyone at the party.. and you had school the following morning, that you couldn’t risk skipping. But maybe one wine cooler wouldn’t be that bad…

You stood up from your crouching position and walked to the kitchen counter where you placed your drink. Cracking it open, you took your first sip.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed in your pocket with a text from someone you had been waiting on:

Jungwon.

It was a simple text — “Hey” — but you felt your heart skip a beat. Perhaps the alcohol had entered your system quickly.

You quickly responded — “Where are you??” — to his text and placed your phone face down, leaning your back against the counter to face the open doorway.

As if on cue, a familiar lean figure walked through the doorway, almost making you choke on nothing. Unknowingly, your face broke into a little smile of relief.

Jungwon nodded to whoever the other people were in the room (who were still scavenging for drinks) before walking over to you.

“Where have you been?” You questioned teasingly once he made his way over to you.

“Oh, around, y’know.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“I was out on the back porch with some of my teammates, why?” He looked at you, “You missed me?”

“You wish,” you laughed, “but no. I don’t know anyone here. I kind of need you here in order for it to make any remote sense of me being here.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. Jungwon glanced at your drink, then furrowed his eyebrows, “You been drinking?”

“It’s my first and probably last. We have school tomorrow, so even though I wanna fit in, I wanna keep my scholarship more than that.”

Jungwon chuckled at your words, “Smart girl, I guess. Wanna go downstairs?”

“We can, yeah,” you said.

Jungwon pushed himself off of the counter and led you back downstairs to the basement, but this time to the large crowd. They were all still sat in a circle, but the music was softer this time.

A couple of (assumed) teammates called out Jungwon’s name as he walked to find a spot in the circle, leading you with him. The two of you found a spot on one of the couches at the end. The spot had enough space for one person, but you and Jungwon squished to both be able to sit. He offered for you to sit on his lap, but you declined. The alcohol was making your face red enough.

You sat between Jungwon and one of his friends, Junhyuk, who everyone called “Win” for some reason. Assuming he played for a school team and was the star player, that would make sense. But you still thought it was weird nonetheless.

The conversation was still flying at a million miles per hour once you’d sat down, and you didn’t expect to really understand anything. Your main goal was to just sit there nicely and then go home once Jungwon left.

The last thing you’d expected to happen was Jungwon to slowly slither his right arm around your waist and place his hand on your hip nonchalantly. Your eyes widened at the occurrence, but Jungwon seemed unfazed.

Junhyuk was very obviously drinking and had been for some time, so when he leaned over jokingly and asked how “serious” you and Jungwon were, you weren’t exactly shocked that he’d made a comment about you two, especially given that your “relationship” was the most recently established.

A couple other people had overheard Junhyuk’s comment and laughed, causing Jungwon to raise an eyebrow at them.

“We’re very serious, Junhyuk, thank you for asking.” Jungwon commented with hints of snark in his voice, “And, also, thank you for hitting on my girlfriend! Just reminded me that I have the most beautiful woman this school has ever seen!”

“If she’s so pretty,” Junhyuk laughed, “why don’t you share? Especially if you know how much other people want her.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, there was no way he just said that. Another drunkard called from across the circle, “Jungwon, I’ll give you $40 if you trade places with me for the night.”

Jungwon’s pride turned into disgust within milliseconds, “My girlfriend is not an object. I will never let her around gross low-lives like you both if you ever say any bullshit like that again.”

Jungwon tightened his grasp around your waist. He then pulled you to be sitting on his lap, so that you wouldn’t have to be sitting next to Junhyuk anymore.

He whispered in your ear, “Sorry for making you come here.”

However, the boys’ drunk comments were deafened in comparison to the way Jungwon had your heart beating.

You were so fucked.

xii. BUT I DONT GET BORED

The final occurrence actually happened the following day during your math class.

Many of the people that you were mingling with the previous night decided not to go to school the following day — which would be today — and unluckily for you, you didn’t have that option, so you sat quietly in your Calculus class like normal.

Jungwon, to your surprise, had decided not to skip school like most of his friends and teammates, so he was sat quietly in your Calculus class, too.

Around two weeks prior, your teacher had decided to change up the seating chart of the classroom, sending Jungwon nearly all the way across the room from you.

You were almost 100% sure that it was because your teacher had seen the two of you passing notes during lectures, but because she never mentioned anything to the either of you, you couldn’t be sure.

You took a peek at where Jungwon was situated on the other side of the room just for you to notice him already looking at you.

You gave him a little smile, but then quickly turned to look at your teacher instead.

The AP tests for the majority of your classes had already happened, but your final AP exam was on the following Monday, which meant your teacher was doubling down on the review work and studying for you and your classmates.

Your teacher had randomly assigned everyone into either A team or B team, and today’s review session was to be a team vs. team test. You were hoping that by some miracle, Jungwon would get sorted into the same team as you; the two smartest people in the class — and in your whole grade, for that measure — being on the same team meant a guaranteed win for that team.

But, unluckily for you, he got assigned to B team, and you were stuck in A team. Once the sorting was complete, Jungwon caught your eye from across the room and mouthed a quick “sorry” while frowning.

You gave him a small smile that said “it’s okay” before turning to your teammates.

The desks had been pushed all together but separated in the middle (to distinguish between the two teams’ spaces) to create more space for everyone to “work together”.

You knew damn well in your mind that “working together” for your team most likely meant that they would make you (and maybe one other smart person if you were lucky) do all the equations and then just take credit for your work.

Your hunch was proven correct when you were onto your fourth problem in the process with the teams at 1-2. Your team was winning, but you were beginning to stress. If B team finished the equation first, the teams would be tied up.

Even though the exercise was supposed to be “fun”, it seemed to be fun for everyone except for you. The feeling of roughly 6 or 7 classmates breathing down your neck in wait of you finishing a problem only made you want a cry.

Moments later, a member from B team stood up and ran to the teacher to show her the answer and the work done. While all your classmates were watching in anticipation to see if she got the answer or not, you continued to work on the problem. You couldn’t join them in watching, because on the off chance that she made a mistake in her work, you needed to be prepared to swoop in with correctly done work at any moment.

Alas, to your dismay, your teacher chimed the bell that signified a correct answer.

One of your teammates gave you a dirty look.

Trying your best to ignore them, you focused onto the whiteboard and waited for your teacher to write down the final problem of the competition.

It didn’t take long for you to be reimmersed into the world of Calculus and try your hardest to finish the problem first. It wasn’t easy to focus when your teammates were breathing down your neck, though.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, you had nearly completed the problem when your opponent, Leehan, quickly ran up to your teacher to hand her the answer sheet with his work.

While she was grading the work, your teammate, Haruto, was urging you to finish while cursing under his breath at you, but not quietly enough for you to not be able to hear.

The bell chimed, signifying your team lost.

A cheer erupted from the other side of the classroom while Haruto snatched the paper from you and crumbled it up. He rolled his eyes, “Nice work, trailer trash. You’re more stupid than I thought.”

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Jungwon’s neck snap in Haruto’s direction.

While his team was cheering, Jungwon decided that instead of joining in, he would make sure he didn’t just hear what he thought he did from Haruto.

“What did you just call her, Watanabe?”

At this point, not only did you and Haruto notice Jungwon, but the majority of your teammates did, too. While some opted to pretend they didn’t see anything, some of the other ones turned their full attention to the interaction.

“Why do you give a fuck, Yang? You’re not on this team, so you shouldn’t even care that she made us lose. You won.”

“Maybe I did, but if you wanted to win, you should’ve helped her, instead of standing there like the bum that you are,” Jungwon scoffed, “because it’s no secret, Haruto, that you’re a lazy loser who rides off other people’s success to create your own.”

Haruto’s face morphed into an unrecognizable expression.

Jungwon continued, “In case you didn’t notice, your ‘personal math problem-solver’ here was doing the work with you breathing your hot breath down her neck.”

Catching more people’s attention now, he raised his voice a bit, “None of you did anything and you’re complaining that you lost. Y/N is lucky that exams are solo activities because she definitely won’t need any of you to rely on for answers. I’m glad that at least one person in this class is smart-”

Your teacher cut him off, “Yang Jungwon, that’s enough. Please go take a seat.”

Once Jungwon sat down, you couldn’t help yourself from sneaking a look at Haruto’s face, which hasn’t even changed a bit since Jungwon insulted him.

You laughed to yourself, thinking about Jungwon. Maybe losing wasn’t so bad after all if that was the result.

xiii. NEVER KNEW I COULD FEEL THIS MUCH

The sudden comfort that you had found in the man you once despised terrified you.

It terrified you so much to the point of you declining Wonyoung to a hang-out twice this weekend, for fear of Jungwon being there.

You were sure that by the third time, Wonyoung could tell what was up. So, it didn’t entirely surprise you when she showed up at your family’s apartment door that same night she texted you.

“You have a bit of explaining to do,” she started once you opened the door to her.

“Hello to you too.”

Wonyoung stepped past you to walk toward your room, you trailing behind her by a few paces. You watched as she sat herself right on your bed and sent you a look that said ‘sit here’.

Once you sat, she immediately started, “Why have you been avoiding hanging out with me?”

“I haven’t,” you lied through your teeth, “I’ve just been… busy.”

She furrowed her brows at you, “Busy with what? Your boyfriend?”

You tensed subconsciously at the word, but responded, “No… just school, I guess. Even though AP tests are over, I still have some schoolwork.”

Wonyoung squinted, “Like what?”

“Just… papers and stuff.”

“You’re a bad liar,” she complained, “but whatever. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. I won’t prod.”

You nodded thankfully at her, looking away, “If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t seen any other friends.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes and standing up, “No, Y/N, that doesn’t make me feel any better. That makes me feel depressed on your behalf.”

You sent her an annoyed look.

“Anyway, since I’m already here, we should go do something. I miss my best friend.”

You smiled a little at her and also stood up.

As if on cue, you received a text from Jungwon:

Wanna go do something fun tonight?

xiv. LOST TRACK OF TIME AND SPACE

That Saturday after, you were once again with Minji and Gyuvin in your family’s apartment. This time, you weren’t being dramatic or even complaining about Jungwon. Instead, Minji decided to bring up the man herself.

“Y/N, I saw on your story last night that you went to a party.”

“Yeah,” you started, “I did, so what?”

“Since when are you a party person?” Gyuvin butted in, antagonizing you.

“I’m not, obviously,” you sighed, “I hid in the bathroom for most of it anyways. It was loud and obnoxious, and I only went because Jungwon asked me to go as his date.”

“Hm,” Minji hummed, “seems like he’s pretty serious about you, given that he asked you to go as his date to a party.”

“What’s even funnier is you went!” Gyuvin laughed from his spot on your bed.

“What’s so funny about that?” You interrogated, snapping your neck to look at him.

“Nothing, nothing.”

You shook your head at him, rolling your eyes slightly. Minji spoke next, “It is a bit funny. Y/N L/N, the well-known party-goer.”

“Look, I only went because he asked, okay? You guys both know damn well that I wouldn’t have gone otherwise.” You scoffed, surprised at their audacity.

Minji laughed, “And since when are you one to listen to what Yang Jungwon asks of you? The Y/N that I know wouldn’t have said yes in a million years.”

“It was important to him, okay,” You replied, “and he was insisting that I go. For public image reasons.”

“And now you care about what’s important to him,” Gyuvin piped up, “the plot thickens!”

You sighed, “It’s really not as big of a deal as you guys are making it out to be.”

“Listen, Y/N,” Gyuvin continued, “never did I ever think that you would ever go to a party, let alone with someone you claim to ‘hate’. I think you’re starting to like him.”

Minji laughed and you widened your eyes as you felt your face slightly flush at the thought. Was it that obvious?

“Oh my god, Gyuvin is totally right! Y/N, you liiiiike Yang Jungwon!” Minji sang to you.

“I do not,” you felt yourself retort like an elementary-aged school girl, “I do not! I swear it’s nothing. We’re just fake dating and that’s it.”

Minji kept laughing, “Sureeeee, Y/N. We both believe you!” She continued taunting you, high-fiving Gyuvin.

“You guys are so sick for this…” you grumbled, trying to push away your feelings for Jungwon further down.

“You’re just mad we’re never wrong,” Gyuvin said, “oh, and, by the way, you only have a week until you get your money.”

You felt your eyes slightly widen and your heart skip a beat or two.

Had time really flown by that quickly?

xv. HARDER TO HIDE THAN I THOUGHT

Two days had passed and you were scheduled to attend a double date with your “boyfriend”, Wonyoung, and Taesan. It was, pretty obviously, Wonyoung’s idea. But, because you didn’t want Jungwon to assume you suddenly hated him, you agreed to go.

Around an hour before the date, Jungwon suddenly texted you — “Hey, I’m omw to get you a bit early. I wanna talk before we see them” — and you felt your soul temporarily leave your body.

You and Jungwon hadn’t talked very often in the past week, because you had been avoiding him like the plague, trying to deny and drown out your feelings towards him.

Jungwon didn’t live too far from you, but it was far enough that you had at least fifteen minutes to freak out about his text message.

What could he possibly want? Was he going to confront you about avoiding him? What would you say, if that was the case?

You ran to the bathroom to touch up your outfit, makeup, and hair quickly, not wanting to present yourself badly in front of him. As in denial as you were, a small part of you knew that you did like the boy, and wanted to look pretty for him.

You were wearing a fairly plain outfit:

A white lace cami under a red short sleeve shirt, some secondhand baggy jeans, and some old clogs from your mother. You sported the look with an old (most likely faux) brown leather jacket from your father.

As for your hair, it was loosely braided into two braids and tied with a ribbon. You pulled some hair out to give it a more “effortless” look, but you were slightly afraid it came off as you trying too hard.

Your makeup was minimal, but this left you worried you did too little. You added slight highlights to the inner corners of your eyes to make them pop.

Arriving 10 minutes earlier than you anticipated, you heard a knock at the door, knowing immediately who it was. You looked over yourself one last time before leaving the bathroom.

As soon as you opened the door, Jungwon’s once grim face lit up at the sight of you, “You look nice.”

“Thanks, I like to think so too, sometimes.”

He scanned your whole body and face before slightly smiling. He cleared his throat before asking, “Ready to go?”

You nodded, shutting the apartment door behind you, not bothering to lock it, as both of your parents were home at the hour. You laughed slightly, “Where are you taking me?”

Jungwon, leading the way down the steps towards the bottom landing of the apartment building, turned back for a split second to say, “It’s a surprise.”

Roughly another fifteen minutes later, Jungwon parked his car. He unbuckled his seatbelt and said, “We’re here.”

You followed suit and once out of the car you looked around, “Where are we?”

“East Eden Park.”

Jungwon smiled at you as he started walking up a hill, beckoning for you to follow.

“Okay, why are we here?” You asked, your tone slightly laced with panic as you walked behind.

Jungwon looked over his shoulder at you, “I’ll explain when we get up to the top.”

Suddenly, you had the genius idea to beat him to the top. Smirking, you said, “Race you.”

Before Jungwon even had a second to register what you said, you took off up the hill and managed to get many paces ahead of him before he started running too.

To your surprise, you ended up beating him up the hill, to which you cheered in victory, “I win! I win! You suck!”

Jungwon laughed as he finally reached the top of the hill, “Okay, bragger.”

You settled down your laughing and cheering to take in the view around you, widening your eyes at the sight. It took your breath away momentarily, “Wow, this place is amazing. You can see the whole downtown area from here.”

“Isn’t it?” Jungwon asked, as he reached to be next to you.

The sun had just started to set over the horizon of the city, making the perfect spot to watch the sunset.

“This is oddly romantic,” you laughed, awkwardly, “thanks for taking me here.”

“You’re welcome. Will you take a seat on the grass so we can talk?”

You immediately sat down in your spot, “You don’t have to ask me that twice.”

Jungwon also sat next to you, so close that your hands almost touched. If not for the rules that you two had made, you would’ve reached and grabbed his hand. But deep down, you knew you’d strangle yourself if you ever broke the unspoken fifth rule:

Don’t catch feelings.

Sighing to yourself, you trained your sights on a familiar building. You nudged Jungwon, “Hey, did you know that’s where my dad works?”

“Wait, which one? Your pointing skills suck.”

“Right there, second to the right on the bottom. Big brown building.”

Jungwon squinted his eyes, still not seeing what you were talking about.

“Dude, the one at the very bottom. Not the gray one.”

Jungwon sighed, “I give up. I can’t see it.”

“Really?” You said, exasperated, “You can’t see the brown building that says ‘Armstrong & Dennis’ above it?”

“Ohhh, I know that one. My dad’s a shareholder in that company.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Great. Thanks for reminding me of our societal class difference.”

Jungwon chuckled, nudging you, “You know that’s not what I meant when I said that.”

“Yeah, whatever, rich boy,” you nudged him back, “So, why’d you bring me here?”

“Oh,” he said, reminded of the reason, “I wanted to talk, um, about next week.”

The words Minji and Gyuvin were teasing you with appeared back in your head:

Only one week.

You tensed slightly and laughed, “Oh, I forgot about that.”

He stayed silent.

“So… what did you want to exactly discuss?” You questioned, looking at him. His eyes were still trained on the sunset-stained skyline, not moving. You wondered what he was thinking about.

He broken his silence after a minute, “Just… logistics, I guess.”

“What logistics?” You asked, “I thought it was just that we would go to the dance together, and then ‘break-up’.”

“Well, yeah, but…” he trailed off, not even continuing his sentence.

“But?”

“Y’know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter,” he sighed, finally looking at you, “because you’re right, we’ve already talked about it. Guess I’m just psyching myself out because I don’t know how Taesan and Wonyoung are going to react.”

“Understandable,” you said, “I mean, I do like hanging out with you though. Or, at least, when you’re nice to me. I’m sure we can stay friends after this whole fiasco is over.”

Jungwon took a long pause.

“Yeah… friends.”

You didn’t respond, instead opting to look at the way the sunset looked that evening, even taking out your phone to snap a photo of it.

You then got an idea, turning to Jungwon, “Wanna take a picture?”

He seemed genuinely surprised at your question, stuttering out a quick “sure” before posing next to you in your picture.

You flipped the camera to selfie mode and posed with a quick peace sign and slightly puckered lips. Jungwon copied your pose, but with a close-mouthed smile instead.

“Okay, wait, one more.” You insisted to him.

This time, you stuck your tongue out and widened your eyes, and he made a screaming face. You both laughed at the funny pictures before Jungwon got a call and picked it up swiftly.

“Yeah, we’re on our way.”

It was all he said before hanging up and standing up, “Hey, let’s go, or we’ll be late for dinner.”

“Okay, okay,” you said, pushing yourself off the ground and following Jungwon to his car.

The next ten minute drive was eerily silent. Not even comfortable silence, but instead a silence that felt like it was sitting on both of your chests— as if there was something that needed to be addressed, but you were both too afraid to acknowledge it.

You let out an unknowing breath of relief when you arrived at the restaurant where Wonyoung and Taesan were already waiting outside for the both of you.

As if on instinct, Jungwon grabbed your hand as you walked towards your friends at the door of the restaurant. You tried to pick up on their conversation, but it seemed like your mind was too foggy to even function that night, with nothing being able to even be clear.

However, there was one thing that night that couldn’t leave your mind:

Jungwon’s grip on your hand felt a little tighter than usual.

xvi. ARE YOU MINE?

One day before the dance, you were with Wonyoung in her family’s mansion and just hanging out as usual. Your conversations had been extremely honed in on the elephant in the room: the dance. Wonyoung tried on her expensive gown for you, and even asked you to help her style it. You two had practiced hairstyles, and even discussed when you would be coming over the following morning to get ready with her.

The dress you had bought was much less glamorous than hers, but even though she offered to let you borrow one of her “family event” dresses, you politely declined, insisting that you go with the dress you bought, because Jungwon liked the color.

Just as you were finishing up a hairstyle YouTube tutorial, you got a sudden call from Jungwon. You turned to Wonyoung, saying, “Hey, I’m gonna take this real quick.”

You walked out into her hallway and then into the guest bathroom to answer the phone.

As soon as you answered, he immediately started rambling, “Hey, Y/N, I know you’re with Wonyoung right now, but is there any way we can meet up late tonight? I have stuff I need to go over with you.”

Trying to understand him through his rambling, you just agreed, telling him to pick you up from Wonyoung’s at 10:30, which was in 15 minutes. You knew for a fact that Wonyoung wouldn’t care, because for one, she would be seeing you tomorrow morning anyways, and for two, you had planned on leaving at 10:30 anyways, but this time it would be Jungwon driving you, and not Wonyoung back home.

As soon as he heard your confirmation, Jungwon immediately hung up. You shook your head a bit, confused.

You walked back into Wonyoung’s room, letting her know that Jungwon would be coming to get you and drive you home. She nodded, still working on fixing her attempted hairstyle.

You went back to one of her mirrors and undid your hairstyle, not wanting to spoil your potential look for the following day, and also not wanting to look dressy from the face up, because you were wearing a baggy tee shirt, athletic shorts, and ankle socks, which would soon be joined by your sandals that were on the bottom floor.

Jungwon sent you a text — “I’m here” — which made you say goodbye to Wonyoung and tell her that you’ll see her tomorrow at 11am. She only waved “bye” as you left, still preoccupied with her hair.

As soon as you slipped out of the front door of the Jang’s, you were immediately met with Jungwon’s car. He rolled down the passenger window and said, “Get in.”

You yawned a bit as you opened the door, not even questioning where he was taking you.

Roughly five minutes went by and you both arrived at your location, which, to your surprise, was the same park that he took you to only a couple days ago.

“‘Welcome to Eden’…” you read the sign as you unloaded yourself from the car.

Jungwon said nothing as he trekked up the hill, leaving you to catch up once again. This time, however, you didn’t race him.

Once at the top of the hill, Jungwon immediately sat down, inviting you to join him. You complied in milliseconds.

A silence again filled the area between you two before you broke it:

“It’s so picture-esque here.”

Jungwon nodded next to you, the lights from the downtown illuminating his expression, which was unreadable.

“So…” you started, “why’d you bring me back here?”

Jungwon took a deep breath, “I just like it here.”

“Wow,” you teased, poking him, “trying to bring me to his favorite places before he breaks my heart. Such a tragic love story.”

You laughed at your own joke, but didn’t fail to notice how Jungwon remained expressionless.

He sighed, “Yeah…”

Another minute of silence befell the two of you, this time you being too afraid to break it.

Out of nowhere, Jungwon started, “Do you think we should keep doing this?”

Caught off guard, you asked “What?”

“Like, fake dating,” he said, “for Wonyoung and Taesan, of course. I feel like it’ll be suspicious if we break up the day after the dance.”

You furrowed your brow, not against the idea, but confused nonetheless, “Uh… sure. But how much longer?”

Jungwon pondered for a moment before coming to a conclusion, “Until it feels right.”

Not daring to turn your head to him, you stared into the abyss with the most confused look of your life, not even sure what to respond with. Instead you fell onto your back, opting to look at the stars above instead of the city ahead.

Shortly after, Jungwon followed suit.

He broke the silence first again, “Which constellation is your favorite?”

“Oh, I have no clue,” you said, genuinely thinking about it, “I don’t think I’ve put much time into thinking about it, honestly. Maybe the Southern Cross? It’s pretty easy to spot.”

Jungwon hummed next to you. Then he grabbed your hand and made you make a pointer finger, guiding it to where he wanted you to point, “Mine is Bootes. Can you see it? It’s right…” he moved your hand slightly, “…there.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so.” You replied, squinting.

“Do you see the big star at the bottom? Its name is Arcturus.” He let go of your hand.

“I didn’t know you knew so much about astronomy,” you laughed, “it’s endearing.”

Jungwon chuckled, “My maternal grandpa worked for NASA. As crazy as it sounds, I was born from generational wealth.”

You smacked him teasingly, “You don’t say!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, “crazy that the spoiled rich kid was born this way. And both his parents, too.”

You nodded, “Crazy. Would’ve never guessed. But, question, why do you like Bootes?”

“Oh, mainly because of Arcturus,” he replied, “because I can almost guarantee that there’s some sort of other life out there.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “do you think they’re smarter than us?”

“Maybe.”

“Cooler?”

“Definitely not.”

“Do you think there’s a parallel version of you and I that are doing the exact same thing right now?”

Jungwon paused, “I hope.”

You smiled, “Who do you think wins in a fight, you or alien you?”

“Oh,” he laughed, “I’d definitely win. No question about it.”

“How can you be so sure? What if their species is naturally taller and stronger?”

“I’m smarter.”

“Sure…” you said, “so does that mean alien me would beat human you? Or would you finally one-up me for once?”

Jungwon laughed loudly at your comment, “Wow… you think you’re so funny.”

You peeked at him and smiled to yourself before looking back at the stars and sighing, “I think I’m starting to like Bootes, too.”

Once back in Jungwon’s car, the silence was more comfortable than previous times. This time, it’s as if you’ve let your heart completely out of its cage of fear without actually telling Jungwon how you feel. This time, you’re sure that somewhere along the lines, you started to fall for him. This time, you knew that he meant something to you.

Halfway through the drive, Jungwon started to talk about his intergalactic arch-nemesis again and how he was sure that alien Jungwon was not as cool as human Jungwon.

“You two are essentially the exact same, though, just from different planets.” You said as a counter argument.

“Let me ask you this,” Jungwon replied, “Do you think you’re better than your alien self?”

You thought for a second before answering, “No. I am her and she is me. I’m sure she’s great.”

Jungwon laughed at your reply, “Okay, that was a pretty nice response.”

“Thank you,” you said, “I like to think highly of my alien self, because if she’s anything like me, she probably doesn’t think the highest of herself.”

Jungwon’s face got a bit more serious as he pulled onto your street, “What do you mean?” He turned down the radio.

“Oh, I, uh,” you stumbled over your words, “I didn’t mean to turn this into a pity party or anything, just…”

He parked the car and only looked at you.

“I’m sorry,” you laughed awkwardly, “that got depressing quick.”

“No worries,” he reassured, grabbing your hand and surprising you, “why don’t you think the highest of yourself?”

“Jungwon,” you said, uncomfortable, “you’re not my therapist. No need to worry about me-”

“No,” he cut you off, “I want to know. I mean, if anything, you’re miles smarter than me.”

You laughed a bit, “Um, thanks. But intelligence isn’t everything.”

He nodded, “Go on.”

“It’s just,” you started, “nothing really. It just sucks being the absolute poorest person at your school. No matter how high I score, or how hard I work, no one sees that. They just see my class background.”

Jungwon studied your face, “I’m sorry.”

“Wha-” you sputtered, “Why are you apologizing? It’s not like you were the one who did it! Well…” you paused, “actually you did. But that was a while ago. I basically already forgot.”

Jungwon doesn’t break his stare, “I wish I could help.”

You felt your heart race faster in your chest as you locked eyes with him, “Really… it’s okay. I swear.”

Something about the way that he was looking at you had you frozen. Sure, Jungwon had made questionable comments in the past, but nothing as simple as this specific look. You weren’t sure what it was.

Your eyes flickered down to his hand, still holding yours. You felt your heart rate pick up as you realized the proximity you were in.

As if nothing happened, Jungwon slowly tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and looked at you like you were the only person on earth.

You felt your mind start to go fuzzy as you thought about him.

In that moment, it felt like you two were the only people alive to feel anything. It felt like all the world’s people’s emotions had swirled around the two of you, catching you in a deadly storm, of which neither of you wanted to escape.

In that moment, you felt everything and nothing all at once.

In that moment, it was just Jungwon.

And in that moment, you took the risk to lean into him softly place your lips on his.

The months of secret yearning spilled into the car and into the kiss. Before you could even realize what happened, you pulled away.

You were terrified. You swallowed deeply and looked at Jungwon, who seemed equally as shocked. You then mumbled a quiet “goodbye” as you left his car and ran into your family’s apartment complex.

You didn’t look back to watch him drive away silently.

xvii. NEITHER OF US PLANNED IT

You knew you were screwed. You knew you were plainly, simply, just screwed.

There was no one you could talk about last night with. Wonyoung already thought you had been dating Jungwon for some time now, and Minji and Gyuvin knew you two weren’t actually together. If you told them what happened, you were almost 100% sure you would never hear the end of it.

You obviously wouldn’t talk to Jungwon about it, either. Why the fuck would you talk about the elephant in the room to the elephant in the room?

You’d been freaking out all morning and nothing was easing your mind. One way or another, you’d have to face Jungwon today. You were nearly sick to your stomach thinking about it.

You were already at Wonyoung’s, but you were silently freaking out in her guest bathroom while she was getting ready. You almost threw up while you thought about the night to unfold. Your hands were sweaty, stomach sick, and head hurting. You weren’t sure how you’d survive the evening.

You took a deep breath and walked back into Wonyoung’s room, her already finishing her makeup and hair, still dressed in her pajamas, as putting the dress on was the last step.

She turned her head to you with a concerned expression as you trudged through the door, not even trying to hide your emotions at this point.

“What’s wrong, drama queen?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at you.

You sighed dramatically into her mattress after flopping yourself loudly onto it.

“Okay…” she laughed, “Well if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“I just hate emotions.” You grumbled.

She laughed again, “Okay, me too. Wanna tell me why?”

You groaned, “No.”

Roughly an hour and half later, you two were both ready to be picked up by your dates. Before the dance, there were pictures to be taken, and a dinner to be eaten, and then you could finally go to the dance, which started at 7:30.

Taesan and Wonyoung chattered in the front seat while you and Jungwon remained dead silent, not even looking at each other.

The car ride stayed exactly like that during the twenty minute drive.

Once you all arrived at the park to take pictures, you lifted yourself out of the car and walked to wherever Taesan and Wonyoung were leading.

At the pavilion, you took the time to fix some strands of your hair and flatten any creases in your dress, which was blue, Jungwon’s favorite color.

Even though you were originally standing alone, Jungwon soon made his way towards you. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “You, uh… you dress well for the occasion.” You could tell that he was flustered, but you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you were too. You were just glad he didn’t bring up the incident from the night prior.

You laughed shyly, “I mean, of course. I was planning on getting my heart broken tonight after all.”

“I mean, we did agreed to keep this act going,” he replied, “We can’t have me breaking your heart while you look so pretty.”

Your heart started racing like you’d just ran a marathon. Trying to stay calm, all you could muster back was “thanks”.

Some pictures and a dinner later, you and your group arrived at the location where the dance would be held, which was none other than the downtown’s Music Hall.

As you walked in with Wonyoung, you tried to take in everything that you could, from architectural designs to the art on the ceilings to the over-the-top decorations that Ivy Hills had created for the event.

It didn’t take long for her to grab your hand and pull you along to talk with some of her friends, one of them including Park Minju, who you’d first met around a month ago.

You surprisingly relaxed a lot during the dance, having expected the DJ to only play classy songs, but you were entirely shocked when Fire Burning by Sean Kingston blasted through the speakers.

Around half an hour later, you found yourself on a balcony from the top floor of the venue, needing some fresh air after sweating as much as you did. You didn’t expect to dance as much as you did, but nonetheless you still needed a break.

It was a lot colder outside than you’d anticipated it to be, somehow forgetting that the sun had already set. You didn’t really mind, though, as you were too lost in thought to even pay any attention to the weather.

Almost exactly a minute later, you heard an all-too-familiar voice from behind you. He slowly approached to stand next to you and asked, “Are you okay?”

You nodded, too lost in thought to really acknowledge him, “Yeah.”

“What’s up?”

“Just…” you finally looked at him, “just a lot going on right now.”

He chuckled a bit, “I get it.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as he tried to mimic your body language.

From inside the venue, your ears perked up at the sound of the DJ announcing the first slow song of the night, to which you groaned.

“What?” Jungwon questioned.

“Slow songs are just soooo corny. Especially at dances. It’s always either ‘Perfect’ by Ed Sheeran or ‘A Thousand Years’ by Christina Perri or ‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’ by Elvis.”

Jungwon shook his head in disbelief, “So you don’t like slow dancing?”

“It’s not that I don’t like slow dancing,” you replied, “the songs are just overplayed and corny.”

“I mean…” he started, “I completely disagree. I think it’s romantic. But, okay.”

“Of course you wouldn’t get it,” you retaliated, “you’ve never been to a public school dance. PDA is off the charts. It’s gross.”

“I’m sure of it,” he replied, “but PDA is off the charts here, too. You just don’t see it because these weirdos go hide in the unisex bathrooms and-”

“Ew,” you cut him off, “ew, okay. Stop there please.”

Jungwon laughed loudly, “Listen, this is how I can tell you only know the surface of private schools.”

“Yeah, and maybe I’d like to keep it that way. We’re graduating this month anyway, and I’ll never have to see anyone here again if I don’t want to.”

“Sounds like a dream,” he said, “where are you going for school?”

“I haven’t committed anywhere yet, is that bad?” You winced.

“No,” he assured, “definitely not. My parents wanted me to go to Yale but I ended up on Brown. Took me months to choose between Brown and UCLA.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed, “I got rejected from UCLA. I’m stuck between MIT and Brown. Yale accepted me, but they didn’t offer me enough. There’s no way in Hell that I’m paying twenty thousand a semester.”

“Yale didn’t even waitlist me,” Jungwon sighed, “my parents were so mad. Their next choice was Princeton or Brown, so I chose Brown to make them happy.”

“My parents just wanted me to go to the state school,” you said, “…good ‘ol Virginia Tech.”

“Not a bad school,” he answered, “but I understand your parents’ concerns. Moving out of state is hard. You’re their only child, too.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, “I understood why. But I don’t think they understand how important education is to me… I don’t know.”

Jungwon smiled, “Well, if you go to Brown, just know you’ll have a friend there.”

You smiled back at him.

Noticing the song was over, you muttered, “Thank god.”

Just then, through the speakers, you heard the opening violin notes to one of your favorite childhood songs that your dad used to play for you on his CD player: ‘Come On Eileen’ by Dexy’s Midnight Runners.

You gasp in excitement, “I’d much rather dance to something like this.”

Jungwon laughed at your reaction, “Well, then can I have this dance?”

You tried to fight your smile, “Why yes, you can.”

Jungwon stuck out his hand to you, but instead of you grabbing it to slow dance, you linked his arm with yours and started making him do a strange folk dance with you, making him spin and dip you, and trying to convince him to let you dip him, but with no success.

Just as the song started, it ended. The DJ announced over the speakers that the king and queen of the ball would soon be announced.

Without saying a word, you followed Jungwon into the building and down the steps, towards where the crowd was forming.

To no one’s surprise, the queen was announced to be Wonyoung, and her king to be Taesan.

As they did their dance, you leaned towards Jungwon and whisper-shouted sarcastically, “Who would’ve seen this coming?”

He laughed at your comment and replied, “Right?”

A moment passes before he leans over again and asks, “Do you wanna go get something to drink with me? I need some water.”

You nodded and followed him back up the steps to the second floor where there were still people, but much less crowded than the bottom floor.

As he was walking, he looked over his shoulder at you and said, “I can finally hear myself think now.”

Once he got his water, you both retreated back to the initial balcony that he found you on earlier in the night. The silence was comforting, and you caught yourself trapped in your thoughts again.

Out of nowhere, Jungwon suddenly broke the silence:

“Did that kiss mean anything to you yesterday?”

Completely caught off guard, you replied, “Huh?”

Without missing a beat, he explained, “Like, when I dropped you off yesterday. Did that mean anything to you? I’m just confused ‘cause- I mean, I know it wasn’t for show. It was only the two of us in the car. I- I just want to know.”

You took a second to even process what he said to you. Sure, it was inevitable that he was eventually going to bring it up. But you didn’t think now was the moment, especially so soon.

Trying to find the right words, you responded, “Oh, um… I don’t know if this is a conversation we should have here and now… I mean… there’s people around and…”

Jungwon nodded stiffly.

“I…” you trailed off, “I think I’m going to go back downstairs.”

And just like that, you left Jungwon alone again.

xviii. ROLLER-COASTER KINDA RUSH

For the next few hours of the dance, you didn’t see Jungwon at all. In fact, he didn’t even ride with you, Taesan, and Wonyoung to Wonyoung’s afterparty. You were starting to worry that by you deflecting the conversation earlier, he took it as a rejection.

The next time you saw Jungwon was an hour into Wonyoung’s afterparty. You caught the slightest glimpse of him in the kitchen, but just as you’d seen him, he’d disappeared from your sight. You were beginning to believe you had started hallucinating him from how much he was driving you crazy.

However, once outside, you’d seen Jungwon’s car parked on the street across from Wonyoung’s mansion, and sighed in relief when you realized you weren’t actually losing your mind.

Near the end of the afterparty, Jungwon snuck up on you.

“Hey.”

You jumped, startled from the sudden appearance, “Hey. I haven’t seen you all night.”

His only response was a simple and short “yeah”. Before you both fell into an uncomfortable silence.

A couple of seconds later, Jungwon asked you, “Do you want a ride home?” He held up his keys.

You smiled at the gesture, knowing that otherwise, you’d have to find someone else to drive you home, and although Taesan drove you there, and he’d likely be staying the night, leaving you to fend for yourself.

“Sure.”

With the party already dying down, you made sure to say goodbye to Wonyoung and thank her for hosting. You gave her a small hug and watched as Jungwon dapped up Taesan.

The both of you walked to Jungwon’s car in silence down the driveway.

However, this time, you decided to bite the bullet:

“I think we should talk about what happened yesterday.”

You noticed Jungwon almost freeze in his spot for a second but he continued walking to his car.

All he could mutter out was another “yeah”.

Once you reached his car, he quickly put it in gear and started driving you home.

Jungwon didn’t say anything until he almost reached your apartment. He parked his car on the street, and got out to walk you to your door.

He sighed, yet started, “Listen, I know you’re getting paid from this. But we never needed to kiss to seal the deal…” he trailed off, “so I really don’t understand why that was a necessary part to the whole act and-”

“That wasn’t about the money.” You cut him off.

Jungwon slowly turned to look at you, confused, “What?”

“It-” you stumbled over your words, “it stopped being about the money a while ago.”

A small and barely audible “oh” escaped his lips, with an unreadable face.

“I-” you started, “I- I know that we’re supposed to sell this,” you motioned between the two of you, “thing for a long longer. I know that because we both agreed on it. But…” you trailed off, not sure what to say next.

You took a deep breath, “But what I say next might change the trajectory of this… friendship…” you shook your head, “…or whatever this is.”

Jungwon said nothing.

“But the truth is, I-” you sighed, defeated, “I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. Not because of the stupid money, and not because of the validation I’d get from Wonyoung and Taesan.”

He stood still, motionless, still with an indecipherable expression.

Nearly to tears with frustration and stress, you continued, “I kissed you because… because I felt like it was right in the moment. And- and it’s okay if you don’t feel that way. And if that is the case, then I’m sorry for kissing you and making things weird between us.”

Sighing one last time, “And I know the unspoken rule of this whole thing was to not have any actual feelings for each other, but-”

“Y/N.” Jungwon cut you off.

Afraid that you went overboard, you muttered sheepishly, “…what?”

“Please,” he said, taking a step closer, “please, stop talking.”

You frowned, “Did I say too much?”

“No,” he laughed, “but if you never stop rambling, I won’t be able to tell you how I feel.”

“Um,” you said quietly, “sorry, what?”

You weren’t sure exactly what Jungwon meant by ‘telling you how he felt’ but you were nearly bracing yourself for the worst. You decided to keep quiet as to not disturb him.

“I want you to know something right off the bat,” he started, “okay?”

You nodded but still didn’t say anything.

“It was never about Wonyoung and Taesan for me,” he laughed, “Hell, I’m the reason that we were all forced to hang out, the four of us.”

He sighed, “Y/N, I’ve always admired you, but I never knew how to deal with it. Why? Because in all of my life, I have never had a girl distract me from school as badly as you did.”

Your eyes widened at the confession.

“The only reason that I’m ranked 2nd in math for our class is because you are 1st,” he continued, “And I used to really hate you for it, because who did this pretty girl think she was, coming into my school and usurping me of my top rank in the class?!”

You felt yourself flush at the compliment, but tried to stay as calm as possible.

Jungwon calmed down, “But… at a point, I realized that you never did it to spite me, and you were genuinely just that smart. Then, I got over myself.”

You nodded with furrowed eyebrows.

“But,” he sighed, “I knew I had already pushed your buttons so hard to the point that I really thought there would be no point of return…”

“…So, when you brought up the idea of fake dating me, I immediately said no, because I knew it wouldn’t end well for me,” Jungwon laughed bittersweetly, “But then you challenged me. And I love a challenge.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words, now noticing how closely he was standing to you. You opened your mouth to try and form a response, but the only thing that you said came out in a whisper:

“Wow… I don’t know what to say.”

He smiled brightly at you, grabbing your hand.

“I don’t think words can be used in this moment.”

As if he’d been doing it forever, Jungwon wrapped one arm around your waist and let the other cup your head. Slithering your arms around his back, you stood on your tippy toes.

This time, you knew you wouldn’t run away from his kiss.

a/n : aaaand it’s over meow meow meow sorry for the long wait but it seemed like life hasn’t been on my side for the past year. hope u guys enjoyed tho <3 this was a bit too happy ending for me and not nearly enough angst but whateva

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reasonsforhope · 4 months ago

Text

"People across the world, and the political spectrum, underestimate levels of support for climate action.

This “perception gap” matters. Governments will change policy if they think they have strong public backing. Companies need to know that consumers want to see low-carbon products and changes in business practices. We’re all more likely to make changes if we think others will do the same.

If governments, companies, innovators, and our neighbors know that most people are worried about the climate and want to see change, they’ll be more willing to drive it.

On the flip side, if we systematically underestimate widespread support, we’ll keep quiet for fear of “rocking the boat”.

This matters not only within each country but also in how we cooperate internationally. No country can solve climate change on its own. If we think that people in other countries don’t care and won’t act, we’re more likely to sit back as we consider our efforts hopeless.

Support for climate action is high across the world

The majority of people in every country in the world worry about climate change and support policies to tackle it. We can see this in the survey data shown on the map.

Surveys can produce unreliable — even conflicting — results depending on the population sample, what questions are asked, and the framing, so I’ve looked at several reputable sources to see how they compare. While the figures vary a bit depending on the specific question asked, the results are pretty consistent.

In a recent paper published in Science Advances, Madalina Vlasceanu and colleagues surveyed 59,000 people across 63 countries.1 “Belief” in climate change was 86%. Here, “belief” was measured based on answers to questions about whether action was necessary to avoid a global catastrophe, whether humans were causing climate change, whether it was a serious threat to humanity, and whether it was a global emergency.

People think climate change is a serious threat, and humans are the cause. Concern was high across countries: even in the country with the lowest agreement, 73% agreed...

The majority also supported climate policies, with an average global score of 72%. “Policy support” was measured as the average across nine interventions, including carbon taxes on fossil fuels, expanding public transport, more renewable energy, more electric car chargers, taxes on airlines, and protecting forests. In the country with the lowest support, there was still a majority (59%) who supported these policies.

These scores are high considering the wide range of policies suggested.

Another recent paper published in Nature Climate Change found similarly high support for political change. Peter Andre et al. (2024) surveyed almost 130,000 individuals across 125 countries.2

89% wanted to see more political action. 86% think people in their country “should try to fight global warming” (explore the data). And 69% said they would be willing to contribute at least 1% of their income to tackle climate change...

Support for political action was strong across the world, as shown on the map below.

To ensure these results weren’t outliers, I looked at several other studies in the United States and the United Kingdom.

70% to 83% of Americans answered “yes” to a range of surveys focused on whether humans were causing climate change, whether it was a concern, and a threat to humanity. In the UK, the share who agreed was between 73% and 90%. I’ve left details of these surveys in the footnote.3

The fact is that the majority of people “believe” in climate change and think it’s a problem is consistent across studies."

-via Our World in Data, March 25, 2024

#climate change #climate action #climate hope #climate crisis #politics #global politics #environment #environmental news #good news #hope

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whytheylosttheirminds · 6 months ago

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Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 8 (part one)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 4.1k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! suggestive moments, mature readers only

Carter could hear his car approaching before it even came into view.

She had been grounded for two weeks, caught out with Topper on his granddad’s boat past curfew, and she had never been more bored in her life. Slumped back on the couch, she dipped her hand in the bag to grab another chip, pausing mid-bite when she heard the familiar hum of Rafe’s truck engine growl down the street.

“Oh fuck no,” she hopped off the couch, a trail of crumbs in her wake as she jogged to the front door.

Though she knew you were away for the afternoon, your mom taking you to tour a local college on the mainland, she instinctively double checked that your car was still gone. She was thankful you weren’t here to see him in his oversized ego-mobile zipping down your street like he owned it.

You’d been devastated all week, crying yourself to sleep in the wake of seeing Rafe kiss Cassie Bryant. Nothing made Carter angrier than knowing you were hurt and not being able to do anything about it.

She couldn’t believe his nerve to show up here. He’d been texting to you all week, clearly not taking your lack of response for the answer that it was. You were finally finding the strength to stay away from him, and she was not about to let that unravel.

She stood on the front porch, closing the door firmly behind her, arms crossed and stance wide like she was prepared to defend her castle. Really, she was prepared to defend you.

Rafe parallel parked on the street, some misogynistic country song blaring from his subwoofers. Carter rolled her eyes at the way his massive truck took up enough space for two cars, always claiming what wasn’t his, taking and taking and giving nothing in return.

Closing the driver’s door with a bang, Rafe hopped down from his truck and strolled toward the house, stopping short in the front walk when he noticed Carter glaring out at him.

“You have some fucking nerve, Cameron,” she spat at him.

“I’m not here for you,” he glared back.

“Well no one else in this house wants to talk to your ass right now so you can go ahead and turn right back around.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I just wanna know why she wasn’t at my game today.”

“Uh-oh,” she tilted her head in mock-sympathy, “did ya lose?”

He clenched his jaw, an angry huff of air flaring his nostrils, “yeah, we lost.”

“Good.”

“Can you just let me in?” He started moving toward the front steps, but she didn’t move from her spot blocking the door. “I need to talk to her and she’s not answering my texts.”

“Do you think that’s an accident?” She scoffed. “Take a hint.”

“Okay, what’s your fucking problem, Carter?” He snapped the sentence off with a bite of her name.

“You’re my problem, Rafe,” she bit right back.

“What the fuck did I do? Why isn’t your sister answering my calls?”

“I dunno, maybe you should ask Cassie Bryant,” her hands uncrossed and rested on her hips.

Rafe stepped back, head dropping back in exasperation as he rolled his eyes at the sky.

“That’s what this is about? Cassie and I are just hooking up, what’s the big deal?”

“You mean besides the fact that Cassie’s made my sister’s life hell since they were in the same Kindergarten class?” She threw at him. “Or that you’ve been dragging my sister along since she was six years old just to ditch her for some wannabe Addison Rae tiktok flop?”

“God, you’re always so fucking dramatic, it isn’t even like that,” he gestured toward the window of your bedroom, still assuming you were up there somewhere avoiding him, “your sister knows we’re cool.”

“You’re not cool, Rafe. You’re an idiot,” she told him with a pitying shake of her head.

Rafe turned her words over in his head, finally stopping long enough to consider the possibility that he’d done more damage than he initially thought.

“Is she really mad at me?” He mumbled, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Carter sighed, “No. She’s not mad at you. She’s never mad at you, that’s the problem. You don’t make her mad, you make her sad. All you ever do is make her sad.”

Shoulders falling, Rafe looked past Carter with a vacant stare. He looked so confused and distraught she almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“I didn’t mean to make her sad,” he mumbled, almost at a whisper.

Carter scanned him with narrowed eyes, trying to decide if his penance was sincere. He looked down at his shoes, digging the tip of one into the stony walkway.

“How do I fix it?”

Carter started to think maybe he was sincere after all, but she still wasn’t sure he was in any place to be asking for advice.

“I don’t know if you can,” she told him.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he said hopefully, trying to console himself. “She’ll come around.”

He looked at Carter like he was actually expecting her to agree.

“And then what, Rafe?” She tilted her head, genuinely curious about the answer. “What’s the end game here? You’ll just make her sad for a few more months and then go off to school and…what?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged defensively. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Exactly. You don’t think things through. That’s always been your problem,” she informed him, “you just do what you want and pay no attention to how it affects other people. If you really cared about her, you wouldn’t keep putting her through the same shit over and over.”

“I do care about her,” he mumbled, her words beginning to penetrate his carefully constructed antagonistic armor.

“I wish I could believe that,” she shook her head sadly, “I wish she could believe that. At least when she did, she wasn’t crying herself to sleep every night.”

Sour regret burned in his throat at the thought of your tears dripping onto your pillowcase, some unfamiliar heartache he didn’t understand.

“Maybe you could convince her that I do,” he offered, “she listens to you.”

“Why would I do that?” Carter snapped.

“Because then she wouldn’t be so sad,” his voice was so feeble it was like he was shrinking right before her eyes, his tall, intimidating frame so small and inadequate under the towering shadow of his guilt.

“Tell you what Rafe,” she began, “I’ll try and convince her that you care about her if you can look me in the eyes and tell me with your whole chest that you won’t hurt her anymore, that you won’t use her to your advantage, or drop off the face of the earth for weeks not answering her texts, or kiss other girls right in front of her face. That you’ll fight for her and put her before your own selfish bullshit. Can you make that promise?”

He wrung his hands, mindlessly adjusting the ring on his right forefinger, jaw clenched as he tried to will forth a convincing enough yes. He couldn’t do it.

“That’s what I thought,” Carter said. “If you can’t fight for her, then…”

“What?” He asked desperately, hoping she’d offer him some olive branch shaped way out of the shame engulfing his chest.

“Then I am asking you- begging you really - to let her go. Stop texting, stop coming by the house, stop making promises you’re not gonna keep. Please. If not for me, then for her.”

“Do you think that’s what she wants?” He asked.

“No. But I think it’s what she needs,” she said, knowing it would kill you if you knew she was doing this, but believing with her whole heart that it was right.

Rafe rarely thought about the future. The farthest his mind went was the next few minutes in front of him. It was his fatal flaw, acting for the moment and not for the moment after, or the version of himself that would face the consequences of his poor choices. Yet, in this moment, he had the keen sense that his next move would be a pivotal one, the gravity of it making his feet feel heavy on the stone pathway. He could stay, he could argue, scream your name until you came out and talked to him. But then what? Would he have the courage to follow through? Was he enough of a man to handle the weight of your expectation?

Ultimately, he knew the right thing was to stay and fight, but the easy thing would be to just go.

So, as he almost always did, Rafe made the easy choice.

“Okay,” he nodded to Carter. “I’ll let her go.”

“Thank you,” she said, voice shaking with the fear that if you knew what she just convinced him to do, you’d never forgive her.

“I’m not doing it for you,” he made sure she knew before turning and climbing back into his truck.

Once in the driver’s seat, he pulled out his phone, looking at your name in his contacts. Like his fingers were moving without his mind’s permission, he deleted you. It didn’t matter really, he thought, he’d remember your number on his deathbed. He’d remember it all, and he’d hate himself forever for driving away.

Carter stayed on the porch, watching him go, praying desperately that you’d never find out she was the reason he left.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

“We’re gonna have to go back eventually,” you said.

Rafe sat behind you in the sand, holding you with his chin resting easy on your shoulder as you took in the sprawling pink sunrise together.

“Says who?” He countered.

You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. His eyelids were heavy, purple under the eyes from the exhaustion of being awake all night.

“You’re falling asleep,” you noticed.

“Yeah because some girl kept me up all night, begging me to take her to the beach and kiss her,” he joked.

“Excuse me, sir, this was your idea!” You sat up and stretched, your words making him laugh despite his immediate discomfort at the loss of your body in his arms. “What time is it anyway?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “my phone’s in the car.”

“Mine too,” you chuckled, “I hope Carter’s okay. She was looking rough before we left.”

He had half a mind to propose the two of you never leave the beach, but he could hear the genuine concern under your lighthearted words. He stood from the sand and dusted himself off, reaching out a hand to pull you to your feet. You took it with a smile, lingering for a moment as you stood, your hand in his, taking one last look around the beach, searching for some kind of landmark.

“What are you looking for?” He asked.

“I just want to remember exactly where we were,” you explained.

“Why, you wanna recreate it?” He smiled softly at you.

“Oh, I plan to recreate it many times,” you wink at him.

It took all his strength to leave that spot and head back to the car, back to the house full of people who weren’t you, back to reality.

“I can drive,” he suggested, planning to take the slowest route possible, and actually follow the speed limit for the first time in his life.

As soon as he started the car up, your CD started blasting through the speakers. You laughed at each other, the catalyst of this whole encounter feeling like it was days ago. The time on the car radio told you it’d only been about two hours. You lifted your phone but the screen remained black.

“Shit, it’s dead,�� you told him, opening the glovebox and digging around for a charger.

While you were distracted, Rafe lifted his own phone from the cupholder he’d left it in. His screen did light up, displaying a slew of frantic texts from Topper and Kelce. He winced, wishing he hadn’t looked. He didn’t read the texts, not wanting whatever nonsense they were bothering him with to pop the blissful bubble wrapped around the two of you. He knew he shouldn’t start off your new…whatever this was…by lying to you, but he needed to stay in this happy place just a little longer.

“Mine’s dead too,” he lied, flipping the phone over in the cup holder to hide the screen.

“Of course Carter doesn’t have a charger,” you sighed, “she has like twenty hair ties and lipglosses, but no charger. Classic.”

“I know my way back,” he shrugged, “we’ll be good.”

Rafe put the car in reverse, backing out of the little side road with his arm on the seat next to your head. You watched the way he turned in his seat to look out the back window, neck muscles flexing with the stretch and his big hand manipulating the steering wheel with ease.

For the first time in the sixteen years you’d known him, you didn’t try to hide your gaze as you took him in. The same attraction that used to make you feel skittish and ashamed now settled over you peacefully, like an icy winter finally melting into a warm, bright spring. You looked at him all you wanted, noting every detail, taking mental photographs of every inch of his skin.

You’d always thought he was cute - actually, no, you always thought he was hot as fuck - but now for the first time, you allowed yourself to look long enough to notice how beautiful he was. Pins and needles burst out all over your body as you realized how badly you needed to kiss him again.

Rafe could feel your eyes on him as he drove, choosing not to say anything and risk you looking away. He felt at home in your gaze, happier than he could ever remember being.

Inhibitions left back on the beach, you fearlessly reached out toward him, hand grazing gently over his jaw. You loved the ticklish little stubble that had grown there in just a few days without shaving. You smiled as you thought about the boy who could barely grow peach fuzz, now a man, strong and solid under your fingertips. Something warm and electric buzzed in your stomach, and you knew Rafe could feel it too, his skin heating under your tender touch.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the road but leaning slightly into your hand to encourage you to keep touching him.

“Nothing,” you smiled, “I’ve just never gotten to look at you this long.”

“Is it making you change your mind?” He smirked, clearly not worried about the answer, his confidence making him impossibly sexier.

“Just the opposite,” you confirmed, “I think you’re always gonna have to drive from now on.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well now that I’ve gotten a good look I don’t think I could keep my eyes on the road. I always had the hardest time not looking over at you.”

Rafe grinned wide as your hand slipped from his jaw to the back of his head, fingers lacing in his soft hair, scratching his scalp lovingly. There was no rhyme or reason to your movements, but you didn’t care, you just needed your hands on him. He didn’t seem to mind, head leaning back into your palm to let you know he needed you as much as you needed him.

“I know you did,” he said.

“How?” You asked.

“Because I could never keep myself from looking over at you,” he confessed.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered their way through your chest. Now you were certain- you’d never been more attracted to anyone as you were to him in this moment.

Rafe took your silent smile as a good sign, “did I get another A with that line?”

Your hand slid slowly down to his shoulder, over the ridges and ripples of his arms, flexing under your soft touch, until you found his hand, pulling it into your own.

“Gold stars, baby,” you smiled.

Rafe’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, the air in the car becoming thicker by the second as he shifted in his seat. You beamed at him, realizing with a flurry of excitement - you had Rafe Cameron flustered.

“You like when I call you baby?” You purred, eager to see how far you could push it.

His grip tightened around your hand, “you can’t say shit like that to me when I’m driving.”

You could feel the dam breaking. You needed him. Now.

“Then pull over.”

He finally took his eyes off the road for a second at that, looking over at you for confirmation; are you serious? You gave him a steely, lustful look in return; as a heart attack.

Rafe practically popped a tire turning the wheel hard and pulling the car down a side street, driving until he found a little secluded enclave by the beach, a perfectly private spot. He threw the car in park, making you laugh at the jolt it gave with his urgency. He didn’t waste a second, reaching both hands over to grab your face and pull your lips to his.

You sighed into his mouth, no hesitancy holding you back from slipping your tongue between his lips. He pulled away just long enough to grit out a raspy, “come here,” before throwing his seatbelt off.

You unbuckled your own, holding tight to his shoulders as you swung your leg over the console and climbed, somewhat awkwardly, into his lap. Your head fell back in laughter as your butt accidentally pressed the horn, the sound blasting through the quiet morning air. Rafe laughed too, easing your slight embarrassment as he reached down to slide the seat back.

Once you had more room, you pulled back to get a better look at him. He looked up at you with wide blue eyes, so gentle and kind in the way they took you in. Rafe reached up and brushed your hair over your shoulder, taking a deep breath as his hands grazed your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered to fill the silence.

You cracked the slightest smile, unable to repress your amusement.

“What?” He puzzled.

“I just didn’t imagine you to be so…sweet like this,” you explained, though you hated how the words sounded coming out of your mouth, afraid it would sound like a criticism and cause him to withdraw.

“Only for you,” he said.

“Uh oh,” you teased, hands laying flat over his chest as you leaned forward, relieved you hadn’t ruined the moment after all, “is big bad Rafe Cameron going weak for me?”

“He always has been,” he nodded, his dimples creasing his cheeks with his sheepish smile.

You slid your hands up to either side of his face, thumbs dipping into his dimples. You’d always wanted to do that. You couldn’t believe that after all that waiting and longing, you really could just lean forward and kiss him if you wanted to.

So you did, like you were trying to prove to yourself that this was actually real. The second your lips met his, you could tell he was thinking the same exact thing.

Rafe’s hands gripped your hips as he sat up off the seat just slightly to meet your mouth fervently. You bent over him, your hair falling in a curtain around his face. His hands felt so good, so right, warm and strong against you. You smiled into the kiss as you could feel them sliding so slowly, reverently, over your curves, until they found a home on your lower back, bringing you forward to rest fully against him. It was the same gentle control he had taken on the jetski, and it was addictive.

He was hard, you could feel him firm beneath you, and your head flooded with lustful thoughts. You rolled your body just slightly against him, but he felt every second of it, his hands sliding lower until he was kneading the flesh of your ass. Breathless, you paused, forehead against, another roll of your body as you pressed into him.

“Do you want me to stop?” He breathed, chest rising and falling with heavy pants.

“No, don’t, I’ve wanted this for so long,” it came out more desperate than you planned, but you didn’t care, you needed him to know.

“Me too, kid, you have no idea,” he smiled.

Your nose scrunched, pulling back to look at him with narrow eyes, “kid? Really?”

“Well you don’t like when I call you baby, so…”

“That is not what I said,” you laughed, “I said don’t say things you don’t mean. You can call me whatever you want, as long as you mean it”

“In that case…” he leaned in again, hands on either side of your face as his lips met yours before pulling away to meet your eyes as he said, “hey baby.”

You melted into him, his hands cradling your head the only thing keeping you grounded to the planet. He littered your face and jaw with slow, deliberate kisses, working his way toward your neck as he whispered more sweet pet names into your skin.

“Beautiful,” with a kiss to your jaw, “angel,” with a kiss to your neck, just below your ear, “my girl,” with a kiss to your collarbone, lingering to suck on the skin right at the base of your neck, marking you lightly.

Your whole body pulled him in tighter, dizzy with the ecstasy of having him like this. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging just hard enough to tell him how good he was making you feel. You couldn’t resist but push down into his hardness, muscles tense as his lips tickled the sensitive skin around the collar of your shirt.

“Rafe…” you sighed out as he continued to suck lip shaped marks into you, his hands kneading your ass, arms strong around you like he alone was the one keeping you tethered to the earth.

He pulled away from you just far enough to look you in the eyes, his pupils blown out. There was a kind of darkness in his eyes, sending excitement, and maybe even a touch of fear, shooting through your body. You wondered what would happen if he dropped the gentleness and really seized control, longing to be the one to send him to that place.

“Are you?” He whispered. Hunger, lust, and some more vulnerable third thing laced the deep tenor of his voice as his eyes searched yours, “are you my girl?”

His brows were furrowed so tight with intensity, you worried he was gonna give himself a headache.

You ran your thumb over the scrunched skin on his forehead, smoothing it out, gentle but firm. You continued to run your fingers over his face, both to put him at ease and to buy yourself time, the answer to his question stuck somewhere in your chest, unwilling or unable to make its way to your tongue.

“I…” you started, the worry growing back on his face at the sound of your hesitation.

Before you could finish the thought, a loud DING! rang out through the quiet car, making you both jump.

“I thought you said your phone was dead?” You questioned, more edge to your tone than you’d meant, frustration over the interruption seeping into your words.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I just wanted more time with you.”

“It’s okay,” you said, a bit non-committal in your forgiveness. “Who is it?”

Rafe sighed as he retrieved his phone from the cupholder, reading the most recent message.

“It’s Top,” he answered, “he’s saying we should get back to the house but won’t say why. So dramatic.”

You chuckled softly, relief washing through Rafe at the return of your smile.

“We should probably go then,” you said, “if for no other reason than I’m nosy and want to know what’s going on.”

He nodded slowly, hands reluctantly letting you go “we’ll come back to this, though, right?”

You knew he meant more than just the kiss and your intimate position in Carter’s front seat. He meant this; the big ‘What Are We?’

Never in a million years would you have guessed that he’d be the one posing the question, or that you’d have this hard of a time coming up with the answer.

(Chapter 8: part two)

a/n: entering my 'posting what's ready when it's ready and not caring about word count' era, welcome!!

please note, i've closed the taglist for this story. to be first to know when i post please follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifications 💘

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space-ace-in-the-space-race · 7 months ago

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I’m gonna talk about Dead Boy Detectives for a second, specifically Charles and Edwin’s deaths.

Edwin died in a basement and Charles in an attic, and Edwin went to Hell and Charles was presumably meant to go to Heaven. Edwin died by fire (demons from Hell) and Charles died by ice (hypothermia). Edwin was targeted for his queerness and Charles for the color of his skin, the country his mother came from. Edwin never seemed to get along with the boys who would kill him but Charles called his murderers friends until they turned on him. Edwin died by supernatural means while Charles died by run of the mill racist teenagers. They died more than 7 decades apart.

When you look at the details there are so many differences but the story is still the exact fucking same. Two boys who died at the hands of a group of their classmates who decided that they did not fit with the rest of them and therefore must pay the price. Two boys who died on the same grounds of the same school, whose deaths were brushed aside and covered up by people who held the same titles. More than 70 years apart and not a single thing has changed, Charles’ death didn’t get any more attention than Edwin’s, because more than 70 years later the same fucking story happened again.

Edwin’s death didn’t change a damn thing, and it could happen again now because Charles’ death didn’t change a damn thing either. And then the ghosts of two 16 year olds decided that if the adults, if the living weren’t going to change anything then they fucking would. If the living would not grant them justice and would not grant them change, then they fucking would.

Because there was a difference, in the end. Edwin was murdered, and so was Charles, but while Edwin died scared and alone Charles didn’t. Edwin died in a cold, dark basement, but Charles died in warm light of a lantern, even if that warmth wasn’t enough to save him. Edwin died to the sounds of his own screams, his own voice pleading for mercy that would not come, but Charles drifted off to sleep to the sound of a kind boy reading him a book.

The living won’t change. The story could and will keep on repeating because the living will not make sure it doesn’t. The living are messy. But the dead, for all the ways they will never change, will never get any older, they can change the story, at least a bit. Charles and Edwin can’t make sure that no other boy dies at that school, but if the story repeats itself yet again they can make sure the victim is at peace. They can solve the murders and find the lost items and release the spirits who are trapped. The living won’t help the dead, but they can help each other.

So they call themselves the Dead Boy Detectives, form an agency and get an office and help who they can, because they didn’t matter to the living, and many of their clients don’t either. But they matter to the dead.

Their clients matter. And Charles and Edwin matter too.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #charles rowland #edwin payne #dead boy detective agency

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woncheolisms · 12 days ago

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i can still see it all. (joshua hong x reader)

summary: you meet joshua for the first time since he left the country as a teenager to pursue his dreams. you are sure he doesn’t remember you, despite the fact that you haven’t forgotten him for a single day in the last fifteen years.

word count: 8.4k

warnings: best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.

Sunset was your favorite part of the day.

There was something about the way it colored the ground orange, bathing everything in a warm glow, the waves glittering under the slowly fading sunlight that brought your young heart at ease. At fifteen, when every minor issue felt like the end of the world, Santa Monica pier was your escape. Every weekend you would end up on the same wooden boards, feet pattering against them and the swish of ocean waves roaring in your ears. Multiple other footsteps echoed beside you and behind you, the chattering and laughing of the teenage voices that belonged to your friends blending with the hustle and bustle of the weekend crowd at the pier. In your clearest memory, your eyes would meet warm brown ones, appearing a lighter hazel in the fading sunlight, skin tinted golden, and laugh like a melody echoing in your mind….

Your alarm is a jarring sound.

You startle awake as it cuts through the tranquility of your dreamscape, making you bite back an annoyed groan as it keeps beeping on, ripping you further and further away from the warmth of the pier and distant doe eyes that keep you company as you sleep. Your hand shoots out and slaps at your phone blindly, shutting it up. In the glare of the screen, you make out a blurred 10:00am. A heaving sigh leaves your body as it registers in your head that it’s Friday morning. You stare at the curtains covering your window, early morning light filtering through them and making your room visible. All is silent.

……. It is Friday morning.

You remember your dream, or rather, childhood memory. It’s been a while since you last thought of LA or Santa Monica, despite spending so much of your childhood in that area. You understand why you’re dreaming about it now though, considering what today is. As you stare at the ceiling, you mentally prepare yourself for the day. It doesn’t matter, though. You haven’t managed to prepare yourself in the last couple of weeks, so it hardly seems like you’ll turn it around on the morning of. Brown eyes flick through your mind again.

Showering and getting ready are a nervous affair. There seems to be a charge in the air, like static, ready to zap you the minute you make a sudden move. You contemplate stopping for breakfast, and choose to forego it when your stomach protests at the thought. Coffee would have to do. You can deal with the consequences of plain coffee on your bowels later. There’s much more important things to freak about now.

As you’re driving to the arena, you feel irritation replace your apprehension. Come on. There’s no way he remembers you. It has been fifteen years since you last saw him. You doubt he could recall you even if someone told him your name. Which, by the way, no one would have told him your name. You are sure that in his line of work, hair stylists come and go. How many had he worked with already, in his near ten-year career? You are just a blip, here to take care of the group during the American leg of their tour and then going about your life once again. That’s it.

You weren’t surprised when you were first offered the job to be the on-tour hairstylist for an idol group. You had worked with many in the past as they came to America for appearances or while on tour. In your near decade of working, you have managed to build an impressive portfolio. But you had been frozen solid when you found out who this particular client was. Of course you knew them. You had followed their careers since before they debuted. You had promised you would, just as he had promised to keep in touch before he left.

Only one of you had kept your promise.

The coffee is bitter on your tongue, and it wakes you up before it even hits your stomach. You let the GPS on your phone guide you to the location sent to you by one of the staff members. Already, you can see people outside the venue. No shock there. This was a very anticipated tour. The air feels crisp and charged, now with excitement rather than the fearful doomed feeling you experienced that morning in your room. The sun is already way up, announcing the arrival of midday.

It’s a blur of introductions inside the building. Everyone is extremely nice, and someone in a black button up and jeans finds you immediately, as if already looking for you, leading you down a corridor as they talk to you a bit about what’s happening.

“Usually we don’t have the hair and makeup staff come this early.” Her voice is cheery and light. “But the members have to film a bit before the show today so they need to get ready early.”

“I don’t mind at all.” You immediately jump to answer, eager to come off as a team player. Also, midday isn’t early at all for you, though it may be early for them considering the concert didn’t start for another six hours.

You are shown into a large room and you immediately feel at home as soon as you step in. The mirrors are large and the hair and makeup stations are well lit. There are too many chairs to count there, some facing the mirrors and others scattered haphazardly everywhere else. Towards the far end of the room, one chair is already occupied, and you can see a woman bent over the man in the chair, her hand making careful strokes with a brush over his closed eyelids. His hair is a bright blond under the glare of the lights, matted down on his head. He must have freshly washed it. Next to him, another seat is occupied, but this time with a brunette who is lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears you shuffling about. You immediately recognize him.

His smile is bright as he pushes off the chair in favor of walking over to you. You bow courteously.

Lee Seokmin is as handsome as he always looked on screen. You would argue he is even more stunning in real life. His voice is friendly and warm, and you immediately feel at ease. He introduces himself even though he needs no introduction, and you return the pleasantries. The voices make his blond friend turn his head towards you curiously, and you recognize Soonyoung just as quickly as you had recognized Seokmin.

They are quick to make conversation with you when they learn that you are their hairstylist, talking to you as if they had known you forever. It’s slightly jarring how quickly they become comfortable with you, because while you had been staring at them on a screen for years, they didn’t know you before this at all. It is hard not to be charmed by them though, they are incredibly kind and engaging. They ask you about your job, tell you how excited they are to be there, ask for food recommendations and before you know it, you are somehow roped into dinner plans.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea….” You can’t help but feel sheepish. Seokmin waves you off immediately.

“It’ll be our treat! We take the staff out for dinner and drinks all the time. You had to show up this early. It’s the least we can do.”

You think it’s best not to say that you are paid to be here. It’s not like you are doing this for free. Both of them are so nice about it that you really don’t think your snark has any place in this conversation. You choose to switch the topic.

“Speaking of, why are only two of you here? What about the others?” You try to sound nonchalant. Try not to let your nerves creep in again. You can’t afford to freak out now. Not when he could walk in the door at any moment.

That makes Soonyoung snicker and Seokmin let out a painful sigh. He jabs a thumb backward to point at his friend, who is just about done with his makeup. “He spoiled something important while doing a live yesterday. He dragged me along by guilting me into it.”

Soonyoung seems proud of the fact, and you can tell Seokmin doesn’t mind as much as he is pretending to. You can’t help but smile as well. It’s crazy how comfortable you already feel around the two.

You are almost done with Soonyoung’s hair when other members slowly start to trickle in. Your heart speeds up. You try to keep your face straight and all your focus on the short strands of hair sticking up between your fingers. They greet you one by one as they show up. Wonwoo first, Chan right behind him. You introduce yourself to all of them, throwing some “nice to meet you”s in there. The room slowly swells with noise, multiple separate conversations and some laughs here and there. Some time passes. Seungkwan sits down in front of you. When Joshua walks into the room, everything stills for one small second.

He looks the same. Boyish charm and doe eyes. He sounds the same too, syrupy sweet voice, slightly deeper than you remember. He is running a towel through his wet hair. Some strands stick to the damp skin on his forehead. His face is bare, just the way you remember it. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle the same way. He laughs at something Soonyoung says to him. Same laugh.

But he is so….. different. He is taller, and much broader. You try not to let your eyes linger on his arms, bare because of the tank top he had chosen to wear. Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you run a small comb through Seungkwan’s hair, parting it down the middle. He is saying something about the content they are supposed to film before the show, and you feel a bit bad for not focusing on what he is talking about. But Joshua is right there, mere feet from you after nearly a decade and a half of being apart. It is hard to focus on anything other than the boy you had given your heart to when you were so young.

It seems he has chosen to focus on you too, in that very moment. He notices you working on his friend’s hair, and then he is walking to you. You freeze.

“Hi. Joshua.” He bows a little. You reciprocate, though it’s more jerky and not as smooth as his. You immediately kick yourself. Managing to return his smile, you tell him your name. His face shifts a bit, and you freeze again in shock. There’s no way….

He repeats your name, this time more questioning. You nod slowly.

“No way!” His eyes are wide, recognition flicking through them. Beautiful brown, rich like chocolate. You are reminded of your dream. Your heart skips. “I can’t believe it! You’re a hairstylist now?”

You laugh meekly, nodding. Your face still burns. Having his eyes on you feels almost unbearable. You wish he would go away, leave you in your head again to remember only the ghost of him still living in your memory. You also wish he would come closer, hold your hand like he used to and push your hair behind your ear when the wind makes it fall into your eyes.

You wish for a lot of things.

“You two know each other?” Seungkwan swivels in his chair to look at Joshua, who only nods enthusiastically.

“We were friends. We went to the same school when I was still in LA.”

So succinct. So brief. How something that means the world to you, something that changed your young mind so profoundly, could be summarized in two sentences. You try not to think about it.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” His voice breaks you from your thoughts. His smile is still so wide. His eyes are…. gentle. Almost admiring. You realise he is genuinely happy to see you, and something in your chest settles. The nasty voice in your head silences itself. How foolish of you, to think for even a second that someone as sweet and down to earth as Joshua wouldn’t be happy to see you, his dearest friend, after he left LA. He isn’t wired that way. You almost feel ashamed at having doubted him. You nod your affirmation.

“You should have dinner with us after the show. Maybe some drinks too.”

You chuckle a bit. “Ah, yeah. Seokmin offered as well. I guess I will be there.”

He smiles wider, if that is even possible. “Great.”

When he finally walks away from you, you turn your head to meet Seungkwan’s gaze, already trained intently on you. Your neck heats up again.

“Something wrong?”

His eyes narrow just a bit. You get a strange feeling, like you are being prodded. He shakes his head, but the corner of his lip ticks up just slightly.

“No, not at all.” He settles back in his chair, an expression on his face that you can’t quite place.

Ah, fuck.

……………………………………………………………………..

An hour later, Joshua is sitting in a chair, typing something on his phone when you finally step closer to him to get a look at his hair. He turns his phone screen off, giving you a dazzling smile as well as his full attention. You try to smile back, but it comes off more as a grimace than anything friendly. If he notices, he doesn’t let it show. You are grateful for that.

“I didn’t know you left LA.” He comments, and you hum a bit, using a comb to smooth through his hair, trying to focus on your job and not on the fact that you are touching him, or that you can smell his aftershave. It’s flowery and light. It makes you dizzy.

You also try to bite back on the fact that there is no way he could’ve known, considering you hadn’t talked to him properly since he set foot outside the US.

“I’ve been all around.“ You answer, knowing how vague you sound. You can’t think of anything else to say though. You can feel Joshua’s gaze on you, and you wonder if he sees through you.

He used to. He knew you better than anyone else. Now….. now he’s a stranger.

“Weren’t you going to become a lawyer?”

You bark out a shocked laugh at the sudden jibe, mind thrown back into the past. “Oh god, no. I don’t know what I was thinking when I used to say that.”

Joshua chuckles a bit too. “And you were so passionate about it too. Though I’m pretty sure it was just because you thought it would help you win arguments.”

You can’t control your grin. “I was a kid. I still suck at them, by the way.”

“Do you still cry when you get angry?”

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “It’s perfectly normal to cry when you’re angry.”

He nods jokingly, pretending to contemplate. “Sure. Not when you are trying to negotiate prices on the pier though.”

You gape at him, shocked. “How the hell do you remember that?”

Joshua’s mock playfulness leaves his face, replaced by something softer, more melancholic. Your fingers freeze in the dark caramel strands of his hair, soft to touch.

“I remember everything.”

You feel something strong and bitter rise in the back of your throat. Like bile, but burning worse. You remember then, the grief of Joshua leaving. The dragging hurt of waiting for replies to your emails. How his responses would get shorter and shorter every time. How it fizzled over those few painful months. And then….nothing. Like he was never there.

You clear your throat and work in silence, trying to finish up on his hair quicker. You can see from the corner of your eye how his face drops. He doesn’t say anything more. When you’re done, he gives you a tiny smile and a thank you.

He’s a stranger to you once again.

……………………………………………………………………..

The show is spectacular, as expected. You watch as much as you can between giving touch ups as the members come and go from the backstage area. It’s overstimulating and fast paced, nothing you aren’t used to, but enough to get your blood pumping. You missed working shows like this. Despite the history you had with Joshua, you feel okay about taking the job.

The members are all hyped and looking forward to dinner and drinks afterwards. Some staff members go along, including you, and it is an energetic affair. You laugh and talk with other people on the crew, who are all very welcoming and more than happy to regale you with stories of their own. The members eat like a small army, and food disappears faster than you can blink. You are grateful for the amount of people, since it meant you didn’t have to interact one on one with Joshua. It is nearing dawn when everyone starts to slowly scatter to their hotel rooms on the same floor.

Your own hotel room, booked courtesy of the company, is not in the same building, and when you announce that you should head back, Joshua offers to drive you. You can’t really find a reason to say no. He is one of maybe two people who didn’t drink. So your options are limited.

You really don’t want to talk to him. You can’t even place why, exactly. You had missed him, thought about him periodically for so long. He is here now, accessible to you, and yet you want nothing to do with him.

The truth is, your small conversation threw you off. It’s like you had never been apart. He talked to you like he had left just a month ago on a little vacation and now he had come back, catching up on life updates. But the truth is that he has fifteen years worth of updates that he missed. This isn’t a brief pause that he can just ignore, something he was clearly trying to do.

Then again, maybe you are overreacting. It’s not like you two had fought. Things just didn’t work out. It happens. Maybe you are making a big deal out of nothing while he is doing everything to be nice to you.

In any case, you have a lot to figure out. And you can’t do that with Joshua in the driver’s seat, spending a good chunk of time in a confined space with him. The silence is strange and heavy. You close your eyes and lean back in your seat, hoping he just assumes you are tired and doesn’t feel as awkward as you. When the car slows to a stop in front of your building, you give him a little smile as you gather your things.

“Did I upset you earlier?”

You hesitate, movements slowing a bit. Joshua looks worried, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on staring straight ahead. It’s still dark outside. You take a deep breath.

“Not- not really. I was just surprised.”

Now he looks confused, tearing his eyes away from the road to look at you. “Why?”

You blink slowly. “What do you mean, why?”

He doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You aren’t really drunk, but you had a few. Enough to impair the filter between your brain and mouth just a little bit.

”We haven’t spoken in almost fifteen years, Josh.” Your voice sounds more stable than you are expecting. “But suddenly you’re acting like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t just…. disappear.”

Guilt washes over his features, and you try not to let it affect you.

“I didn’t mean to….”

You sigh a bit, feeling resigned. “No one ever means to. But I think I deserved a little more than nothing. For the sake of what we had.”

Your eyes meet, and this time, the exchange of looks is weighted, more understanding. Joshua nods.

”You did. I’m sorry.”

You nod slowly. You hadn’t expected such a quick and willing apology. It was almost anticlimactic. Joshua carries on.

“Training was….tough. I almost quit, you know? Multiple times. I stuck it out because of the members, and because I was determined to see it through. I know it isn’t an excuse but- I was overwhelmed and I missed home. I missed you. Talking to you just made it so much worse.”

He lets out a meek laugh, rolling his eyes. His stare is distant as he remembers the past. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It sounds insanely stupid in hindsight.”

You nod. “It does.”

He laughs again, this time a bit stronger. When he looks at you, there’s something sad behind his eyes. You can’t help but mimic it. It’s difficult to put a finger on it. There’s so much you want to say to him, but at the same time, nothing comes to mind. It seems that all along, you had waited to hear just these words from him, a form of explanation, a form of remorse, and he had finally given them to you. There is a sense of finality in this moment. Your lips slowly curl up into a soft smile.

“I understand, I think. I… I don’t know what to say though. I don’t know where we go from here.”

There it is again, that curled smile which makes him look five years younger than he is. In the dim light, he looks unassuming and gentle, almost angelic.

“Maybe you can give me a chance to be your friend again?”

You appraise him a bit before nodding. “I think I can do that.”

……………………………………………………………………..

Some parts of Joshua are exactly the same.

He is still snarky and mischievous under his gentle exterior. Of course, it’s more than just an exterior. He is a genuinely kind person. But you two were great friends before because he was such a wonderful mix of caring and annoying. You loved teasing him and he loved teasing you back. It seems those parts of him haven’t changed at all. When you observe him with his members, you can see how he thrives off their energy. He is especially a pain in the ass to Mingyu, who loves to dish it right back.

And then there are parts of him that are so new it almost catches you off guard. He is a lot more mature now. And more perceptive too. He has a little bit of a flirty thing going on now, and it often leaves you blushing and stuttering, unable to reply.

God, you really should have become a lawyer.

Four shows into the tour and in your second city by now, you have grown fairly comfortable in your job. With Joshua acting as a bridge, you get integrated into the team very easily. Almost everyone is curious about you and Joshua when he was still living in LA. None more so than Seungkwan, who seems to have taken a particular interest in you two ever since you met on the first day. You’re not very thrilled by it, since he isn’t exactly subtle about it either.

“Have you considered working outside the US?”

You hum as you pull his hair down over his forehead, trying to go for more of a messy look today. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“You could come to Korea with us.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I can’t just leave the country on a whim.”

“It wouldn’t be a whim though. You would have a job.”

You give him a questioning look now, pausing your ministrations for a second. “Where exactly are you going with this?”

He shrugs, pouting playfully for a bit. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t have to end after this leg of the tour, you know?”

His stare is meaningful. Very briefly, his eyes flick towards Joshua on your left. It’s so subtle that you wouldn’t catch it if you hadn’t been looking so intently. Realisation dawns on you and you gulp.

“Nothing will end. Because nothing is going on.” You give him a pointed look, going back to his hair.

“That’s what I’m saying. Something could.”

You sigh painfully. “Seungkwan-”

“He likes you.” Seungkwan interrupts. “Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Joshua puts a lot of effort in for the people he cares about. And he’s making a hell of an effort to fix things with you.”

“That’s because I was his friend.”

He gives you a blank look but doesn’t say anything more. You try to ignore his words, but when your eyes flick towards the man in question, you can’t help but wonder if there is any ounce of truth behind them.

……………………………………………………………………..

“I was thinking of getting a haircut before the next show.”

You give Joshua a surprised look, placing your drink on the table. It’s show number six of eight total, and the members had scattered to explore the city. You had been in your hotel room when Joshua called, asking you to come down so you could have a drink with him. The bar you end up in is small and cozy, barely crowded since it’s a weekday, which is for the best. You lean back in the booth to get a better look at Joshua sitting next to you.

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

A thoughtful hum follows. “I’m not sure. Just something different. It’s getting a bit long and it irritates my neck.”

“Do you wanna dye it?”

He winces. “Not really. The damage takes forever to recover from.”

You think about his face shape, wondering what to do with his hair that might look good on him. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to his head, fingers threading through the strands and pulling them upwards a bit, just to check exactly how long the hair is. Joshua just watches you. You blink when you notice the hint of smile on his face, pulling your hand back with a sudden jerk.

“Sorry!” You squeak out, feeling embarrassment crawl up your chest. “Force of habit.”

Joshua laughs. “It’s fine. You’ve done worse things around me.”

You gape at him. “Have not!”

He gives you a look, and you know what he is about to say before he even speaks. “You once peed while my back was turned to you.”

“Shut up!” You screech out, burying your face in your hands as Joshua laughs boisterously. You look around the bar, anywhere that isn’t him, trying to pat down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“That doesn’t count, by the way.”

Joshua blinks, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “And why not?”

“Because that was the old you.”

His eyes are wide with surprise and amusement now. His left hand swivels his glass, the liquid floating around in it. He leans his head on the other hand, elbow on the table. “I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have.” You immediately counter, downing the last of your own drink. “You’re all cool and suave now.”

He laughs again, uninhibited and bright. You grin at him, enamored by the way he throws his head back and how toothy his grin is. Liquid courage takes a hold of you.

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially and Joshua follows your lead, playing along. “I used to have a crush on you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You did?”

You hum the affirmative, face still close to his, like you are telling him a long held secret. It kind of is one.

The lights in the bar are dim, but you can see the glint in Joshua’s eyes clearly. “And now?”

You pretend to think about it. You are feeling playful as well. It’s so easy to feed off his energy. It reminds you of your childhood. He’s a lot bolder now, but he used to be just as cheeky. His flowery scent enters your nose again in this proximity. You feel that all too familiar heat on the back of your neck. A frequent occurrence now, ever since Joshua has stepped back into your life. You wouldn’t change it, not even for a second.

“Jury’s still out.”

Joshua’s smile softens a bit. “I’ll take it.”

……………………………………………………………………..

It’s very fitting, for the last show of this leg of the tour to be in LA.

In the days leading up to the last two shows, you wonder about the future. While it is unpredictable, there are some well established facts you need to come to terms with. Joshua would leave for Korea right after, rest for a bit, and then the next leg of the tour would kick off. Your contract would end, and you would rest as well before you find your next gig. The thought of it feels like a lead weight in your stomach, and you are reminded acutely of the time when Joshua had told you about him leaving fifteen years ago.

“Pledis?” Your voice had been suspicious. “I’ve never heard of them. Are you sure you aren’t getting scammed?”

He had laughed. “I’m sure. They are legit, and they are eager to have me.”

“I don’t know, Josh…”

It’s the same apprehension but now under different circumstances.

Briefly, you remember Seungkwan’s offer. You don’t know how serious he was, but you entertain the thought for a brief moment. It doesn’t last, though. It’s ridiculous. The teenage you would have jumped at the chance to follow Joshua to the other side of the world, but that was naïveté. While you and him are riding the line between platonic and romantic, it hasn't gone anywhere. You couldn’t pick up everything and run off with him. It just wasn’t realistic.

The LA air seems to change something in Joshua. It’s a fairytale notion, but you swear you can see him bloom in the city. It’s nostalgic for him, you know this, and this stop means the most to him considering this is where his roots are. You bask in his glow, reminded of your own childhood with him by your side. You had spent countless weekends hanging around Santa Monica with your friends, putting together your very little money to eat and enjoy yourselves. Now here as an adult, standing in a stadium is a monumental milestone for Joshua, and you can’t believe you get to share in it with him.

The last show is even more emotionally charged for both you and him, but for entirely different reasons. You remember the days leading up to Joshua’s flight back then. You had insisted you spend every waking moment with him. Now, you are watching him close out the show to uproarious applause.

Life has changed so much. But your feelings remain the same. You had told yourself at fifteen, that you would confess to Joshua when he came back, stupidly believing that he would come back at some point. You’re a grown woman now, and you still know you will chicken out. You won’t tell him how you feel, you know this. He will leave again, this time for who knows how long, and maybe your paths won’t cross. Maybe they will, for another brief stint in time, before returning to the way they had been for so many stale years.

Maybe that’s how fate intends you to love Joshua. Little by little. In scraps. In fleeting moments of happiness before his busy life sweeps him up again. Maybe you should accept that this is how it’s meant to be.

After all, a little love is better than none.

Drinks are flowing heavily as the group celebrates the end of a very successful leg of their tour. Your staff members insist on farewell drinks for you, and before you know it, you have downed shot after shot with them, talking and laughing your hearts out. You had formed somewhat of a family here with these people, and you would miss them all terribly. Having temporary jobs is always a bummer when it comes to goodbyes. The whole experience is bittersweet.

You are reminded of your first night when you stand up and announce that you will be heading out. Especially when Joshua stands up right after.

“I’ll drive you.”

You snort. “I’m booked in this hotel too, dumbass. I just have to go down one floor.”

Joshua pouts at the smattering of laughs at your comment. You grin at him.

“Also, you’re drunk as fuck.”

He nods as if he has come to an important, life-changing decision after contemplating a little bit. “I’ll walk you, then.”

Not even five minutes later, you are struggling to get your door open. Behind you, Joshua sways a bit.

“How much did you drink?”

He giggles. “I’m just a little tipsy.”

You roll your eyes. He clearly is way more than just tipsy. You can’t judge him though. Because you are in a similar situation.

You turn to face him when the door behind you finally squeaks open. His eyes are foggy but they focus on you regardless. He still has makeup on from the show, though it’s slightly smudgy now. His hair is still in place from the hairspray. You make a face at it and reach out to tug a stiff strand.

“I hate putting hairspray on your head.” You slur. “Your hair is so soft and nice.”

Joshua hums a bit, leaning against the door frame and letting you play with his hair. “Then get it out.”

In your drunken haze, you pull him into the room, and before you know it, you’ve ducked his head under the sink of the bathroom to wet his hair. Not the best way to do it but neither of you care at this point. Not only are your inhibitions dampened, you also know you are doing all this just to keep him here for a little longer. To be close to him just a bit more. His flight is tomorrow morning. This is the last time you will see him, and you are not ready to say goodbye.

You have a multitude of products with you that you lather into his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind that you are ruining his T-shirt. He is compliant, sitting obediently on the closed toilet lid as you work your fingers gently through the styled pieces of his hair. He hums a bit when you press on his scalp, eyes fluttering. You scold him to keep them closed so they don’t get irritated by the chemicals.

By the time you’ve made him rinse off in the sink again, his clothed shoulders are all wet. His hair is dripping all over the bathroom floor. Droplets of water roll down the sides of his face and down his neck. A silver chain glitters against his skin there, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are barely open, narrowed to slits. You crane your neck up to look at him, the scent of shampoo dense in your nose.

“Towel.” You mutter. He needs it. It’s too cold to be this wet. He could get sick.

Neither of you move to get a towel though.

This close to him, you can see the sprinkled pattern of freckles over his neck. His lips part and your eyes shoot down to them immediately. You’ve always loved his lips, weird as that sounds. Always wondered what they would feel like against your own. You don’t have to wonder long, because he leans down the next second, pressing them softly into yours.

There’s hesitation behind his actions, but you affirm him by pushing up a bit, fitting your lips into his harder. His hands brush against your sides and yours grip tight at the wet collar of his shirt. It is close mouthed and chaste, but it lights a fire in you, settling in your chest as a condensed warmth. A single droplet of water hits your cheek.

A decade and a half long anticipated kiss.

You nip a little on his bottom lip, hearing how his breath gets strangled in his throat. He squeezes at your sides. His lips part. His tongue moves languidly against yours, head tilted to get better access. You sigh into him, trying to feel as much of him as you can. The planes of his chest are firm, his shoulders are broad. Your fingers travel up his neck to his jaw, to his ear. You tug on the tiny silver ring wrapped around the helix, and he curses softly in your mouth.

“We should stop.” He gasps out, but his hands are tugging on the hem of your shirt, slipping under it to run across your bare skin. You moan at the feeling, offended by the clothes between you two now. You grip his wet hair a bit harshly, pull at it just a bit, and his reaction is instant. He groans loud and low, pushing into you until you are stumbling back. Blindly, you two shuffle out of the bathroom and towards the bed, not separating for one minute, planting a slew of messy kisses over each other’s lips. Your shaky hands fall to the button of his jeans, which you pop open, flying up under his shirt and pushing it up to his chest until he gets the hint and tugs it off. You stare at his bare torso, fingers exploring the newly exposed skin. He nips at the lobe of your ear, brushing soft kisses over your neck and jaw.

His hands are toying with the hem of your jeans, thumbs hooking into the belt loops to tug your hips closer. You feel his erection on your lower stomach, hard and insistent, and it nearly leaves you dizzy.

“Josh-” You manage to gasp out. He bites softly into the skin just below your ear and hums into it. Your eyes roll.

A flurry of hands leaves you shirtless soon, fingers tugging on the hook of your bra until the clasp is undone, discarding it as well. Joshua’s body doesn’t stay far from yours. He falls onto the bed with you, his weight insistent and reassuring on top of you. When he grinds against the heat between your parted legs, you feel electricity zip through you, back arching into him. You can feel how wet you are already, how you clench around nothing. There’s too many layers between you two.

You feel his hand unzip your jeans and slip between your thighs to where you need him the most. You can hear his intake of breath right next to your ear when his fingers make contact with the soaked cloth of your panties.

“I haven’t done anything yet, baby.”

You keen at the use of the pet name, and Joshua sighs into your neck, attaching his teeth to the skin and sucking hard. Your hips jerk. His index finger presses the fabric harshly against your clit and you cry out at the sensation.

“Stop teasing.” You whine, one hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist. His teeth release your skin so his tongue can run over the area, and you are sure you will have an angry mark there in the morning. You can’t care less.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Regardless, your panties are being pushed aside, careful fingers now running up through your slit until they reach your nub. His thumb rubs a few harsh circles into you, and you gasp again.

Joshua is unpredictable, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on your toes, figuratively. In reality, you are moaning and crying into his shoulder, hips chasing his touch with every flick of his wrist, until he finally takes mercy on you and sinks his middle and ring finger into your aching pussy. His thumb is still insistent, never once stopping its ministrations. His lips never stop moving, digging into any piece of you he can get between his teeth, a handful of kisses and licks all over your neck and chest. When the pads of his fingers finally hit your sweet spot, you nearly sob.

He quickly becomes relentless in his movements, rubbing, dragging, in and out, until you feel like you are on the brink of insanity. You can’t make sense of your own words, and you are sure it is all mindless babble, but Joshua seems to bask in it, encouraging you on until your back is arching impossibly deep, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your legs jerk and pulse in the air, framing his waist as he coaxes you through your high, whispering sweet praises in your ear, a stark contrast to the fire he had lit in your body. When your eyes blink open again, you are met with a glinting, lustful gaze and a soft smirk.

You wipe it right off by pressing your lips harshly into his. He hums in approval, allowing your scrambling hands to push his jeans and boxers down and off his legs along with your own. His cock drags through the mess between your legs and he curses. You buck up into him.

“You’re sure about this?” His voice is raspy. He sounds as wrecked as you feel.

You nod and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer, but Joshua pulls his lips away from yours instead.

“I need you to say it. I can’t mess this up with you.”

You pause, blinking up at him, startled at his words. He is a vision in the dim light, swollen lips, smudged mascara, messy wet hair and all. He looks beautiful.

“You could never mess up with me.”

His smile is tinged with something bitter. “I already did once.”

You can’t help the playful smirk you give him in response. “And yet here we are.”

He does chuckle at that, forehead leaning against yours. You give him a soft smile, running a hand through his hair. This time in a different context, a different feeling.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than you in this moment.”

His face instantly relaxes, and his lips are on yours again. You sigh into his mouth, and you can feel something hard poke insistently at you, followed by a jerk of Joshua’s hips that finally breaches you, carving through your insides as you throw your head back. He is big, and impossibly hard, and he brushes over parts you didn’t even know you had. By the time he bottoms out, you are trembling in his hold, breaths coming in choppy gasps as he starts moving, slow at first and gradually picking up speed.

Joshua lifts himself off you, supporting his weight on his hands. Your watery gaze meets his and he bites his lip hard.

“Look at you, fuck.” He thrusts especially hard, making you cry out. “Wish you could see yourself, angel. So pretty for me.”

”Joshua.” You drag out the last syllable of his name, feeling your toes curl as he keeps going. He thrusts particularly deep and then suddenly stills in you, so you can feel every inch of him. Your jaw goes slack.

“What do you want?”

His lips are a ghost touch over your cheek. He grinds slowly, his pelvis brushing your clit, adding to the assault of sensations you are already experiencing. You feel a tear roll down your face and disappear into your hairline.

You whine. “You.”

His lips curl upward. “You have me.”

He grinds again. You sob.

“Please.” Your voice is thin, on the verge of breaking. “Need you to move. Need to feel you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Then he is shushing you, and his hips are moving again, harder and faster until stars are bursting in your vision as you come again. You barely register when Joshua stiffens and buries himself deep in you, warmth flooding your insides as he pants and groans through his own release. Your entire body feels muted and numb, like someone had stuffed cotton in your head. You blink lazily, pressing a kiss into Joshua’s sweaty forehead.

He turns to look at you in response, and you can see the sluggishness in the depth of his eyes. A small smile plays at his lips. He looks at peace. You hope your face looks just as blissful to him. Tiredness tugs at your limbs.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

……………………………………………………………………..

Giggling. The slap of footsteps on pavement. The brush of a hand. Brown, doe-like eyes.

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up with a start the next morning. You stare at the window and the harsh light infiltrating through it, trying to shake the image from your dreams. When you shift under the covers, feeling them brush over your bare skin, you discover that you are naked. The events of the previous night come rushing back.

You turn to stare at the bed behind you. Empty. You sit up and look at the window again. Long shadows are casted by the sun over your room. It is easily past noon.

No.

He couldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. Not like this. Not after last night.

I can’t mess this up with you.

Something burns behind your eyes, and you try not to focus on how hard your heart is hammering. Your legs feel sore, but you push past it and move off the bed, ignoring your discarded clothes from the night before on the floor to walk to the wardrobe where you had temporarily stored your stuff. You tug on the nearest T-shirt you can find along with sweatpants. Your focus is to be out the door as quickly as you can. You know their flight has left, but you need to see with your own eyes if their hotel rooms are cleared out. It was the only way to accept what had happened.

You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself not to cry. You can’t believe it, genuinely cannot imagine that Joshua would sleep with you and leave the next day. It is a whole new low. You want to beat yourself up for trusting him, but your heart screams the opposite. You are reeling, still unable to believe what has happened.

You hear the door behind you open, jolting you from your thoughts. You spin around, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Joshua blinks at you in confusion, staring at your shirt clad figure, holding a pair of pants in your hands.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He asks, moving closer to you after shutting the door. “Don’t you have a hangover? You should lay down.”

You flinch back when he reaches for you, and his face twists at the action. You can see hurt flit past his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“You-” Your mind races. “Your flight….”

He nods slowly. “I canceled this morning.”

Feeling returns to your legs again, processing his words. Your hand drops, and you let the pants fall to the floor. Your relief is so great that it makes you feel lightheaded. When you look up at Joshua again, his face has settled into a sad realization.

“You thought I left.” He states, voice small. You don’t say anything.

“You thought I-” His laugh is sharp, bitter. Something clenches at your chest. “You really think I would do that?”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I would never. I just…. panicked.”

Joshua heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. A flowery smell hits your nose. You discern that he probably just stepped out to go shower and change. You almost kick yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Joshua has the grace to crack a small smile, taking your forearm and leading you to the bed so you can sit. You notice a tall glass of water on the bedside table, as well as two round pills. Probably painkillers. Your heart squeezes. You hadn’t noticed them in your stressed condition. He picks them up and offers them to you, and you take them with a grateful smile.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t exactly have the best track record.”

You shake your head. “Nah, don’t blame yourself for this. These are my issues.”

He flops down next to you, leaning back on his hands. You down the water and place the glass back, turning to look at him. He’s already staring at you. You feel shyness creep up on you.

Joshua’s hand reaches up to brush over the skin of your neck, and you realize that he is tracing the scattered marks he had left there last night. Your face burns, but you have no time to react before he is kissing you, so soft you barely feel it, but you lean in regardless. You sigh into it, wishing it would go one forever, this fluttering feeling in your chest, telling you that everything is fine.

When Joshua pulls away, you can’t help but pout, eyes still closed, mentally willing him to come back. He laughs a bit, a melody to your ears, and you can’t help when your own lips perk up at the sound.

“So you’re not leaving?” You ask, letting him continue brushing his fingers over your neck and cheeks. Goosebumps rise on your arms.

“Not right now. But at some point, yes.” He looks up to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t leave us like this though. Not this time.”

His eyes catch the sunlight, small flecks of gold dancing in the deep, rich caramel. He reminds you of Bambi sometimes, when his lips tick up like this and his eyes turn into the shape of almonds. You wonder if he knows how beautiful you find him, bathed in golden light and looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. There’s a rush of emotions, and you feel like you’ve stepped into gently swishing water, lapping over your skin and enveloping you in a cool tranquility you have never experienced before.

You lean in, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “Good.”

#seventeen x reader #joshua hong x reader #joshua hong x you #joshua hong smut #hong jisoo x reader #joshua x reader #svt x reader #svt fanfiction #seventeen smut #joshua fluff #joshua hong x y/n #joshua hong fanfiction #seventeen imagines

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goldfades · 6 months ago

Text

TROUBLE ─── RAFE CAMERON

request for blurb night! : "ev, hear me out—reader is sarah’s best friend who used to babysit wheezie. she's always thought rafe was just some spoiled rich kid until one night he helps her out of a dangerous situation, and she see a different side of him"

The sound of cicadas swells in the sticky summer air as you maneuver your car into the Camerons’ circular driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house stands before you, grand and overbearing, like something pulled straight from a Southern Gothic novel. Even after all these years, it still has a way of making you feel out of place, like you’re trespassing on a life far removed from your own.

You killed the engine and take a deep breath, your hands lingering on the steering wheel. Coming here used to feel second nature—a daily part of your routine back when you were just Sarah’s friend who needed extra cash and Wheezie was a chatty eight-year-old who never seemed to run out of energy.

Now, it feels complicated. It’s not like you’re unwelcome here—Rose is always polite in her distant, Stepford kind of way, and Wheezie practically lights up whenever she sees you. Sarah treats you like family, but there’s always been one Cameron who makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

Rafe.

Spoiled, sharp-tongued, entitled Rafe, whose condescending smirk had been a permanent fixture of your teenage years. The golden boy with a black hole of a temper, a trust fund, and an ego that stretched for miles. You’d never understood him, and frankly, you’d never wanted to. He was a hurricane you learned to avoid at all costs, never lingering too long in his orbit.

But life has a funny way of pulling you into places you swore you’d never go.

You grab your bag from the passenger seat and step out into the muggy heat, your sandals crunching against the gravel. Somewhere inside the house, you hear the faint echo of laughter—Wheezie, probably, shouting at Sarah over a card game or some other nonsense. The sound makes you smile despite yourself.

You weren’t always someone the Camerons—or anyone from Figure Eight, for that matter—gave the time of day. Growing up, you were just another Pogue, another kid from the Cut with hand-me-down clothes and a chip on your shoulder. The people from Sarah’s world weren’t interested in you back then. Why would they be? You had nothing they wanted—no yacht, no country club membership, no sprawling waterfront property. You didn’t mind much. You had your own circle, your own rhythm, and you learned to brush off the condescending stares whenever you ventured into their territory.

But everything changed when your dad’s business took off. What started as a small, bare-bones construction company turned into one of the most in-demand firms in the Outer Banks almost overnight. Suddenly, the same people who used to look through you like you were invisible started remembering your name. Invitations to parties you’d never have been considered for started showing up in your mailbox. They weren’t just tolerating you—they wanted you there.

Sarah was one of the first to genuinely befriend you during that whirlwind of change. She wasn’t like the others, who only smiled at you because their parents said it was polite or because they wanted a favor from your dad. She liked you for you—your sarcasm, your groundedness, your tendency to keep it real in a place where everyone else seemed to be faking something. And through Sarah, you met Wheezie.

Wheezie was eight at the time, still caught between childhood and whatever it is that happens when you grow up as a Cameron. She adored you from the start, trailing behind you whenever you came over like a little shadow. You didn’t mind. She was funny, curious, and refreshingly unfiltered—a lot more like the kids from the Cut than anyone wanted to admit.

When Rose offhandedly mentioned they needed someone to look after Wheezie while she was busy managing the house (or hosting one of her endless charity luncheons), Sarah volunteered you without hesitation. “She’s perfect,” Sarah had said with that trademark confidence of hers, as though your schedule had already been cleared.

To your surprise, it worked out. Wheezie loved you, probably because you didn’t treat her like a chore or talk down to her like so many others did. You indulged her weird little interests, let her ramble on about books and whatever new drama she overheard in the house. You made her laugh.

And if the Camerons noticed you weren’t exactly one of their own, they didn’t seem to mind much anymore. After all, in their world, proximity to success was enough to erase just about anything.

Even after a couple years had passed, it’s a little funny how much has stayed the same. Every time you pull into the Camerons’ driveway, you still get the same sinking feeling, like you’re stepping onto foreign soil without a passport. Except now, it’s become a routine. Cameron game nights.

It started as an extension of the babysitting gig—a casual invite from Sarah, insisting you stay for dinner one night after watching Wheezie. Dinner turned into a board game that Sarah claimed was “super quick,” which turned into three hours of family chaos. It was ridiculous, overly competitive, and a little awkward with Rose monitoring everything like a referee, but Wheezie loved having you there, and Sarah was relentless in making sure you felt included.

At some point, it just became normal. Even after Wheezie grew out of needing a babysitter, the tradition stuck. Every week or two, Sarah would text you about game night, and somehow, you always said yes.

“You’re like an honorary Cameron,” Sarah had joked once, and you’d laughed because the idea of that felt ridiculous. But there were moments, like now, when you almost believed her.

Wheezie’s voice echoes from the living room the second you step through the door. “You’re late!”

“I’m literally on time,” you call back, closing the door behind you. The smell of freshly baked something wafts through the air, probably cookies Wheezie convinced Rose to make under the guise of a family bonding activity.

“Technically, Rafe’s late,” Sarah says, popping her head around the corner, already grinning. “You’re just cutting it close. Come on, Wheezie’s already plotting your downfall.”

You laugh and follow her into the living room, where the familiar chaos is already brewing. Wheezie’s sprawled across the couch, a pile of board game pieces spread out in front of her, while Ward sits in his chair, sipping a scotch like it’s all beneath him but still keeping a hawk’s eye on the rules. Rose flits between the kitchen and the table, not-so-casually reminding everyone to keep the snacks on coasters.

And then there’s Rafe.

He’s leaning back in one of the armchairs, his legs stretched out like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. A half-smirk tugs at his lips as he spins a stray game token between his fingers. He barely glances at you when you walk in, but you catch the faintest flicker of recognition.

It’s been years, but Rafe is still Rafe: cocky, restless, and way too pretty for his own good. He’s toned down some of the more obvious brattiness since the early days, but the edge is still there, sharp enough to cut if you’re not careful.

And, as always, you do your best to steer clear.

The quiet hum of the boutique fades behind you as you pull the glass door shut, twisting the key to lock it. The click echoes in the empty street, a sharp sound against the stillness of downtown this late at night. The once-bustling sidewalks are deserted now, the streetlights casting uneven pools of orange on the pavement. Most of the shops had closed hours ago, their dark windows reflecting the faint shimmer of the moon.

You adjust the strap of your bag over your shoulder and glance at your phone. 11:43 p.m. Later than you’d intended. It wasn’t your shift to close, but your coworker had begged you to cover for her last minute, and you couldn’t say no. It’s fine, you tell yourself. You’ve done this before. Downtown isn’t that bad, and your car is parked just a block away. Still, there’s something unnerving about the silence, the way the shadows stretch a little too far when you’re alone.

Reaching your car—a trusty but aging sedan that you inherited from your dad—you fumble with the keys before sliding into the driver’s seat. The interior smells faintly of the vanilla air freshener you keep on the rearview mirror, a comforting contrast to the chilly night air outside. You toss your bag onto the passenger seat, then grip the steering wheel as you turn the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

You pause, frowning. That’s… odd. Your car’s old, sure, but it’s never been completely unresponsive. You twist the key again, harder this time, willing it to come to life.

Still nothing.

A low groan escapes your throat as you lean back against the seat. This can’t be happening. Not tonight. Not here.

You pull out your phone, half-tempted to call Sarah or even your dad, but you hesitate. Sarah’s probably asleep by now, and your dad’s a good thirty minutes away—not to mention, he’d definitely give you a lecture about not keeping up with the car’s maintenance. Sighing, you pop the hood and step out into the cool night air, shivering slightly as a gust of wind cuts through your jacket.

The street around you is unnervingly quiet. A stray cat darts across the road, its shadow flickering under the streetlights. You glance around, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It’s just your imagination, you tell yourself. No one’s here.

With a deep breath, you lift the hood and stare down at the engine like it might magically fix itself. You know a grand total of nothing about cars, but you wiggle a few cables anyway, hoping for a miracle. When you try the ignition again, the result is the same—silence, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp overhead.

Panic starts to creep in now, slow and steady. Your phone’s battery is hovering at 10%, and downtown—normally picturesque and charming by day—feels like a completely different place at night. The empty windows of the closed shops look less quaint and more sinister, their dark interiors like gaping mouths.

You lean back against the car, tapping your fingers against the metal as you weigh your options. Call someone? Walk to the gas station a few blocks down? Stay here and wait it out? None of them sound appealing, especially with the growing sensation that you’re being watched. You tell yourself it’s just nerves, but your skin prickles anyway, and you can’t help but glance over your shoulder every few seconds.

“Great,” you mutter under your breath. “This is how horror movies start.”

You huff out a shaky breath and decide to at least look under the hood. Not that you know what you’re doing, but it’s better than standing here like a sitting duck. Popping the latch, you step out into the cool night air again, every sound amplified in the unsettling quiet. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk to the front of the car, lifting the hood and leaning over the engine.

The faint metallic scent of oil hits your nose as you peer into the mess of cables and parts. It all looks like a foreign language to you, but you fiddle with a few wires anyway, hoping for some kind of miracle.

That’s when you hear it—footsteps.

At first, you think maybe it’s nothing, just your imagination running wild, but then you hear them again, deliberate and getting closer. Your stomach clenches, and you straighten up, instinctively glancing over your shoulder.

Two figures are walking toward you from the opposite side of the street, their strides slow and unhurried. The dim streetlights reveal faces you vaguely recognize—Kooks, no doubt, probably from the same parties Sarah used to drag you to back in high school. Their names escape you, but the looks on their faces don’t—grins too wide, eyes too sharp, the kind of predatory energy that sets every nerve in your body on edge.

“Car trouble?” the taller one calls out, his voice carrying an edge of amusement as they stop a few feet away.

You force a tight smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I’ve got it handled. Thanks.”

The shorter one, stockier and wearing a backward baseball cap, steps closer, tilting his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Doesn’t look like it,” he says. His tone is casual, but the way his eyes flick over you makes your skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” you insist, taking a small step back toward the car. Your heart is pounding now, a sick thrum in your chest, but you keep your expression as neutral as possible.

“Hey, we’re just trying to help,” the taller one says, holding up his hands like he’s harmless, but there’s something almost mocking in his tone. “No need to be rude.”

The stocky one smirks, moving to your other side, effectively boxing you in against the car. “Yeah, we’re just being friendly.”

The air feels heavy, oppressive, and the space between you and them feels like it’s shrinking by the second. You can feel the tension in their postures, the way they’re both leaning in slightly, testing how far they can push.

Your throat tightens as you glance around, desperate for someone, anyone to come walking down the street. But there’s no one—just you and these two strangers who clearly don’t care that you’re uncomfortable.

“Look,” you say, trying to sound firm but calm, “I appreciate it, but I’m good. You don’t need to stick around.”

The taller one laughs, a low, unpleasant sound that makes your stomach churn. “Aw, come on. You’re out here all alone. What kind of gentlemen would we be if we just left you like this?”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the hood, your mind racing for a way out. You consider making a run for it, but they’re too close now, their presence suffocating.

Just as the stockier one steps even closer, his grin widening, a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and commanding.

“What’s going on here?”

The relief is instant and overwhelming, like a lifeline being thrown to you in a raging sea. You turn toward the sound, and there he is—Rafe Cameron, standing just a few feet away, his hands shoved casually into his pockets but his posture rigid, his eyes hard as they lock onto the two guys.

The taller one straightens up immediately, his smirk faltering. “Rafe,” he says, a weak attempt at sounding friendly.

Rafe doesn’t respond, his gaze shifting to you for the briefest moment before snapping back to them. “Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he says, his voice calm but laced with something dangerous. “You two invited?”

The stockier guy takes a step back, muttering something under his breath. “We were just leaving,” he says quickly, his bravado crumbling under Rafe’s glare.

“Yeah, you are,” Rafe says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The two exchange uneasy glances before slinking away, their footsteps echoing down the street until they disappear around the corner.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your heartbeat and the faint hum of Rafe’s truck idling in the distance.

“You good?” Rafe asks, his voice softer now but still steady, grounding.

You nod, your throat dry as you manage to croak out, “Yeah… I am now.”

Rafe watches the shadows where the two guys disappeared, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight. You half expect him to say something cutting, maybe some sarcastic remark about how you can’t take care of yourself, but when he finally looks at you, there’s no smugness. Only something... softer, almost hesitant.

“You’re lucky I saw you,” he says, his voice low. “That could’ve gone bad. Fast.”

You nod, your throat still tight from the tension of the moment. He’s right. You don’t even want to think about how that could’ve ended if he hadn’t shown up. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe’s brow furrows like he’s surprised you said it. He leans back slightly, glancing at the car hood still propped open. “What’s wrong with this thing?”

“Won’t start,” you reply, gesturing vaguely at the engine. “Not that I’d know what to look for.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t expect you to.” His tone lacks the usual edge, though—it’s not a dig, just a statement.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there in the quiet. The night air feels less suffocating now, the earlier tension replaced by a strange calm. Despite everything you know—or think you know—about Rafe Cameron, there’s something about his presence right now that makes you feel… safe. It’s unsettling, in its own way.

“You should be more careful,” Rafe says, breaking the silence. His gaze is steady, not mocking or judgmental, just serious. “Downtown this late? Alone? That’s asking for trouble.”

You bristle slightly, your instinct to defend yourself flaring up. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down.”

He raises an eyebrow, but instead of snapping back, he just nods. “Fair.”

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. Rafe steps closer, peering under the hood with a practiced air, and you’re struck by how uncharacteristically gentle he seems. No biting remarks, no smug superiority—just calm focus.

He taps a cable lightly, muttering something under his breath, then steps back, closing the hood with a decisive thud. “Battery’s probably dead,” he says, glancing at you. “You need a jump.”

You nod, your nerves finally starting to settle. “I guess I’ll call someone.”

“Don’t bother,” he says, already walking toward his truck. “I’ve got cables.”

You blink, caught off guard by his matter-of-fact tone. He’s not offering—he’s telling you he’s going to help. And for some reason, you don’t argue.

A few minutes later, Rafe has his truck pulled up nose-to-nose with your car, the cables stretched taut between them. He works in silence, his movements efficient, and you watch from the sidelines, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“You should get in,” he says, nodding toward the driver’s seat.

You do as he says, sliding back into the familiar confines of your car. The moment feels oddly intimate—just the two of you on this empty street, the hum of his truck filling the air.

“Try it now,” he calls out, stepping back.

You turn the key, but instead of the engine sputtering to life, it lets out a defeated whine and falls silent again. You try one more time, your chest tightening with frustration and dread, but it’s no use. The car isn’t going anywhere tonight.

You let your forehead drop against the steering wheel with a groan. Of course. Just your luck.

Rafe’s voice cuts through the night air, low and steady. “It’s not gonna work. Battery’s dead for real.”

You sit up, pressing your lips together as he leans against the open driver’s side door, his arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between amusement and mild concern.

“Great,” you mutter. “So, what now? I call a tow truck and wait here till dawn?”

Rafe tilts his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before landing on your car again. “Or,” he says, “I could just drive you home.”

The offer catches you off guard, and you hesitate, your immediate instinct to say no. Riding home with Rafe Cameron? That’s about as far outside your comfort zone as you can imagine.

But then you glance down at your nearly dead phone, the empty street around you, and the sheer impossibility of getting a tow out here tonight. What other choice do you have?

“Seriously?” you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Rafe shrugs, the motion easy, like it’s no big deal. “You got a better plan?”

You don’t.

“Fine,” you say finally, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat and climbing out of the car. The night air feels colder now, pressing against your skin as you walk toward his truck.

Rafe opens the passenger door for you without a word, and you slide in, the faint scent of leather and cologne filling the cab. It’s clean but lived-in—practical, not flashy, which surprises you.

He climbs in on the driver’s side, pulling the door shut and starting the engine with a smooth turn of the key. The sound is steady, reliable, and for a moment, you envy how effortlessly everything in his life seems to work.

The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, the only sound the low hum of the truck and the occasional creak of the suspension as it rolls over uneven pavement. You glance out the window, watching the darkened storefronts blur past, trying to ignore the strange tension sitting between you.

“You gonna sit there and sulk the whole way?” Rafe asks, his voice breaking the silence.

“I’m not sulking,” you shoot back, turning to glare at him.

He smirks, his eyes still on the road. “Sure you’re not.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just… processing the fact that my car officially hates me. And that I had to be rescued by you of all people.”

His smirk softens into something closer to a smile, and for once, it doesn’t look mocking. “Yeah, well, it’s your lucky night, I guess.”

You roll your eyes but don’t respond, and the quiet settles over the truck again. It’s not entirely uncomfortable this time—just strange, like you’re both trying to figure out how to navigate this unexpected moment.

After a while, Rafe glances over at you, his expression more serious now. “You really shouldn’t be out here alone like that,” he says quietly.

You shift in your seat, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his tone. “I didn’t exactly plan for my car to break down,” you mumble.

“Still,” he says, his grip tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “Things could’ve gone bad. You know that, right?”

You do. The memory of those guys, their leering smiles and the way they cornered you, is still fresh in your mind. A shiver runs through you, and you glance at Rafe, his profile sharp in the dim light from the dashboard.

“Thanks,” you say, softer this time. “For stepping in.”

His jaw tenses for a moment before he nods. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

The rest of the drive passes in a blur of streetlights and quiet conversation. When he finally pulls up outside your house, you feel an odd sense of disappointment, like the night is ending too soon.

Rafe cuts the engine and looks over at you, his expression unreadable again. “You good?”

You nod, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

He hesitates, his eyes searching yours for a moment, and you swear you see something uncharacteristically soft in his gaze. “Anytime,” he says, his voice low.

You climb out of the truck, turning back as you reach your front door. Rafe is still there, leaning slightly out of the window, watching you with an intensity that sends a strange flutter through your chest.

“Night, Rafe,” you call out, your voice steadier than you feel.

He nods once, his smirk returning, but there’s a warmth to it now that wasn’t there before. “Night.”

You watch as he drives off, the tail lights disappearing down the street, and you can’t shake the feeling that tonight, something shifted. Something you didn’t see coming.

The living room is alive with laughter and the sugary smell of freshly microwaved popcorn. Wheezie is sprawled across the couch, her legs tangled in a blanket as she debates the finer points of the movie you’ve just paused, while Sarah snorts beside her, throwing a handful of popcorn in her sister’s direction.

You sit cross-legged on the floor, sipping from your drink and soaking in the warmth of the moment. It feels good to let your guard down like this—to laugh and tease and forget for a little while.

“Okay, but how does she not realize he’s the bad guy?” Wheezie demands, gesturing dramatically at the screen.

“Because she’s blinded by love,” Sarah says, grinning. “Or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

“Excuse me?” Wheezie gasps, clutching her chest in mock offense.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know. I feel like if someone was being that obvious about being evil, I’d notice.”

“Would you, though?” Sarah teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” you protest, chucking a stray pillow at her.

The playful banter continues, the night stretching on in a haze of easy conversation and snack-fueled chaos. You’re halfway through arguing over which movie to watch next when the sound of the front door opening pulls your attention.

You glance toward the entryway just as Rafe steps inside, his hair slightly mussed, his keys jingling in his hand. He pauses when he sees you all, his expression flickering from mild surprise to something unreadable.

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice carrying that familiar mix of curiosity and amusement. “A girls’ night?”

“Yeah,” Sarah says, throwing a popcorn kernel at him. “And you’re not invited.”

“Tragic,” Rafe deadpans, stepping fully into the room. His eyes flick to you for a split second, and your stomach does an unexpected flip.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just residual nerves from the other night. Nothing to do with the way his presence seems to fill the space or the way his gaze lingers just long enough to make your cheeks heat.

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying.”

“Good,” Sarah says. “Bye.”

He ignores her, pushing off the frame and heading toward the kitchen instead.

“I’m getting more popcorn,” you announce quickly, needing a reason to escape the sudden heat prickling at your skin. You grab the empty bowl and dart toward the kitchen before anyone can respond.

The kitchen is cooler, quieter, and you exhale a sigh of relief as you cross to the counter. You’re halfway through scooping kernels into a bowl when you hear the low hum of Rafe’s voice behind you.

“Didn’t know you were here tonight.”

You jump slightly, glancing over your shoulder to find him leaning casually against the counter, his arms crossed and that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

“Yeah, well,” you say, turning back to the task at hand, “I’m kind of a regular around here.”

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his tone light but edged with something that makes your stomach flutter.

You keep your focus on the popcorn, refusing to let him get to you. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” he shoots back smoothly.

You roll your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “Interesting? That’s a stretch.”

Rafe chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I don’t think so.”

His voice is closer now, and you glance up to find him standing beside you, his gaze fixed on your face. You freeze, your fingers tightening slightly around the bowl as you try to think of something—anything—to say.

“Relax,” he says, his lips quirking up into a grin. “You look like you’re about to run out of here.”

“I’m not,” you insist, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

He leans in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I was starting to think I might scare you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you say quickly, your voice a touch too defensive.

“Hmm.” His smirk deepens, and he leans back, giving you just enough space to breathe again. “If you say so.”

With that, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge and steps away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder as he heads toward the stairs.

“Goodnight, trouble,” he calls out, his tone teasing but soft enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You stand there for a moment, staring after him, your heart racing and your face burning.

By the time you return to the living room with the popcorn, Wheezie and Sarah are too busy laughing at some inside joke to notice how flustered you are. You settle back into your spot on the floor, your mind still replaying the way Rafe’s voice sounded when he called you trouble.

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